Finding Prince Charming

Ever After

Book 4

Lauren Smith

Contents

Once upon a time…

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Epilogue

British Black Sheep

About the Author

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright 2026 by Lauren Smith

Cover Art by Angela Haddon

All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher constitutes unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at lauren@laurensmithbooks.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.

ISBN: 978-1-967219-27-8 (e-book edition)

ISBN: 978-1-967219-28-5 (print edition)

Once upon a time…

There lived a young woman who fled into the woods, a huntsman pursuing her into the dark…

Chapter One

Christmas Eve – Chicago

It was the most wonderful time of year—the world was full of light and laughter, and families gathered to celebrate the winter holidays. Angelo Vertucci knew he should be filled with that same love and joy, and yet, as he watched his family flow through the front door of his Chicago brownstone, he never felt more alone. His mother, father, niece, nephew, brother, and sister-in-law, all ruddy cheeked and excited, were carrying packages inside, while he stood there with a smile he hoped was convincing, holding the door open and nodding as everyone greeted him.

He embraced his mother, Francesca and clasped his father, Matteo, in a bear hug hoping they didn’t see his smile slip for a brief instant.

“Buon Natale! Come in, everyone!” He stepped back to let his parents into the living room. Three wide windows in the front of his living room provided a lovely view of the street. His Christmas tree was dutifully set up, providing a display which immediately drew his mother in.

“It’s lovely, son,” Matteo said. He hoisted up two bags of Christmas gifts to set down by the tree. Angelo turned back to the open door to greet another wave of family members coming up the walkway.

“Uncle Angelo!” Nicholas, his seven-year-old nephew tackled his legs, which made Angelo grunt and laugh as he hugged the boy back.

“You’re getting stronger every time I see you, Nicky. You’ll knock me on my butt the next time.”

Nicholas sniggered and whispered, “You said butt.”

Angelo winked. “Don’t tell your mom,” he whispered back as the boy darted past to get inside.

He looked up at his younger brother Dante and his wife Alessia who now were coming up the steps. Dante carried his daughter little Matilda, or Millie as everyone called her, on his shoulders.

“Uncle Angelo!” Millie, only two years younger than her brother Nicholas, spoke with a light birdlike chirp.

He held out his arms to her. “Millie, cara, you’re growing up too fast for me!”

“Am I? Will I be a giant like you some day?”

Angelo considered her question as Millie’s father, Dante, transferred her from his shoulders to Angelo’s arms. He swung the girl around the air like an airplane. “Perhaps someday. Keep eating your vegetables!” He dropped Millie onto the couch, making her squeal and kick her feet. She wore her latest ballet costume complete with an icy blue tutu and wore soft ballet slippers on her tiny feet.

“Have you been dancing again?” He teased as he grasped Millie’s toes and wiggled her feet playfully, making her kick in the air. Then she did the most ungraceful but hilarious flop off the couch onto the floor, which made his niece roar with laughter.

“I had my last Nutcracker performance this afternoon!” she crowed as she began to twirl around the coffee table.

“That’s right!” He’d seen her first performance two weeks ago, but he’d forgotten she had one each day for the last week.

Nicholas sat down by the tree where Matteo’s antique train was already set up. It had entertained three generations of children in the Vertucci family.

Dante chuckled, as if reading Angelo’s thoughts. “ You know, I’ll have to confiscate that train from you if you don’t get moving on the kid front.”

“Dante!” Alessia jabbed his brother in the stomach quite hard.

Dante grunted and braced himself against the back of the couch. Alessia winked at Angelo, Alessia had come from a quiet family in Boston, but managed to hold her own among the wild Vertuccis.

The Vertuccis were a merry, boisterous Italian family which consisted of his parents, his three younger brothers—Dante, Faro and Renzo—and now his brothers’ various wives and many, many children. This year, Faro and Renzo were celebrating Christmas with their wives’ families, but Dante and Alessia and their two children were able to come to Angelo’s house. Angelo was happy to host Christmas Eve because his brownstone had enough rooms for everyone to spend the night if necessary. It seemed that would be the case, given the snowfall outside. The roads were travelable at the moment, but in four or five hours it wouldn’t be worth trying to cross the city.

“You are lucky we have any kids,” Alessia told her husband who was still groaning dramatically but also laughing. “I only agreed because you charmed the hell out of me,” she added.

Dante pulled Alessia in for a kiss that made Millie squeal “Eew!” Then the five-year-old burst into giggles.

Angelo came over and crouched down beside Nicholas, who was rearranging the order of the metal and plastic train cars on the tracks.

“How’s school?” Angelo asked.

Nicholas shrugged. “Good, I guess.”

“Excited to be off for winter break?” Angelo helped Nicholas reconnect the engine to the coal car.

“Yep. Dad says we’re gonna go to the Field Museum next week. You wanna come with us?”

Angelo ruffled Nicholas’s hair. “I’d love that, kiddo.” The boy smiled.

Nicholas was more like Alessia and in many ways like Angelo. He was a quiet, thoughtful boy. Still waters ran deep in him, just like Angelo. Millie, on the other hand, was a whirling dervish of joy and energy, like rest of the Vertuccis. Right now she was performing pirouettes in the kitchen, showing off her moves to her grandparents, who watched with adoration and clapped when she finished.

“Angelo dear, your kitchen is a mess,” his mother chided. She tutted and fretted over the counters where he’d prepped the food. He’d only just put everything on the stove and in the oven when the first knock at the door came. He hadn’t had a chance to clean up, and of course his mother thought he’d left the mess on purpose.

