Chapter 54 - Angela

All I had left was that torture room and the training room. I could distract myself by helping with some things for the wedding that would happen as soon as Marco returned, but it wasn't enough—no matter how much I exhausted myself during the day, sleep seemed to evade me at night.

"Already got calluses on your hands?" Frank's voice sounded behind me, and I turned just in time to see him entering the training room.

"Maybe," I murmured, feeling my fist ache from the repeated punches against the punching bag. "But it's all I have since the soldiers have been avoiding me."

"They're afraid of your... brutality. Word around is you killed three of those bastards the day Marco left."

"That has nothing to do with them—I wouldn't hurt them like that," I replied, refocusing on the punches, but Frank stepped in front of me and held the bag hanging from the ceiling.

"You broke two fingers punching one of those worms and didn't stop," he made a point to remind me.

"The doctor fixed them—look, good as new," I punched the bag as if to prove I was fine, and I really was; three weeks had already passed.

But knowing that during that time Marco was away from me and keeping me in the dark, not telling me absolutely anything about what was happening in Mexico, left me even angrier.

That's why I spent my afternoons in the training room, venting all my energy, and when night came and I couldn't sleep, I'd go down to the basement, sending some of my demons back to hell.

"Why are you punishing yourself like this?" Frank questioned, making me swallow hard and pause for an instant in my sequence of strikes.

"I could ask the same—after all, you've been distant, barely eating, and spending as many nights wandering that garden as I have."

He'd been acting quieter than usual, refusing to return to the house where he'd lived with Melissa, and seemed as tormented at night as I was.

"It's because I have no enemy to torture for ripping my wife away from me," I hadn't expected him to say something so sincere so easily. "A fight would be good, but I don't know if my opponent would come out alive."

"Why don't you fight me, then?" I asked, seeing his eyebrows rise in surprise. "After all, I stole your revenge when I killed my mother."

Frank smiled and shook his head in denial, but I wasn't lying—my mother was the one who'd poisoned Mel, and I took her out of this world before Frank or anyone else could get revenge.

"Nice try, but I'd never lay a hand on you."

"Because I'm a woman or because I'm your boss's wife?" I teased, shoving his shoulder, wanting him to drop the prim-and-proper pose and do something he really wanted. I was anxious for an opponent my equal, someone who wouldn't just stand there waiting to be attacked by me.

"Because Mel loved you, and in some strange way, that makes me love you too and unable to hurt you."

Hearing that was like being punched in the stomach—I wasn't expecting those words. Remembering how Melissa taught me everything she knew and how she listened to me, even when it seemed silly, was horrible. It made me feel worse than I already did.

"Damn it, Frank. Why don't you just punch me and get it over with?"

I wanted to hear the words "I love you," but I knew they wouldn't come from who I expected, so I was arming myself with all the physical pain, trying to ignore the desires of my treacherous heart, so it wouldn't be broken by Marco again.

Hearing such tender words from someone now didn't help me rebuild the walls around me.

"Looks like we're both on the fucked-up boat," he pushed the punching bag aside and stepped out of my way, heading to the bar.

"When you figure out the destination, let me know—I'm tired of not knowing where all this shit is taking me."

I joined him at the bar, quenching my thirst with the shot of whiskey they loved to drink and that I hated with all my might.

Frank stared at the empty glass he held, as if it contained all the answers he needed. Without a doubt, we both had our heads full of ghosts and guilt, but unlike me, he'd never get his revenge.

"You know, we can't fight until we're exhausted, but I think I know where we can get that!" He affirmed, flashing a terrifying smile I'd never seen before. But instead of scaring me, I just leaned in closer, anxious to know what he had in mind.

I got into his car still wearing the same gym clothes and let him drive me through the city streets. I had no idea where Frank was taking me—there was no conversation as he sped to the other side of the city, stopping in front of a bar.

"That was your idea—to drink until we forget everything? We could have stayed home for that."

"Sometimes I forget you lived in an untouched castle until a few months ago," he said, opening the door and getting out of the car. "Let's pick a fight."

I smiled, realizing what Frank had in mind by going to that biker bar, which I'd never imagined someone like him would frequent.

But the car stopping right behind us made my hopes wilt a little.

"They'll never let anyone get close enough."

"You're in charge here, Mrs. Falcone," I stared at Frank like he was going crazy, then my gaze turned to the men beside the car, all waiting for a move. "Just give the damn order, and let's get on with it!"

When the bar door closed behind us, some heads turned—clearly, we didn't look like regulars. Frank looked too prim with his low haircut and suit, and I certainly looked like a scrawny teenager in that leggings and tank top.

"Two beers," I ordered, leaning against the bar, and saw the grimace Frank made as he sat on the stool beside me. "If you wanted expensive whiskey, you should have stayed home."

"What's got you so angry at yourself?" He tossed the question as I looked around, observing the people staring at us.

"Everything. Especially for believing I could change my mother's mind—bringing her home caused most of the problems," I shook my head in denial and grabbed the bottle the man pushed across the counter. "But it was my stupidity and pride that got me kidnapped. I was so blind with anger at Marco for everything he said, for breaking my heart—all in one night—that I didn't think straight before leaving the mansion that morning."

"And you think it's your fault?"

"Of course it was, Frank. I shouldn't have left without more security—I should have known better; there would be consequences. And now Marco will never touch me again—he didn't love me already, and after those videos," I confessed out loud for the first time everything populating my mind, and I saw Frank look away quickly. "You saw... watched the videos?"

