The Broken Angel Page 2

  With a smile, he locked the door, and instead of riding the elevator, he walked down the stairs to the ground level of Castel Sant’ Angelo. Per Council mandate, before leaving the building, he willed his wings away and let his body shrink to his human form. When paranormals had been forced into hiding, he had hated becoming a cripple, even if temporarily. The idea to use what was left of his powers to betray his true nature had pained him. For a long while, he had kept himself inside the paranormal compound, using the Promenade and even venturing in warlocks and witches’ territory to move between locations, reducing the necessity to change. Then, little by little, helped by Alexander and Ophelia, he had embraced the change.

  Already anticipating a good session of sparring at his friend’s gym, he summoned his walking cane and headed toward the bus stop at the end of the bridge. He leaned against the low parapet, his eyes studying the thermals above. He missed flying. Not a single moment passed that he didn’t remember he was grounded. His heart ached as the playful winds of spring moved clouds and birds in a constant flurry.

  The bus arrived and he slowly climbed the platform. He showed his special permit to the bus driver, who gave him a brief look and a small smile. A woman sitting in the reserved seats made to get up when he walked by, but he thanked her and moved farther inside. He heard an unsavory comment about cripples, but could not bring himself to let the person know he was an insufferable jerk. The bus lurched to a stop, swaying him. He moved out of the way to let the new commuters in when he saw a familiar face heading straight toward him. His heart slammed against his chest as the athletic brunette—the woman he thought about every free moment he had—drew closer to him.

  ****

  Martina hated using her time off to take care of business. Her lawyer had called, saying they must talk in person immediately, and she wasn’t looking forward to the meeting. A lawyer herself, she was working on an abuse case and was tense and tired after interviewing people the whole morning. The victim she was representing had just turned eighteen, which complicated matters for her and simplified them for the rapist who had taken advantage of a naïve teenager. Martina had been dabbing tears from the girl’s face when her lawyer had summoned her.

  As soon as she got on the bus, she spotted her sparring partner, Samuel, trying to remain upright while pushed and pulled by the sea of people crowding the narrow space. A sense of rage invaded her at the thought that nobody had given him a seat. Humanity must have reached its lowest point if a man with disabilities wasn’t given the courtesy due him. She pushed through and finally reached him.

  “Samuel!” She smiled and leaned in to kiss both his cheeks.

  He smiled back at her, and his lapis lazuli eyes lit with a light that always had the power to warm her inside. “Hi, Martina. It’s so nice to see you. Where are you going?”

  “Boring lawyer stuff.” The bus suddenly braked and she was pushed by someone behind her. She lost her hold on the handle above her head and ended in Samuel’s space.

  “A new case?” He cushioned her with his chest and free arm.

  She noticed how careful he was not to hit her with the cane she had never seen him without outside of the sparring ring. “No, the same case as always.” She stepped back and anchored herself to the side handle. “I need to kick someone hard.”

  Samuel’s dimples deepened. “One of those days, ah?”

  “One of those years.”

  The bus took a sharp curve and Samuel was thrown against the rail. He didn’t seem to notice. “I’ll be training at Alexander’s later. Care to join me?”

  “I’ll see if I can free myself.” She had come to treasure their sparring sessions.

  Last fall, Alexander Drako, the owner of the gym she frequented, had told her his friend Samuel needed a serious beating. After a brief glance at the frail man Alexander had pointed at, she had wondered why he would say such a thing about a cripple. Knowing Alexander wasn’t a bad man, she had decided to humor him and invited Samuel to the ring. Seeing the expectant look on Samuel’s face, she treated him as she would have anyone. He took all her kicks and punches with an open smile, and at the end of the session, he thanked her, saying he hadn’t had that much fun in a while. What had surprised Martina the most was that in the middle of their sparring, she had forgotten she was fighting against a man barely taller than she, probably weighing less than she did, and who couldn’t walk without help. Since that first session, any time their schedules coincided, they sparred together. They barely talked about their lives and had never exchanged numbers. Yet, Martina looked forward to that odd hour she spent in his company. Sometimes, she even forgot he belonged to the wretched race of men.