He chuckled and let out a sigh. “Aye, mama,” he said, his American accent slipping briefly into Italian. “Let it go. Everything is in the oven.” He groaned and rolled his eyes, making his father laugh.

His father pulled Francesca away from the ovens and kissed her soundly to distract her. Something sharp pinched in Angelo’s chest. He longed for that… to have a woman to hold, someone to kiss and call his own.

He was, once again, alone this time of year. In past years he’d spent the holidays with his two best friends and hadn’t felt so alone. Now one was married with a baby, and the other was planning to propose on Christmas Day to his own woman. Which left Angelo to face the holidays with his family, and no other single men for his mother to tease about getting married. Just him.

Jennifer, his most recent ex, had been an amazing woman. He’d enjoyed being with her, but they’d agreed that the spark they’d been searching for hadn’t been there for either of them. So here he was, feeling foolish he was spending another Christmas without someone.

It wasn’t that he wanted a woman to complete his life or ease his need for companionship. He had a bone-deep need to give his heart, his joy, his everything to another person. He ached to love someone. His Nonna, his mother’s mother, had christened him a giver when he was a young child. She’d cupped his face in her wrinkled hands, and her smile lit up the room as she’d whispered the words that would change his life forever.

“Angelo, you are a giver. You give love, and when you cannot give love you must give food. Come. You will learn to cook with me.”

He’d spent every summer in Italy at his grandmother’s side in the sun-drenched city of Ortigia, learning his craft for ten straight years. She’d passed just before he finished culinary school, but knew she would have been proud of him.

Now he owned his own restaurant, The Italian Village. His father’s younger brother, Uncle Luigi, was one of the cooks, and the restaurant had become a smashing success, especially with tourists.

Nonna’s words still ran deeper than his chest. “You are a giver. You give love…”

So why couldn’t he find the right woman to give that love to? He had watched his best friends, Jared and Thad, find women who were their very worlds in the last few years. But not him.

His mother poked him in the ribs. “Angelo, smile. It’s Christmas!” Francesca watched Millie prance about the room, performing part of her ballet. “Why can’t you give me some grandbabies?”

Angelo let out a sigh. Grandbabies. Every year.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want any, but it had to be with the right woman at the right time. Dante used to tease him about yearning for a soulmate. The sad thing was that his brother was right. He wanted someone he could build a life with, a woman who truly was the mate of his soul. Maybe that made him old-fashioned, or naive, but that’s what he wanted. To see someone from across a room and feel the strings of fate pull at him, that flash of lightning beneath his skin, to know that his heart was destined to belong to that woman.

That didn’t happen in real life. Real love was built on solid foundations of friendship and respect. But he wanted passion too and felt greedy for wanting all three things at once right away.

His two best friends had found all three. Why not him?

Jared, his workaholic lawyer friend, had stumbled on his own soulmate, quite literally, in his bed. His younger brother had been throwing a Halloween party, and Felicity, dressed in a princess gown, had passed out in his room. He’d been too tired and crashed in bed beside her. She’d woke up with no idea who Jared was, and he’d assured her nothing had happened between them. But he’d asked her out and just like that, they’d started falling in love. That had been it for Jared’s single life.

Angelo’s other best friend, Thad Worthington, was a real estate mogul who—had it not been for Jared daring him to ask out a barista without the intention of just sleeping with her—might have missed out on Veronica, a young widow with a four-year-old daughter who’d captured his heart. Now Thad was in Disney World for the holidays, filled with hope and a ring in his pocket, planning to make his new family official.

Angelo was happy for them, of course, but sometimes that happiness felt bittersweet. He wanted what they had—the joy of belonging to someone the way they did. He had so much love to give, but no one to give it to.

“Angelo.” His mother’s voice drew him back into the kitchen. She was hovering near his double ovens, and he could practically feel his eye start to twitch.

He gently steered her away from the ovens when she tried to open one. “Yeah, mom?”

“This year you promised me you’d find a nice girl and settle down,” she reminded him. “And yet I see no pretty girl in this kitchen for you to cook for. No woman helping to decorate your home or make you smile.”

She searched his face as though looking for the same answers he sought, making his stomach pitch and his skin heat with embarrassment. He desperately tried to divert her focus from his face to his words, and he said the first thing he could think of…which was absolutely the wrong thing to say.

“Perhaps I’ve met a nice girl.”

He hadn’t of course, that was a lie. Why the heck had he just said that? His mother’s face lit up and he knew it was a mistake.

“Oh Angelo… really? Why haven’t I met her yet?” Francesca asked.

Scrambling for a rational response his dug his proverbial grave deeper. “I… I’m not ready for you to meet her yet. You can be a very intimidating mother.” She wasn’t actually, his mother was a sweetheart, but teasing her might get her off her quest to marry him.

“Oh hush! I am not! And you have no woman,” she said, but didn’t look entirely convinced. “Do you?”

“Aye, mama…” he sighed, slipping back into the old familiar Italian tone that came from all those summers spent with his Nonna. “Let’s not talk about it right now.”

Francesca eyed him seriously, her dark brows lowered as she seemed to be thinking about whether he might in fact have a secret girlfriend.

Let her think it. It will give her something to do and keep her out of my kitchen.

“Your father and I are not getting any younger. I want more grandbabies.”

“You have three other boys with wives and children,” he reminded her gently.

“Yes but…” his mother’s lips quivered. “You are my favorite,” she whispered, her eyes over bright.

