ANGEL BOY Excerpt #1:
Seth Truitt stood on the street in front of the only home he remembered. The autumnal drizzle of mid-October wet his thick mop of brown hair and plastered the starched shirt of his uniform against his skin. He turned back, grabbed his leather flight jacket and small duffel bag off the back seat, and paid the Yellow Cab hackie.
As the cab sped away he let the sight of Bellaluna sink in, soothe.
Bellaluna, beautiful moon in Italian, the ancestral home of the Cavelli family—people who took him in—raised him really—a place for family, for love, and now for sanctuary, he thought.
His Army Air Corps-issued boots crunched gravel underfoot on the long walk to the back yard. The overspent blooms of summer stretched proudly upward from terra cotta pots set on the flagstone portico. Faith’s attempt at a green thumb—his sister, Doctor Faith Cavelli now, and only living blood relative.
Two automobiles were parked out front. One vehicle he hadn’t recognized—a snazzy, brand-new Buick Coupe in hot red. Maybe from Gabriel Cavelli’s auto and motorbike collection. Gabe…one of his titulary uncles.
The three Cavelli brothers: Michael, Raphael, and Gabriel, named after the archangels by their overly optimistic mother; Michael, proverbial head of the family, shrewd, astute businessman; Raphael, globe-trotting archaeologist, now curator of the Field Museum; and Gabriel, confrontational, Harley-riding badass, self-made entrepreneur.
He wasn’t related to any of them by blood… but he was by heart, by love.
ANGEL BOY Excerpt #2:
Well, fan my brow. He was back.
Margaret Cavelli strode to the back door of her small house on Green Street and yanked the door open. Miraculously, she’d gotten out of Bellaluna before she ran smack dab into him. The moron hadn’t had the decency to call or write her in eight years and there he was. Just sashayed back all ginned up in his fancy uniform and thought that was A-Okay. Well, he had another think coming.
She slammed down the book on poisons on her tiny kitchen table, shrugged out of her woolen pea coat, and hung it on the hook next to the door. Luckily, she’d spotted Seth from her old bedroom window at Bellaluna when his taxi pulled up. She made sure he didn’t see her and then snuck down the old servants’ staircase to get to her Coupe while Gwen gave him the feed in the kitchen.
A free meal—and probably his old room back if she knew her father. All the hoo-ha for the prodigal son’s return? Uh-uh. He wouldn’t get squat from her. And if they tried to force her to be nice to him—she’d eighty-six that idea. He could take a powder—again—for all she cared. She wasn’t the forgiving type.
At least, not in this lifetime.
She grabbed the book of poisons and climbed the stairs to her home office and her murder board.