  “This is my stop.” She reluctantly released her hold on the handle, wanting to stay on that bus rather than meeting her lawyer.

  “I hope to see you later then.” Samuel kissed her on her cheeks. He seemed to linger a moment.

  She got off the bus and automatically looked up to wave at him behind the glass. He waved back, his big smile never leaving his face before the people getting in pushed him away from the window. She raised her left hand to check her watch. Her next bus was slowing to a halt by the curb, but instead of getting in, she turned away. The firm following her divorce was situated several blocks from the stop, but she had plenty of time to walk there. She loved spring in Rome. The air wasn’t cold anymore, but the heat of summer hadn’t crept in yet. The zephyr played with her hair, giving her the feeling she was about to be lifted up. Even on days like this, when she could almost feel the shackles pinning her to the ground, a walk through the ancient streets of Rome was enough to raise her spirits.

  She came to a stop before the oppressive façade of the Tarantino & Sons’ offices. Any time she neared that building, she thought of running in the opposite direction. The four-story homage to the fascist regime was covered in white marble and resembled a gigantic mausoleum.

  “The sooner I’m in, the sooner I’m out.” She propelled herself toward the entry, then proceeded to climb the four flights of stairs up to Tarantino’s office. She hadn’t settled for one of the two sons, but had requested the father to follow her case.

  Tarantino’s secretary, a plump woman younger than Martina by several years, informed her the lawyer was waiting for her and escorted her to his office.

  Martina entered the big room and braced for the darkness that always seemed to permeate that place. Today, though, both windows were open, and the office was still partially obscured by the heavy draperies framing them.

  “Ms. Colonna, I hope I didn’t inconvenience you.” Mr. Tarantino rose from his cushioned armchair. The man was in his late sixties, still fit, and always impeccably dressed. He positioned a chair behind her, then waited for her to seat herself before moving behind his desk.

  “You said it was imperative.” The faint smell of tobacco and fresh-cut flowers reached her nostrils.

  “Your husband called me.”

  Martina saw red behind her eyelids. It happened every time someone called Giulio Severi her husband. If there was justice on earth, she would be a free woman by now, but two years had passed and she was still legally married to a man who had abused her in every conceivable way.

  “What does he want?”

  Mr. Tarantino steepled his hands and looked at her over his glasses. “He has requested a personal meeting with you or he won’t sign the papers.”

  Martina let out a nervous chuckle. “Again?”

  “Again.” The older gentleman sighed, changed position on his chair, tapped his knuckles on his desk, then gave her a sad smile. “Mr. Severi was quite adamant about it and made me promise to tell you in person to stress the importance. Ms. Colonna, you are aware that if he doesn’t cooperate, you’ll be married to him until he decides otherwise.”

  Her head light, she stood to reach for the window. “And you know I don’t want to be in the same room with him ever again.”

  “I know, but—” Mr. Tarantino shook his head, then opened and
closed his hands.

  She finished his thought for him. “We can’t prove what he did to me.” Giulio had never touched her face and always made sure she wouldn’t leave the house when marked by his brand of love.

  “He sent this for you.” The lawyer picked a cream-colored parcel from his desk and reached her at the window. “He said it was important you received it today.”

  Martina took the light envelope with two fingers and raised it before her.

  “If you want some privacy—” Mr. Tarantino made to step toward the door, but Martina stopped him.

  She tore the parcel at the seams and a single picture slid into her palm. A wedding picture. Memories flooded her mind.

  “It’s hard for me to give you away.” Her father kissed her hand he had held the whole ride, then he exited the car, walked around and opened her door. “But I want you to be the happiest bride alive.”

  Martina’s heart swelled and she took his hand, only to hug her father as soon as she was out of the car. Her mother, who had ridden in the car behind them, materialized at her side to chastise Martina about wrinkling the designer gown.