“You don’t have favorites, mom,” he said, and it was true. She never had a favorite. She’d loved him and his three younger brothers equally.

“My best boy.” She cupped his face. “Remember when you were in high school, I sent you to that prep school? I wanted you to have some space, to get away from your silly brothers. To grow without the burdens of being the eldest. Like me. Like your father. We wanted you to have a life of your own.” She smiled as her eyes grew watery. “I want you to be happy, and you will be the happiest when you are in love.”

She wasn’t wrong. But he had no say in that regard, only a fool would think they could control the most powerful force in the universe.

“When it happens, mom, it will be at the right time with the right woman.”

“Angelo!” His father shouted across as he raised his arm and pointed at his watch. “Aren’t you supposed to leave for the soup kitchens by six o’clock?”

“Yes! Thanks, I almost forgot.” Angelo leaned down and kissed his mother on the cheek. “Take the food out of the oven when the oven timer goes off, not a second before. I’ll be back in two hours. If I’m running late, start without me.”

He’d timed his dishes to all finish at the right time so his mother would only have to pull everything out and serve it. It paid to be a professional chef and have two large ovens and a massive kitchen.

He hugged his niece and nephew, then slung on his favorite camel-colored coat. Outside, the snow was falling harder, but he knew the buses would still be running. He could have taken his own car, but he didn’t want to dig his car out of the snow if it got too deep. He went down to the nearest stop and boarded the bus that came just as he arrived. Perfect timing.

He leaned against the window, watching the houses and apartments pass by. Bright Christmas lights glowed on the rooftops and in windows of the houses and apartments. The night was quiet, beautiful. It felt like a sacred night, carrying the promise of amazing moments to come in the new year. Families, friends, and loved ones all sharing the winter holidays together. His heart swelled as he headed to the soup kitchen where, for at least a few hours, he’d offer the homeless and the hungry a place of refuge, warmth, and welcome. For now, that was enough to ease his lonely heart.

The snow fell harder around Kara Gallagher as she paused at the entrance to the North Clifton Avenue Soup Kitchen. Her gloved hand was on the door. Frigid air filled her lungs as she remembered so many years when she’d been alone and hungry on Christmas Eve. Even when her mother had been alive, they’d had to make it through the holidays on empty bellies, shivering in cold little motel rooms while her mother did her best to keep them both alive.

Having to move every year to start over and the inconsistency of work meant Kara and her mother hadn’t been strangers to food banks and soup kitchens.

She let out the breath she’d been holding and watched its brief life as a cloud before it vanished.

Tonight her belly was full. She had a job at a local bodega and a small apartment to call home, for now. She’d found some stability in her life, and she wanted to give something back whenever she could. That’s why volunteering was so important to her. It reminded her how lucky and grateful she was for her life right now.

Kara blinked away the snowflakes that clung to her lashes and opened the soup kitchen door. A tiny bell jingled above her head, letting everyone inside know that she’d entered, but only a few heads turned her way.

The director of the kitchen, Paul Hill, spotted her right away. He was a thin, lively man with a kind face and a warm smile, sporting a Santa hat and eyes that were as bright as his smile.

“Merry Christmas Kara!” He waved for her to put her coat up on the rack and join him and the other volunteers.

“Merry Christmas, Paul,” she said with a laugh over her shoulder, hanging her old navy blue peacoat on the coat rack. She tossed her scarf on the peg next to her coat.

When she faced the main room of the soup kitchen, her eyes roved over the volunteers taking in the boxes of food and metal cooking trays that held the food they served hot. She had only moved to Chicago last month and started working at the soup kitchen three weekends ago. She knew a local restaurant donated most of the food, and usually sent hot food on the weekends or for special holidays.

Her nose twitched at the mix of smells in the room. They were serving Italian tonight. The sweat and the odor of unwashed bodies was also present, buried beneath the overwhelming power of Evergreen air fresheners. Kara joined a line of volunteers who served spaghetti and meatballs at the far end of the kitchen.

“Kara, why don’t you help me hand out cookies?” Mabel, one of the other volunteers, said. “We have some extra help coming in shortly to handle the pasta.” Mabel was a petite, kind-hearted woman and Kara had liked her immensely upon first meeting her. She abandoned the pasta station to join Mabel at the cookie trays.

The cookies were stunningly designed, looking like Christmas wreaths with intricate icing.

“These are beautiful,” she said to Mabel as she admired the cookies.

Mabel chuckled as the people waiting at the front of the line began moving down the row toward her and Mabel. “They are, aren’t they?”

“Any fun holiday plans?” Mabel asked.

“Nope. Just a quiet night for me.”

“Is your family coming to see you?”

Kara shook her head. “My mom died five years ago, and my dad passed just this year. It’s only me now.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. You could come with me to my daughter’s house if you want.” Mabel smiled invitingly. “We always have plenty of room.”

“Thanks, Mabel. I appreciate the offer, but I’ll be okay.”

It wasn’t exactly a lie, but wasn’t exactly the truth, either. Her mother had died five years ago from a sudden brain aneurysm. As for her father… Kara had never met him. Both of her parents were Irish and had lived in Ireland when they met. Her mother had fled Dublin the moment she learned she was pregnant, because the father was the infamous mobster, Sean O’Brien. O’Brien had wanted the child—and that prospect had been scary enough that her mother had fled to America and worked endlessly to keep Kara hidden from her father.

Kara had lived her entire life on the run… the specter of a father she didn’t know and his men always two steps behind her. He’d died six months ago in Ireland, and she had thought she would be safe then, but her mother had warned her years ago that she might never be safe.

