Novels by Angel

Ethan's POV I don’t even know why I’m doing this.The thought played on a loop in my head as my motorcycle ate up the empty road. Ahead of me, the old factory rose out of the darkness. It was stupid, coming here alone or just simply come. But I did it without really knowing why.I killed the engine a ways off, the sudden silence settling. I was already here. No turning back now.I parked the bike and walked the rest of the way. The whole place felt empty and dead.I was about halfway across the cracked parking lot when shadows moved away from the walls Andrew froze.Men. Five of them moved quietly, surrounding me without saying a word.One stepped forward. His face was hard to see in the dark."Are you alone?" he asked. His voice flat."Yeah," I said. "I’m alone."He came closer, his hands patting me down, checking for a weapon. "Did anyone follow you?"I opened my mouth to answer, when a voice cut through the darkness from behind them."Leave him."The men immediately stepped back,

Luca’s POVThe front door of the police station swung open, and my father stepped out into the gray morning light. He looked like he was leaving a board meeting, not an interrogation. Not a hair out of place, his suit impeccable.Our family’s lawyer, Mr. Abati, stepped in front of him just as the horde of journalists descended. Microphones were shoved forward like weapons."Don Vitale! Don Vitale! Any comment on the bombing?" "Is it true the Blackwoods are blaming your family?" "How do you explain that no high-ranking Vitales were among the dead?"My father didn’t flinch. He let Mr. Abati be the shield."My client has fully cooperated with the authorities in this tragic matter," Abati announced, his voice calm and practiced. "Don Vitale expresses his profound sorrow and offers his thoughts and prayers to all the victims and their families but especially the Blackwoods who were severely affected by this tragedy. This was a horrific act of violence against our entire community, and he p

Ethan’s POVThe priest’s voice drifted over the cemetery. He was trying to be comforting, I think, but his words felt distant and meaningless.“We commend their souls to God, trusting in His mercy and grace…”I stood with my family, fists tight at my sides. Two coffins sat there, dark and still, waiting to go into the ground. My mom cried quietly into her handkerchief, her eyes shadowed with fatigue. Gianna, my little sister, clung to her arm, tears running down her face. Her hands shook like leaves in the wind.“Be strong, Gia,” I whispered, putting a hand on her shoulder. “You gotta be strong for him.”Dad stood stiff, almost like a statue. I’d never seen him cry, not even when he had been badly injured. Not now. His jaw was tight, his eyes hard. But I could feel him holding everything in. He was the boss. He couldn’t let anyone see weakness. Caleb was his son, his flesh and blood, and Uncle Sam, his brother, but Dad never let himself break down.As for me, I hadn't gotten over Cale

Boom. A deafening blast shook the room through the east wing of the casino and fire erupted.A thick and shocking smoke swallowed everything, “Dad! Caleb! Uncle Sam!” I shouted, my voice swallowed by the chaos around me.people screamed, tripping over each other, trying to escape the collapse of the ceiling or find some clean air to breath. Dust and debris fell like rain from the ceiling.But Blackwood men were already pulling guns, searching for enemis in the mess.“Dad! Dad! Caleb! Uncle Sam!” I shouted again, hoping, praying, that they were still alive somewhere in this chao.And that's when I spotted him. My uncle Sam lay sprawled near the bar, Bathing in his own blood. Two cousins were dragging him. But I still had to find Caleb and dad.Then I saw movement. Marco, one of our enforcers, running toward me, his face was turned up and bloody. "Ethan! You have to get out! Now!" he yelled.“Not without my family." I shoved past him, making my way through the panicking crowd. The mixt

The ride back to the hospital feels longer than it should. Every streetlight flashes across the windshield like a slow metronome, ticking off the seconds I’m not ready for.Dad drives in silence, Mom staring out the window. None of us speak, and yet the weight of what just happened follows us like a shadow.When we finally step into Oliver’s room, Isabella is already there. She rises quickly from her chair, searching my face.“What did they say?”I glance at Oliver before answering. He’s propped up against the pillows, paler than he should be but awake, eyes alert. His gaze locks on mine, steady, waiting.I clear my throat. “Can we have a minute?” I ask Isabella softly.She hesitates, then nods, brushing her fingers across Oliver’s hand before slipping past me. Dad and Mom follow, closing the door behind them.Now it’s just me and him.For a while, I just stand there, caught in the hum of the machines and the soft shuffle of sheets as he adjusts his position.“Jude,” he says finally,