I didn't want to know the answer to that, but seeing his gaze divert from me made suspicion grow. Shock and shame overwhelmed me when he nodded in agreement, taking a swig of his beer.

"I'm sorry, but some of us saw one of the videos—we were desperate to try to locate the place, and the video might have something that revealed where they were hiding you."

"Oh my God!" I gasped, taking a long swig before slamming the beer on the table and sighing. "It's worse than I thought, then. What must everyone be thinking of me, thinking of Marco for not divorcing me yet..."

"They're thinking you're the strongest woman they've ever known—no one expected you to look so well after everything you went through."

"I'm not strong—I'm just trying to rip my demons out from inside me, even if it's in the worst way. At least torturing them has helped me regain control of my body."

"I don't think you ever lost it. Sure, it's normal to be tormented by the memories of everything, but when we got there, you fought to have the chance to lay hands on Filippo. In some way, you'd already decided what you'd do to them," he murmured, making me remember that day. "You even pointed a gun at Marco, showing the revenge would be all yours."

He was right about that—in the moment Filippo ripped my clothes off, I knew I'd kill him, make him feel fear and pain ten times worse than what I'd felt.

"But that doesn't change the fact that Marco will never look at me the same way. In fact, stealing from him the chance to avenge my honor might have increased his aversion to me," I murmured, taking the last swig of the beer and seeing it was already gone.

"What? Marco doesn't have aversion to you—if he could, he'd have stayed by your side every minute. If I remember right, it was you who kicked him out of the hospital that day," he reminded me, making me swallow hard as I ordered another round. "Marco's surprised by you and doesn't know how to handle it. We all expected you'd crumble, but instead, you pushed everyone away and locked yourself behind that bloodied armor. Maybe he's even afraid of how much like him you've become."

"He told you what he said to me the night before."

"Yes. A tremendous stupidity, but he's never been good at recognizing his own feelings—I think he's the Falcone who worst knows how to distinguish what he feels," Frank said, speaking of his brother-in-law in a way I'd never seen before. "Just like you, he closed himself off to everything to protect himself—the difference is he did it when he was still a child; the damage was much greater. Marco never knew love beyond his family's until you came along."

"He doesn't love me."

"You two have so much to learn about married life. Fights happen, especially with a tough couple like you two. You'll have to deal with it and learn to give in sometimes—running away isn't the solution, much less pushing people away."

I let my shoulders slump forward as I just drank and listened to him. It was good to finally hear a voice that didn't come from my head or my nightmares.

"Of course. But it's easy to say when it's not your happy memories stained by horrible images that'll probably haunt me for the rest of my life," I confessed, feeling a lump rise in my throat and anger dominate me. "Do you have any idea what it's like to smell the scent of the person you love but not have the courage to look at them out of shame?"

"No, I don't know how you feel. And there's nothing you should be ashamed of—because none of this was your fault or his; the only guilty one is chained in the basement," he pushed his half-empty second beer toward me when he saw mine was gone again. "But you know who might understand what you're going through right now? Your husband—don't forget Marco went through something like this when he didn't even understand what life was."

"He must be disgusted by me—when he saw me without clothes... his eyes wandering over my body... I couldn't take it; I sent him away—that's when he told me he was going on that damn trip."

"Don't worry—he arrives tomorrow, and you can fight and talk," his words caught me completely off guard; I hadn't expected Marco to be returning already. "Or you can start trouble, fight some idiots in the bar, and tomorrow have a long talk before making up."

"What do you mean by long talk?"

"You have to let him in, Angela. 'In health and in sickness, in war or in peace'—isn't that what you said in your vows?"

I froze in surprise that he remembered my words from that day, which seemed like an eternity ago after everything that happened between us.

Frank was right—I'd said I hoped we'd be together in any moment, and he said the same, with the ritual of sealing our vows with our blood. Maybe there was nowhere to run, and I needed to face everything and anything he was thinking of me after all that. The truth would set us free.

"Hey, pretty boy," a drunk approached, stepping between us. "Why don't you get lost and let the doll here chat with a real man?"

"Looks like we got our trouble," I smiled, seeing I'd found someone who'd fight back tonight.

In an instant, Frank was shoving the man to the ground, and in the next, we were surrounded by men and women ready for a brawl. I'd given orders for the soldiers to intervene if things got out of hand, and it didn't take long. Frank and I were pulled out amid broken chairs and flying bottles.

"Are you okay?" He questioned as we entered the mansion, trying to be quiet but not succeeding much.

"I'm great. Make sure to clean that cut—you don't want to lose the arm."

"The same for that forehead. Who could imagine a woman hits so hard?" He laughed, touching my forehead, which was cut after being thrown against the table.

"Thanks for tonight, Frank. Anytime you want to talk or want trouble," he flashed a small smile and handed me the bloodied handkerchief, and I saw his gaze go blank again as he looked around. Without a doubt, he was feeling the emptiness of coming home and not finding her there.

"I'll look for you," he was leaving, but I grabbed him, stopping him from going.

"We didn't talk about your ghosts. How about whiskey?" He seemed about to refuse, but I wouldn't let him. Our bond was still Mel, even though she wasn't here anymore, and I wouldn't leave him alone tonight. "I'll get the bottle—you, the glasses."

I hurried to the bar in the living room and chose the best bottle, the one I'd always seen Marco drinking with honored guests. But the notification sound on my phone stopped me a step from pouring; the email appeared on the screen.

An email in the middle of the night couldn't be anything good, but nothing prepared me for what I found there.

"What the hell is this?"