“You are Sean O’Brien’s only child. He’ll never let you escape. You can be used as a bargaining tool. His second-in-command will want you to justify his claim to take over your father’s empire. Trust me. That’s how it works.”

The warning had terrified Kara. She had wanted no part of her father’s life. He’d run the Irish mobs on both sides of the ocean from Dublin and the Irish Westies in New York.

“Keep moving,” her mother had always said. “Never stay put too long, or he’ll find you.”

It hadn’t been an easy life. She always had a fake ID in her purse, and she kept herself mostly off the grid. She didn’t even own a cell phone. It wasn’t like in the movies where someone could get a fake ID and an entire life all set up with bank accounts. That wasn’t reality. The less paper trail she left behind the better, and that kept her off the police radar. Most of the big cities in the northeast had someone on the inside who fed information to O’Brien. If her name ever came up in a report, someone would find out, and then O’Brien would find out. She had debating even going to Chicago, given the large Irish population, but she’d also known that a red-headed Irish girl would stick out more in a rural town than it would in a town full of Irish descendants. It was the whole hide in plain sight idea that she was hoping would keep her safe.

“You okay, hon?” Mabel nudged Kara’s elbow, pulling her out of her thoughts.

“Sorry, I was just thinking.” Kara put a cookie on a man’s plate. He gave her a smile, though his eyes held a broken world behind them. She passed out a dozen more cookies before the bell above the volunteer entrance at the back of the soup kitchen jingled. She turned to see who’d come in.

There, amidst the eddies and currents of glittering snow dancing through the doorway from the dark night beyond, a man stepped into the light. His tousled dark hair glinted with melting snow. His eyes, a brilliant, honey-brown shade seemed to glow when he smiled at Paul. Underneath his coat the man wore a cream fisherman’s sweater that draped over his broad shoulders. And his face… he was like a bronzed god with a strong jaw and cheekbones cut from stone.

“Holy shit!” she gasped before she could stop herself.

Mabel’s mouth fell open at Kara’s unexpected curse.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean… but wow… he’s… wow. Who is he?” Kara asked utterly stunned.

She simply couldn’t look away.

Even Mabel blushed. “That is Angelo Vertucci. He owns the Italian Village restaurant that donates the food every week. He’s our biggest contributor to the soup kitchen.”

Angelo was laughing at something Paul said and Angelo’s eyes seemed to sparkle with a life and vitality that Kara envied.

“Tell me he’s an arrogant jerk, that he’s just there to do community service or something. He is, right? I mean, no one can be that perfect, can they?” Kara was only half kidding.

Mabel laughed and patted her hand. “Oh honey, they can be that perfect. And trust me, Mr. Vertucci is.”

When the man… Angelo, what a fitting name for a man who looked like an angel, turned to join the volunteer line, Kara hastily focused on handing out cookies again. For a moment she felt his gaze settle upon her, like a gentle touch or a curious caress, before he looked away again.

A strange, heated pulse burned through her body, warming up her fingers and toes. That single gaze from a man she’d never met had changed something inside her, something she couldn’t quite pinpoint. She only knew that after seeing him, nothing could ever be the same again. She clamped her mouth shut so he wouldn’t see her gawking at him and turned away before he looked at her again.

Once the crowds of been served, Mabel suggested the volunteers sing some Christmas carols. Within minutes, “Silent Night” was echoing through the room while people ate. Kara drifted toward the side of the room in her usual desire to keep under the radar. She was content to listen to Paul and Mabel sing the loudest because they had the best voices.

She saw Angelo at the back of the room, leaning against the wall, his arms crossed, but in a relaxed rather than a brooding way. The volunteer apron he wore only enhanced his physique, the strings tied tight at his trim waist. His lips were curved up just at the ends as though he was unaware that he was smiling. Somehow that warmed her even more, the thought of a single subtle smile from this man.

The last thing Kara should do right now was make a fool of herself, or worse… actually start something with a man like him. But she couldn’t stop herself from moving toward him.

She swallowed against the sudden dryness she felt in her mouth and throat. Then she joined him and couldn’t help but smile when he turned that gorgeous face her way.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

“There’s nothing more beautiful than Christmas carols,” he agreed.

Lord, his voice was deep and gravelly, but honesty and kindness rang clearly in his tone. He probably could sing like an angel.

Her face heated. “Oh. I meant… I meant the way these people have a home here, at least for a few hours. A place with joy, food and companionship. That’s beautiful.”

His gaze drifted from the people in front of them to her, and she wondered what he saw. Her wild red hair, her green, cable knit sweater pockmarked with holes, or the torn blue jeans she still had to wear in December along with her scuffed boots.

“Yes, that’s beautiful too,” he said.

His eyes held hers and for an instant something inside of her went very still. That wild, desperate need to run simply stopped. For a moment her life felt as still as a lake, her mind quiet.

This too perfect man made her want to stay right where she was, made her want a home so badly it terrified her. Because that wasn’t her life. Her life was moving from place to place, making acquaintances, never friends. Having apartments, never a home. Staying one step ahead and always looking over her shoulder.

The only solace and peace she’d found in that constantly moving life was that she lived in and visited lots of different places and experienced different things that she might never have seen if she’d lived in just one place. She could never have a home, a happy ending or peace, because her father’s men would always be after her.

She had to get away from him before she did something foolish, like tug him under that bough of mistletoe a few feet away.