  “Your husband and his family are waiting for you.” Her mother directed Martina and her husband toward the marble stairs of Santa Susanna, the church chosen by Giulio’s father because its parish priest was a Severi himself.

  Martina laid her hand on her father’s arm. They breathed in and out, smiled to each other, then climbed the stairs and passed through the majestic wooden door. At the end of the church’s nave, Giulio locked eyes with her, and her heart grew three sizes at once.

  Martina stared at her younger self smiling at the handsome man holding her hand. She looked radiant in that picture. The horror of what her life would have been was impossible to imagine. Her stomach contracted in a painful spasm. She had forgotten today was her wedding anniversary and Giulio had reminded her.

  Mr. Tarantino gave her a paternal pat on her shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

  Martina gulped down her anger. “Please, next time, leave a message.” She left the dark studio, but her equally dark thoughts followed her outside. She refused to cry. A good session of kickboxing at Alexander’s gym was what she needed. She hopped on the first bus headed that way.

  ****

  “There was nothing to see in Via Larzi. Pushers won’t be dealing soon after a bust anyway.” Samuel had called Barnes from his corporate cell on his way to Alexander’s. He had walked up and down the ancient cobblestones looking for anything that could identify the race of the pusher, but the anonymous call about the illegal dealing of vampire blood had come at night, so any species was game, including humans.

  A sudden commotion out of the corner of his eye stopped him. “Wait a moment—”

  “What is it?”

  “Just a second. I smell trouble.” Samuel rounded the corner and sighed, already regretting checking. “Werewolf brats having a quarrel.”

  “Take care of it. Don’t let them kill each other.”

  “If I can avoid the paperwork…” He hung up, secured the cell in his rear pocket, and hurried toward the two weres to put an end to the loud brawl. As he approached the two snarling at each other in plain daylight, breaking several Peace Pact laws, he realized they weren’t alone. A few meters away, a young female werewolf rocked back and forth on the balls of her heels, screaming at the boys and adding to the general confusion. She was well-dressed in the latest fashion among the rich and spoiled. Her whole body was a billboard of expensive brands, starting from her high-heeled pumps, continuing with her too-short school uniform, and ending with her pink, brown, and blond mane that reached her knees.

  Samuel went first to the girl and, towering over her, he tried to get her attention. “Shut up and move aside.”

  The werewolf briefly looked up at him, her blood-shot eyes blinked in confusion, then she lowered her head and gave a supportive cry for one of the two wolves biting at each other’s necks.

  “Great. Kids on drugs. Exactly what I needed to end this shitty Monday.” Samuel took the girl by her elbow and set her on the sidewalk. “Stay.” He strode back to the boys, who were as decked out as she was with shiny shoes, dark jeans, white button-down shirts, dark-gray ties, and asymmetric haircuts highlighted with strands of blue and jet black. He put himself between them, forcing the two to listen. “Both of you, snap out of this nonsense before someone gets hurt. If you leave now, I may even pretend I didn’t see you and let you go without a citation.”

  The two werewolves had the same blood-shot eyes as the girl and didn’t seem to understand what Samuel was saying. The one at his back punched Samuel in his left kidney, irritating him to no end. “How much vampire blood did you ingest?” If only they had left right away, he could have said he hadn’t caught them in time, but the idiots were lingering, high as kites, and he couldn’t let them go anymore.

  The werewolf in front of him, disregarding any sense of self-preservation, screamed a few obscenities, then kicked Samuel in his shins. Meanwhile, the girl cheered from the sidewalk.

  “Really?” Samuel saw a copious amount of paperwork in his immediate future. He found paperwork demeaning. He also knew those brats came from rich families and would get nothing more than a slap on the paw anyway. “Listen to me and calm down.” He pushed the one in front out of the way and turned to deal with the other.

  The werewolves decided they had enough of fighting each other and ganged up against him. They jumped at him, their hands at his throat. Samuel counted to ten, then carefully extricated their hands and put them down. The boys were so far gone they could injure themselves. Even in his human form, Samuel retained the strength of a man three times their size and could have slapped them unconscious. Restraining himself as they rained down blow after blow took a toll on his patience, but they were kids and he was the official liaison.