The officer at the desk eyes me carefully when I make the request.“i want to speak with him?”He nods. “Yes. But Just for a few minutes.”Agent Raines hesitates, but after a beat he gestures to the hall. “Five minutes. No more.”Dad starts to protest, but Mom puts a hand on his arm. “Let him,” she whispers.The walk down the corridor feels longer than it is, every step echoing in the sterile quiet. At the end, a heavy door clicks open, and I’m led into a small interview room. The table is bolted to the floor, the chairs scuffed with years of use.And then he’s there.Zane sits shackled at the wrists, his posture rigid but his expression showing nothing not even remorse. unreadable. His dark eyes lift when I enter, but he doesn’t speak. Not even when the officer steps out and leaves us in the silence.I lower myself into the chair across from him. For a moment, we just stare at each other, two people who’d once trusted too much and lost more than either of us imagined.“You don’t need

The hallway feels oddly hollow after the footsteps fade. The few teammates still standing glance at one another before one of them—a boy with sandy hair and soft eyes—steps forward.“Hey… we’re sorry about the guys who left,” he says quietly. “They don’t speak for all of us.”Another nods in agreement. “Yeah. We came here for Oliver, not to start anything. Some people just… forget that.”Isabella exhales, her shoulders settling a fraction. “It’s nothing,” she says, her voice gentler now. “Tensions are high. I understand.”Dad clears his throat, his voice steady but warm. “What matters most right now is Oliver’s recovery. Everything else can wait.”Isabella’s eyes soften, and then she glances toward the door behind her. “Speaking of him…” Her lips curve into the smallest smile. “He’s awake.”The mood shifts instantly—lighter, electric. She pushes the door open and waves them inside. “Come on, he’ll want to see you.”The rest of the team files in quietly, the sound of their sneakers sof

Dad’s voice cuts through the hum of the corridor.“What are you still doing on your phone? I’ve been standing here waiting for you. Who are you talking to?”I glance up, forcing my thumb to slow down on the screen.“A friend,” I say, slipping the phone halfway into my pocket. “He… uh, just told me he’s going to surprise me.”Dad gives me a skeptical look, the kind that could peel back a lie if you hold it too long.I add, in my head, I wasn’t going to tell him I was talking to Mom, after all.He straightens his jacket. “Speaking of surprises… here’s one.”I follow his gaze toward the far end of the hallway—and freeze.A wave of crimson floods toward us. Not blood. Jerseys.Oliver’s entire Crimson Lions squad is here, a dozen or more, their team colors practically shouting against the beige hospital walls. They carry everything from small bobblehead mascots to stuffed animals so oversized they have to be hugged with both arms. Someone even has a foam lion head tucked under one elbow.T

The sunlight outside the station feels too bright, like it’s pushing at my eyes instead of warming them. The sidewalk smells faintly of exhaust and hot pavement, though it’s not even noon yet.I raise a hand to flag down the first taxi I see. The driver—a middle-aged man with heavy eyelids and a fading baseball cap—barely glances at me as I slide into the back seat.“City Hospital,” I tell him.He nods once, pulls into traffic.The car jolts forward, and I pull out my phone. My hands still feel faintly cold, the way they always do after an argument I’m not sure was actually an argument. The memory of Zane’s voice still sits in my ears—calm, insistent, too steady for someone guilty. Or maybe that’s exactly how guilt sounds when it’s practiced.I open the group chat with Jace and Lea and start typing.Me:Just saw Zane. I can’t say for sure he’s guilty anymore.It takes less than a minute for Jace to respond.Jace:Careful, man. You’re treading on slippery ground. One wrong step and you

An hour drips by in the kind of slow crawl that makes you feel like time’s decided to take a nap, too. The officers wait in the lounge, quiet but watchful. Dad paces near the nurses’ station, pretending to read a clipboard he’s not actually looking at. I’m leaning against the wall, staring at the beige tile like it might give me answers.Oliver’s been still all this time, his breathing steady, his face soft in the dim light. Then, without warning—A sharp yelp slices the silence.I whip around. Isabella’s standing at Oliver’s bedside, hands over her mouth, eyes wide. “He’s awake!” she blurts, voice trembling but loud enough to carry down the hall.The sound draws all of us at once. Dad’s already moving toward the door. I’m right behind him, heart hammering, but the officers get there first.Raines steps forward, voice firm. “We need to speak with him. Alone.”Dad hesitates. “He just woke up—”“It won’t take long,” Keller says, already easing past him. “We can’t risk memory fading or d