“Can you tell Paul that I’m leaving?” she asked Angelo. She couldn’t keep the slight tremor out of her voice. In just a few minutes, this man had completely undone her composure and made her want to risk things she couldn’t risk.

“Sure.” His brows drew together in obvious concern, but he turned away to call for Paul. She rushed to grab her coat and purse, flying out into the snowy night.

She crossed the street, ducking her head as she walked into the wind, moving quickly.

Just then, a figure lunged out of the nearest alleyway. Kara gasped as a man knocked her to the ground in a vicious tackle. He snatched her purse and adjusted the mask on his face while keeping her pinned to the ground.

“Stop! Help!” Kara tried to hit him with her free hand so she could get her purse back. He avoided falling but stumbled, her purse dropping to the ground as he tried to steady himself on the alley wall.

She grabbed her purse and got to her feet just as the man dove at her again.

“Kara!” Someone shouted at her. The mugger tensed.

Somehow, Angelo was there, throwing a fist in the man’s face. How did he know her name? She had never introduced herself to him.

With a grunt of pain, the mugger moved back, clutching his chin with one hand. In his other, a knife gleamed in the muted streetlight. He slashed it through the air in warning as Angelo moved toward him, unafraid.

“Get out of here!” Angelo growled as he advanced on the mugger. Even though he towered over the man, the mugger lunged at him, then suddenly turned and ran, vanishing into the night. Angelo turned back to Kara, breathing a little harder as he put a hand to his side.

“You okay?” he asked.

She nodded. “Are you?” Her gaze dropped where he held his hand to his abdomen. Bright red blood was oozing from between his fingers and spreading across his white sweater. Kara wanted to throw up.

“Yeah, of course—” he started.

She raised a shaky hand and pointed at him. “But you’re bleeding…”

Angelo glanced down, dropping his hand away from his sweater and swaying on his feet.

“Oh my God!” She rushed to put his arm around her shoulders to keep him upright. His legs buckled, his weight draping over her, and she grunted with the effort to keep him standing.

“Call… 911…” he gasped, sliding off her supportive stance and falling on his back in the snow.

“I don’t have a phone…” she said, her vision blurring with tears. This beautiful, wonderful man was going to die because of her.

“Left pocket…” Angelo nodded at his body, and she realized he meant his jeans. She carefully rolled him onto his side a few inches and gingerly searched his back left pocket, pulling out a cell phone. Thankfully the phone had no screen lock, so she swiped up and dialed 911 immediately.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“A man’s been stabbed… we’re just outside the Clifton Avenue soup kitchen…please hurry!” She pressed her free hand against the wound on his stomach as she watched his eyes gaze up into the snow falling from the skies.

“Wanted to kiss you… to chase the shadows from… your lovely eyes…” Angelo murmured drowsily as he stared up at her. Then his dark lashes fluttered and his eyes closed.

“Mr. Vertucci! Stay with me! Angelo!”

Please don’t die… please…

Chapter Two

Kara kept her eyes on Angelo, one hand on his abdomen where he’d been stabbed, trying to keep pressure on it. Blood oozed between her fingers and her vision swam. She had never been good with blood.

“Stay on the line, ma’am.” The 911 dispatcher’s voice was calm, and Kara was grateful. “Is he conscious?”

Angelo’s eyes fluttered briefly as he struggled to stay conscious. Her stomach knotted with a panic so intense that she almost passed out. He couldn’t die. Not on Christmas… not for her. She wasn’t worth dying for.

The dispatcher’s voice cut through her spiraling panic. “Ma’am? Are you still there?”

Kara felt him breathing even though his eyes were open but glassy. “Yes. His eyes are open… and his breathing seems even.” But hers sure wasn’t. She was shaking all over.

“Where is he injured?”

“Lower abdomen?” That sounded about right.

“Is the blood dark or bright red?”

“Uh… Bright red.”

“Good. Can you put your phone on speaker, and keep pressure on his wounds? If any of his organs are showing, do not touch them or try to put them back inside.”

His organs?

Kara flinched at the thought of Angelo’s organs falling out, but she couldn’t see anything except his blood soaking his sweater, thank God. She couldn’t have handled that.

“Can you tell me what you see on the wound?”

“I think the man just stabbed him, like puncturing him rather than slicing,” she clarified. She replayed the moment over in her mind, positive that was what she’d seen.

The dispatcher gave her more instructions, which she followed. The squeamish part of her that had panicked about touching his wound had turned off. She went into autopilot to do what had to be done, while the rest of her stayed focused on Angelo’s face.

He stared up at her, concern and confusion present in his expression. His gorgeous honey brown eyes would be her undoing.

“Stay… with me?” he asked, his voice so soft she almost thought she’d imagined it.

“I’m here…” she said breathlessly. “I’m here, Angelo. I’m not going to leave you.” The words caught in her throat. She’d been left alone when her mother died… she wasn’t going to leave him.

Church bells rang in the distance, their beautiful sound contrasting the bloody scene in the alleyway.

Sirens could be heard in the distance and in a matter of minutes an ambulance pulled up in front of the alley. Two paramedics rushed toward Angelo, and she fell back on the snowy ground to give them room to work on him. They spoke quickly to each other and to Angelo. She started to shake so violently that she couldn’t focus on what they were saying.

“No…” Angelo murmured in response to something one of them had asked.

“Just hold on. We’re going to move you to a stretcher,” one of them said.

They returned to the ambulance and pulled the stretcher out. It took less than a minute for them to lift Angelo onto the stretcher and strap him in. Then they raised it up, ready to roll it to the ambulance. One of them turned to her as if suddenly remembering she was in the alley with them.