  The girl decided it was time to participate in the melee and launched herself at him. Samuel was buried under the combined attack of the three wasted werewolves, and wondered, not for the first time that day, what he had done to deserve such a fate. Then he remembered how, for the love of a man, he had fallen to earth, and accepted his penance.

  ****

  Martina’s bleak humor improved the farther away she traveled from the Tarantino & Sons’ offices. The bumpy ride on the crowded bus helped her focus on the moment. One hand grabbing the overhead handle, the other keeping her purse to her chest, she leaned against the window pane and practiced a series of mental exercises. She had entered the bus in a state of great agitation, but by the time she got off at the gym’s stop, she wasn’t shaking anymore.

  “Lisa, it’s Martina. Everything’s fine, but I won’t be coming back today. See you tomorrow.” She left the message on her secretary’s cell. Lisa’s lunch breaks tended to be on the lengthier side now that she had a new boyfriend. Once or twice, Martina had pointed out to Lisa her wrongly buttoned blouse after she came back from one of her breaks. Martina couldn’t remember if she had ever felt that carefree.

  Her low heels ticked on the cobblestones with every step. She imagined burying one dark thought under her shoes for every tick she heard. That exercise always worked and made her feel light and in control. She wouldn’t let her ex-husband ruin her day more than he already had. Tick. Tick. Tick. She could almost see the gym entrance. Tick. Tick. Tick. She could almost smell the leather of the boxing gloves she kept in the small locker—just a shoebox in the tuff wall—Alexander had reserved for her. Tick. Tick. Tick. Maybe, if she were lucky, Samuel would be there and they could spar together.

  She rounded the corner and a blood-chilling scream stopped her in her tracks. A woman was being attacked. While running toward the sound of the cry, Martina reached for her cell phone to call the police.

  “I need help. Near Via Larzi.” She entered a small court shielded by the main traffic by an archway and had to reassess the situation. A child, no older than a high school girl, was screaming, but she was far from being attacked. She was, in
fact, actively helping two boys attack a fourth person.

  For a moment, the visual confused Martina. Her brain was wired to defend women and she couldn’t make out who they were fighting. She shouted to get their attention, but none of them noticed her. Cupping her mouth, she tried again. “I called the police.” Not one head turned her way. She felt nauseous at the sight of them beating a person who clearly wasn’t defending himself. Or herself.

  Without thinking, she stepped closer and grabbed the girl by her arm. The girl snarled. Martina was taken aback. The girl had snarled at her. A moment later, Martina noticed her blood-shot eyes and dazed movements. Then she had the first glint of the person being attacked and her heart skipped a beat when she recognized a familiar black head.

  Rage engulfed her. Martina flung herself into the fight without restraint. She hit to inflict pain, unleashing all her pent-up energy in every punch and kick she threw at them. Finally, they noticed her.

  And so did Samuel. “Martina. Leave!” He was looking at her, his face bloodied, his right eye half-closed and already bruising. His voice sounded strong enough though.

  “The police are coming.” She swung her arm in an ample arch to catch one of the boys in the throat. She missed.

  The girl came at her, mouth open, saliva trailing down. Hands with abnormally long and sharp nails reached for her eyes. Martina feigned to the side, but she landed straight on one of the boys’ frontal kicks. The impact of his square heel on her chest left her breathless for a moment while black dots played before her eyes. She heard Samuel scream her name as she fought to stay upright. A punch caught her left cheek, making her teeth rattle. Copper-tasting blood poured from a gash on her cheekbone. When she managed to open her eyes, she saw Samuel fending off her attacker, then she was under the girl. Searing pain exploded on her left thigh, just above her knee. A hand grabbed her right arm. Martina blindly swung her left arm, hand clubbed in a fist that only hit air. She thought she heard the siren of a police car approaching.