I know.
“Did you put your fucking hands on her?” Alphonse’s tone was lethal.
“Fuck no,” I snapped. “I would never touch her.Ever.”
“That still doesn’t explain how she was taken,” he pressed.
I ran my hands down my scruff in frustration, trying to steady myself before I gave him all the details of what happened the night my Angel was taken.
I’d put a bullet in my heart to end this suffering that came from betraying the one woman who loved me, flaws and all. The memory of that night haunted me, her tied to that chair, helpless and begging me to trust her—tobelievethat our love was enough to withstand the fires of hell. I’d do anything to take back that moment, to erase the horror I inflicted on her.
“Jesus, fuck.” Alphonse breathed sharply after I finished. He turned away from me, his back rigid, and stood before the window, gazing at the mountains. The clouds rolled in, swallowing the bright blue sky and casting a shadow over the landscape.
He dismissed his guards with a curt wave. Their footsteps faded into silence, leaving us alone in muted stillness.
“Angelica was the love of my life,” he whispered, breaking the silence. “I should’ve done more to protect her, to protect them both. But I knew as long as we were still alive, she would never be safe. And now…knowing she was killed, that my daughter witnessed her death—it makes me want to tear the world apart. I failed her. I failed them both.”
“You didn’t fail them, Al,” Dante interjected.
Alphonse lifted his head to meet his gaze. “This whole time, Angelica was alive. I lostyearsof my daughter’s life. And now her mother is dead, and my daughter’s been taken by who the fuck knows.” He shook his head, his jaw clenched tight.
“You said he calls himself the Puppet Master?” Alphonse asked, shooting a glance in my direction.
I bobbed my head.
“And you said he used suicide bombers?”
I froze, every nerve in my body on high alert. “Yes, why?”
“Fuck,” he muttered, placing his hands on his hips. “It can’t be.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked as I stood. Luca mirrored my movement.
Alphonse’s eyes locked onto mine. “There was only one man I knew who had a fascination with bombs.”
“Who was it?” Dante asked.
His gaze remained steady, but a muscle twitched in his jaw. “Giuseppe, Angelica’s father,” Alphonse stated. “My daughter’s grandfather.”
“What do you mean, her grandfather?” I asked in disbelief.
“Are you certain?” Dante inquired, his eyebrows knitting together.
“Giuseppe was known as theburattinaiobecause he liked to play games and manipulate others. Letting them know he was the one in control.”
Dante’s gaze fell to the ground. “Shit, that’s right,” he whispered.
“It’s what he did to my men,” Alphonse continued. “He strapped them with bombs and released them back to me, blowing up my front lawn along with my men.”
“Did you kill him?” I growled.
“I tried!” Alphonse snapped, his eyes flashing. “But someone else got to him before I could. After I found out that he killed Angelica, I intended to save his wife and Angelica’s sister. We had a plan, but by the time we moved, his house was already blown to hell.”
“Did you receive confirmation that he was dead?” Dante pressed.
“The police confirmed there were no survivors,” Alphonse explained.
I straightened. “So there’s a slight chance he could still be alive.”