“Ma’am, are you hurt?”

She studied her scraped palms. She was a bit banged up, but she was fine. “No, I’m okay.”

The EMT nodded. “If you’re family, you can ride with us to the hospital.”

Kara began to shake her head—but then stopped. She wanted to make sure Angelo would be all right, but couldn’t lie about being his family.

“Or you can wait here for the police,” the EMT said.

“The p—police?” She choked on the word.

“Yeah. They’ll be here soon to document everything and take your statement.”

Panic flooded her again. She couldn’t face the police. She had to leave. If the police looked into who she was… She needed to vanish. Hide. It was everything her mother had taught her about staying alive.

In the distance, her ears now heard police sirens. Her skin prickled with foreboding. She had to leave now. She was all set to smile and nod at the EMT, assure him she would wait for the police, then flee the moment the ambulance pulled away.

But she made a mistake. She glanced at Angelo once more, his pale face twisted in pain, his eyes peering at her with fear, finding her.

“Stay… with me?” She’d promised not to leave him. She’d promised.

His breathless plea stuck in her chest, stilling her feet and burrowing so deeply into her heart that she couldn’t get it out. She couldn’t leave him. She had to make sure, for herself, that he was looked after. She had to keep her promise to him—to stay with him, so he wouldn’t be alone after saving her. He was a hero—her hero—and she couldn’t let him face whatever was coming alone.

“Ma’am?” The paramedic pressed. “We have to go now.” He started moving Angelo’s stretcher to the ambulance.

“Wait! I’m his fiancée!”

The EMT turned back to her when she blurted this out, his eyes automatically going down to her gloved hands before returning to her face.

She continued, “I want to ride in the ambulance with him, please.”

The EMT nodded. “Okay, hop in.”

The man helped her into the ambulance, then slammed the doors shut while the other EMT got into the driver’s seat, hit the switch for the sirens and lights, and pulled out into the street.

She watched them put a mask over Angelo’s face to give him oxygen and his eyes closed.

“Can I hold his hand?” she asked.

“Yes.” The man continued to keep pressure on Angelo’s wound, and all Kara could do was curl her fingers around Angelo’s. They were cold, and she hoped her touch could help warm them a little. She thought she felt his fingers twitch in response, and tightened her hold a bit more.

I’m here… Angelo. I’m here. You helped me… I hope I can help you.

She held onto his hand as though that would keep his spirit tethered to her, to the world of the living. She kept seeing the scene in the alley in her head as the ambulance flew down the dark, snowy streets. He’d stepped in between her and that man to save her without a moment’s hesitation. He didn’t even know her other than her name, yet he’d risked his life for her stupid purse.

She stared at Angelo’s face. Who was this gentle, brave hero?

Angelo Vertucci stared up at the horizontal lights that flashed past his vision. Everything was bright, glaring, white, and disorienting. Where was he? Voices shouted over his head in a confusing swarm of faces all around him. He was moving, rolling, but then occasionally he would jerk to a stop before he started rolling again.

Everything was cold.

Something sharp pricked his arm.

“We have to get him into surgery, ma’am. We’ll have a doctor come see you in the waiting room with news. Take his clothing and his personal items.” Someone was saying right near his head.

A vision of a beauty appeared above him. Hair as wavy as the sea, but the color of a fiery dawn. Her big, blue eyes were haunted with sorrow.

I know those eyes… How do I know those eyes?

He tried to move, to reach out to the woman, but her face vanished and his head swirled with pain. His vision went dark.

He faded into that unwelcome void, and when a faint light appeared in the distance he swam toward it. Then he was falling into a dark alley, snow swirling around him. He saw himself lying on the ground, bleeding. It was as though he was standing over his own body watching it happen. The flame-haired woman was crouched over him, her face strained with tears as she called 911. Church bells rang in the distance, a sound he usually liked but at this moment held a note of doom.

All he could do was stare at the melancholy scene before him. Was he dying? She there with him, holding his hand and weeping for him.

Who are you?

Kara… her name drifted through his pain fogged mind. He knew her name… but nothing else.

He tried to speak, but his words echoed only in the encroaching darkness as he fell into the black abyss again… only this time with no light to guide him home.

Kara stood just inside the waiting room entrance, holding a clear, plastic bag containing Angelo’s sweater, wallet and keys. They’d partially stripped him out of his clothes and put his wallet and other items from his pockets into a clear bag which they’d given to Kara. She’d been warned that the police might need to take any or all of the items into evidence. She’d flinched at the mention of the police, but she couldn’t run now. She had to know Angelo was okay.

I have to keep my promise. I won’t leave him.

A nurse guided her to the waiting room and spoke to the attendant before rushing back the way she’d come.

The emergency room desk attendant held out a clipboard of paperwork. “Here honey, fill this out for me.” The woman offered Kara a kind, sympathetic smile.

Hands still covered with streaks of dried blood, she accepted the clipboard. The assistant didn’t bat an eyelash at the state of Kara’s clothes, which suggested just how much she saw in this waiting room.

Numb, Kara sank onto a chair and stared at the form. After a moment, she started to fill out the information in the boxes of the form. She had Angelo’s wallet, so she could use his driver’s license to fill in some of the information. She didn’t know his Social Security number or his medical history, of course, but she filled what she could based on his license and health insurance card.

When she reached the relationship box and her contact info, she used her temporary apartment and listed herself as his fiancée. Then returned the forms and sat back down in a chair to wait.

