{TYLER}
I'm standing in the cellar, hands on my hips, when I hear footsteps coming down the stairs.
"Angel?"
"Yeah."
Sasha comes up behind me and wraps his arms around me. He doesn't ask why I'm down here, and I love that about him. He knows. He gets it. We stand there together, breathing in and out, coming to terms with what we've done tonight.
I told Sasha more than once that I wanted to be there when we ended the man who started all these chaos. He was resistant at first, but when the Commission laid out their objections, he agreed I could be there at the dinner—as long as I had a gun with me.
"I like my husband armed and dangerous," he told me, "and able to defend himself."
"No arguments from me," I told him. Vollero was the one who fed us intel about when a sympathetic bodyguard would be on duty—Thursday night— and everything fell into place. When that bodyguard patted me down, he said nothing about the gun strapped to my ankle.
And so the stage was set.
