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“Angel? You okay?” Abel asked with a frown.
She swallowed her laughter down as best as she could, turning back around and looking into his eyes instead of the magic crown in black ink. “I’m good,” she told him. “Are you okay? What has you so tired?”
“Yeah. Just chasing down Godfrey, the asshole, coupled with helping out Claire because of her arm has meant some long days,” he explained with a yawn. “But don’t worry, I promise to be on my A game tonight.”
Now she felt bad about the prank. Knowing her man, it was permanent marker.
Abel reached up to scratch his head. It looked like he was rubbing the tip of the dick, right where the slit was. Luca choked on the water he was drinking, and Sal was forced to pat him on the back. All the while, Luca’s eyes remained locked on Abel’s forehead. When he frowned, it made the shaft wrinkle, causing Luca to gurgle incoherently this time.
Abel huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “Seriously. What’s going on with all of you?”
“Nothing,” Sal replied quickly. “Nothing at all.”
Abel narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “You’re all acting weird,” he accused. He looked around the room, his eyes passing quickly over the ornamental mirror on the wall. His body stiffened a second later. He took a deep breath in, glaring at a snickering Salvatore and a stoic Roman, before taking a longer look at his reflection.
“What the fuck?!” Abel shouted. He spun towards his two best friends, looking furious.
“Oh shit,” Salvatore exclaimed. “Run!”
Roman and Sal took off, with Abel not far behind. Angela watched the three men run around the room, dodging furniture and jumping couches. Roman made a beeline for the kitchen, leaving Sal to fend for himself.
“I’ve got you now,” Abel growled, stalking Sal like a predator did its prey.
Sal looked around wildly before he grabbed Luca, placing him in front of his chest like a personal shield. “Really? You’re going to sacrifice me?” Luca asked. “I thought it was true love.”
“All’s fair in love and war, sweetheart,” Sal pointed out. “Besides, we all know Abel won’t hurt you.” Abel picked Luca up, carefully moving him to the side. Sal gulped. “I didn’t think this through.”
Abel crash-tackled Salvatore, knocking him to the ground. Angela yelped, quickly moving out of the line of fire. Roman watched the two men roll around on the floor, each fighting for dominance for a moment before he joined the fray, gripping Abel’s calf and squeezing. Abel howled, his leg lashing out and sweeping Roman off his feet. When Roman landed on his stomach, Abel jumped on his back, trapping Roman’s hands beneath his own body, and pinning him to the ground. Abel then whipped out a switchblade, brandishing it close to Roman’s face so he could see the wicked gleam along its sharp edge.
Roman stopped struggling. “What are you doing? Get that knife away from my face. You’ll take out an eye.”
Abel moved the blade away from Roman’s face when Roman bucked, but he didn’t put it away. “Forget your eyes,” he said. “I’m going to shave you bald.”
“What?” Roman yelped. “Not my precious hair!”
Angela couldn’t help but laugh. She’d learned that Roman was very particular about his hair. The assortment of hair products in the bathroom ranged from masks to oils and mousse. Her own hair was thick, long, and wavy, and she tended to it lovingly. But Roman put her to shame. He even had a private hair stylist who normally trimmed it to the millimeter every six weeks like clockwork.
“Yes.” Abel cackled with relish. “Your hair. Your first love. Say goodbye.”
Roman moved his head from side to side, trying to avoid the sharp blade. But his movements were restricted by Abel’s bulk. She wondered how far the antics would go and if she needed to step in when Sal pounced on Abel, grabbing the knife and flinging it aside.
“Go, Roman! Save yourself. Don’t forget about me!” he cried when Abel wrestled him to the floor once more.
A knock sounded at the door, and she winced, knowing it was their guest.
“I’ll get it,” Luca volunteered.
“Shouldn’t we stop them?” Angela asked, her eyes pinned on the three wrestling men. They looked like crocodiles caught in a death roll.
“Nope,” he said, leaving to answer the door.
Sister Philomena entered moments later with a grinning Luca. Before she could say hello, her eyes widened at the tableau in front of her. “Am I early?”
“You’re right on time,” Angela assured her.
“Take that!” Roman yelled abruptly. He was trying to garrote Abel with his sock.
Abel flapped around, dislodging Roman, but somehow ended up with the sock hanging from his head and half-covering his face. “Ugh! It stinks! I’ve been poisoned,” he cried dramatically, sinking to the floor. Roman and Sal crowed in delight, taunting Abel as he writhed dramatically.