She stared at the doors she’d come through, the doors that led to the hallway where she’d come in through the emergency entrance with the stretcher and the EMTs. All she could do was replay the entire terrifying encounter over and over again.

I was careful. So careful. Why did this happen? Why…

There was no way to explain why bad people did bad things… or why someone like Angelo Vertucci would step between her and danger without a second thought. Before she’d realized it, a full hour past and it was around nine o’clock at night. She had nowhere to be, no one to worry about her….

“Oh god!” She gasped.

Angelo’s family. Surely someone was waiting for him to come home. A wife…a girlfriend, or at least some family? How could she find them? Then it struck her, the answer so obvious.

She dug around her pocket where she’d tucked Angelo’s cell phone, which she remembered had no screen lock. She scanned the contact menu until she found the list of recent calls.

Mom was the one of the recently dialed contacts. She had to call someone for him. His family had to know what happened.

It rang three times, then a woman answered with a bright and husky laugh. “Angelo, where are you? Have you left the soup kitchen yet? We’re ready for dinner! I pulled everything out of the oven. We’re waiting on you.”

Kara’s chest crushed in on itself as she forced herself to breathe. The sounds of happy voices in the background threatened to drown her because she knew she was about to destroy it all.

“Mrs. Vertucci?” Her voice wavered.

“Yes?” The woman’s voice softened slightly. “Who is this?”

“You don’t know me. My name is Kara Gallagher. I was with your son tonight at the soup kitchen. He’s been hurt… H—he’s in surgery at the hospital. You need to come here at once.”

“What?!” His voice came muffled, probably covering the phone with her hand as she shouted for everyone to be quiet. The muffling stopped and she said, “Where is he?”

Kara gave her the hospital name and address. “I’m in the waiting room. I have Angelo’s phone if you need to reach me.”

“We’ll be there right away. We just need to get a neighbor to watch the grandchildren.” The call ended and Kara sank back into the uncomfortable hard wooden chair, suddenly overcome with exhaustion.

Half an hour later, four people burst into the waiting room in a flurry of voices. Kara knew immediately they must be related to Angelo because of their looks. An older man in his late sixties with a face much like Angelo’s was holding the shoulders of an older woman with dark hair and light brown eyes the same shade as Angelo’s. His parents.

The younger man was perhaps his brother—he looked close to Angelo’s age—accompanied by a blonde haired woman. They moved as a group to the check-in desk. Then the attendant pointed at Kara.

“That is his fiancée over there,” the attendant said helpfully. Kara wanted to disappear into the floor, but there was no way to avoid this. All four turned toward her, their mouths open in shock. Had the situation not be so dire, she would have laughed at their comical reaction.

“Fiancée?” The older man murmured to the older woman, who just shrugged helplessly, her eyes filled with tears.

Kara swallowed hard and stood up.

The man she assumed was Angelo’s father came forward. “Are you Kara? The one who called us?”

“Yes, I’m Kara Gallagher.”

“Kara…” The man’s voice held a hint of Italian, faint but definitely there. “And you are Angelo’s… fiancée?”

She never should’ve said that. But if she hadn’t, she might have had to talk to the police, and she couldn’t have kept her promise to stay with him. And who knew how long it would be before someone contacted his parents? Now what was she supposed to do?

Thinking quick, but not thinking straight, she replied, “Yes… I’m so sorry he didn’t tell you about us. Our relationship is really new. And our engagement is a still a bit unofficial.” That would help explain why she didn’t have a ring on her finger. Later, when she knew Angelo was going to be okay, she would find a way to fade into the background and never be seen again.

The parents exchanged a glance and then Angelo’s mother was suddenly hugging Kara tightly.

“Oh…you are so beautiful. Think of the beautiful little nipotini they will have, Matteo.” The woman was grinning, now, wiping away her tears but Kara could see how worried she was.

“Yes, yes,” Matteo said, but he focused on Kara. “What happened to our boy? You said he was hurt? How?”

“We were leaving the soup kitchen and a man tried to grab my purse. Angelo fought him and… he was stabbed.”

Angelo’s mother paled.

“Stabbed?” The man she assumed was Angelo’s brother now stepped forward.

“Yes. I kept pressure on the wound and called 911. We came straight here.”

“Were you hurt, Kara?” Matteo asked.

“No, not really,” she reassured them.

“But your hands…” Matteo gestured to her hands. She glanced down at the blood staining her fingers and palms. She kept forgetting she was covered in Angelo’s blood. The blood of their son.

“I’m all right, I promise.”

“And Angelo?” his mother asked. “Is he all right?”

“Angelo is in surgery. I haven’t heard any updates yet.”

Angelo’s mother put an arm around her. “Let’s wash the blood off your hands.”

“Wait,” Angelo’s brother said, looking at Kara. “Have you talked to the police yet?”

She shook her head, and fresh fear crept back under her skin. The police. She couldn’t talk to the police… but she had to now. There was no way to get out of it without lying, and she’d lied enough to today.

The younger man offered her a tense smile. “I’m Dante, Angelo’s brother. This is my wife, Alessia.” He nodded at the woman standing at his side who smiled in sympathy. “These are my parents, Matteo and Francesca.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Kara said, her tongue a bit tied by the unexpected introductions.

“Right. Let me find the police. They usually have someone working in the building.” Dante was gone for only a minute. When he returned, he had an officer with him. “I told him what happened and how you came here with Angelo in the ambulance.”

The officer looked at her, his eyes gentle. “I heard the call on the radio. I’m glad I can get your statement. Do you mind stepping into the hall with me, ma’am?”

She swallowed hard and nodded, following him into the whitewashed hospital hallway.

He pulled out his notepad and clicked open a pen. “What’s your name?”

Her mother’s voice screamed in her head to lie about anything she was asked, but she couldn’t. They’d check her current fake ID. She’d get caught now if she tried. “Kara… Gallagher.” Gallagher was the latest fake last name she went by. She had a name changing protocol, using Kara only once every few years since it was her real first name.

“All right, Kara. What happened tonight?” he asked her.

She walked through how she’d left the soup kitchen, the attack, Angelo’s intervention, how he was stabbed and the man fled.

“You said the man wore a mask? Did you see anything on him, or anything about his face or voice that might help us narrow down a search?”

“His eyes were blue…” She shut her own eyes, trying to picture everything happening again. “The mask was one of those things that covered everything but his eyes. I honestly couldn’t see anything else.”

The officer wrote down the details and collected her address.

“No phone number?” he asked, a little incredulous.

“No. I don’t have a cell phone.”

The cop shook his head. “How anyone can go without a phone these days? What about an email address?”

“I do have that.” She had an email address that she changed every six months, and gave him her current one. The officer added it to his report notes.

Then he pulled out a contact card and wrote a number down on the back of it before handing it to her.

“If you think of anything else we need to know about the incident, call my cell. I’ll be the officer writing up your report. If you want to come by the station and write a more official statement, you can do that anytime.”

“Is it okay to wash my hands?” she asked, showing him the blood.

“Sure. Let me take a few pictures of them in the hallway first, okay?” He escorted her in the hall where there was a blank wall for her to stand against.

She imagined pushing the cop away and making a run for it. But she couldn’t do that. She’d promised Angelo she would stay which meant facing the cops and dealing with the risk that came with it.

The officer snapped photos of her bloody sweater and her hands. They also took one of her face because she had a few scrapes and bruises. Her mother’s words kept ringing in her head, never let the cops take your photo.

Tonight, she’d just risked putting herself in the path of her father’s men. They had contacts everywhere, and if her name came across the wrong person… She shivered. No, don’t think about that right now. Kara was used to planning for the worst scenarios possible, but she didn’t want to do that right now. Not when she was so worried about Angelo.

Once Angelo was out of the hospital and she knew he was okay, she’d have to move again. Get as far away from Chicago as she could… Maybe Arizona this time, she’d always wanted to see the Grand Canyon. She’d start preparing tonight.

“We’ll email you a copy of the report once it’s written up,” said the policeman.

Kara tucked the officer’s card in her jeans pocket. “Th—thank you.”

The police radio his shoulder beeped and someone started talking through it. The officer lifted the radio off his shoulder and held it to his mouth to answer. He gave Kara one more polite nod before left down the hall.

Kara returned to the waiting room, where she was swarmed by Angelo’s family asking how it went.

“I gave him my statement, and he took some pictures of my sweater and my hands. He said I can wash them now.”

“Yes, now we can get you cleaned up,” Francesca took Kara’s arm gently in hers.

“I think I have a sweater in my car that will fit her,” said Alessia. “I’ll grab it and call the neighbors to check on the kids.” She kissed Dante’s cheek and left the waiting room.

“Kids?” Kara asked.

“Our kids,” Dante said. “We had Angelo’s next door neighbor come over and keep an eye on them.”

She vaguely remembered the mother saying something about calling the neighbor to watch the grandchildren. “Oh…” Kara was feeling numb and tired again.

Angelo’s father and brother found empty chairs to sit in while Francesca escorted Kara to the bathroom.

For a long moment she stood there, still so numb with shock over everything that happened. She stared at the battered, wild-haired woman in the mirror, blood on her clothes, tears in her eyes. She just couldn’t compel herself to move.

“You poor thing,” Francesca tutted as she turned on the water in the sink.

Angelo’s mother tested the water and when she was satisfied, she pulled Kara close, holding her hands in the water for her, gently rinsing them. Then she took a wet paper towel and gently wiped at smudges of dirt and blood on Kara’s cheek.

Neither of them spoke for a long moment as Francesca cleaned her. Something inside Kara fractured at the woman’s gentle, motherly care. By the time Francesca was helping her dry her hands, Kara was crying, her eyes full of big fat, detestable tears.

“Oh bambina,” she soothed as she pulled Kara to hug. “It’s okay… it’s okay.”

The stress and fear of the attack, the fear she felt for Angelo, and the sight of all that blood was simply too much for her at the moment. A man could die because of her. A man who’d only ever been kind to everyone.

Francesca held her for a long while until the sobs subsided.

“Feel better?” Francesca asked.

Kara nodded, feeling like a silly child as she rubbed her hands against her eyes and cheeks to wipe away her tears.

“This is scary for all of us,” Francesca said. “You love my son, and you watched him get hurt. That must have been terrifying.” Francesca brushed a hand over Kara’s wild red hair. “But Angelo is stubborn. All my boys are. He’ll be fine. You’ll see.”

“He has more than one brother?” She regretted the question the moment she asked it. Angelo’s fiancée should know how many brothers he had.

“Yes, of course! He has three.” Francesca laughed. “He didn’t tell you about us?”

Kara struggled to cover her tracks. “He mentioned he had brothers, just not how many… I’m so sorry I didn’t know.”

“You and Angelo have been dating a long time?”

She shook her head. “Not long… only two months.” The lies continued. “That’s why the engagement was still unofficial. We were mostly just talking about it. We hadn’t made any concrete plans yet.”