Chapter 56 - Marco

My blood boiled with her suspicion—that was out of control. My Angel would never doubt my word like she was in that moment. I knew she had her insecurities, especially after the kidnapping, but bringing a girl from another country just to confirm if I was telling the truth was insane.

The phone was turned toward the woman with the gun, and she trembled as she leaned in to examine the image. I huffed, incredulous at that scene. I'd imagined how my return home would be, and none of them involved this sick scenario unfolding.

"We were hired by Mr. Mendoza... to entertain the guests, but when I sat on his lap... he waited until he finished what he was saying before asking me to leave," she answered stumblingly, constantly glancing from the gun to Angela. "I didn't know he was married, ma'am."

"It won't be for long if things keep going like this," Angel said, setting the gun back on the table and waving to the soldier. "You can take her back home. It would be a big mess to rip off her hands just for placing them on Marco."

She finished the coffee in her cup while I tried to process what had just happened. Who was that woman in my dining room? Because she definitely wasn't the same one I'd married. I'd always known Angel had a wild strength hidden that I could only see in her eyes, but watching her act that way, I saw she'd broken all the chains holding back her wild side.

"You don't want the divorce, and I understand—it's a complication in the mafia, and you still have your goals to achieve. But I won't tolerate cheating. The next one who lays hands on you will have the same fate you said you'd give Filippo when you found out he kissed me," she approached, placing her hands on the lapel of my suit and sliding them up and down like a casual caress. "Peel off the skin or the hand completely."

Angel gave me one last look before stepping aside, but I grabbed her wrist, stopping her from pulling away and yanking her against my body. She wasn't going to get away by fleeing from me again—this time, she'd have to listen to me.

"Where do you think you're going? We have a lot to talk about—you're out of control, Angela. And how can you believe the word of a stranger over your husband's?"

She wasn't intimidated by my growled words; her eyes gleamed defiantly, and a small smile formed on her lips.

"Husband? You puff out your chest to use that title, but I was just a pawn in your game to get revenge on my family."

"Don't twist my words. You know very well I care about you—don't try to change everything that happened between us because of something I said." But my words seemed to only increase her anger; she narrowed her eyes and lifted her chin higher.

"You care about me? You know who I cared about? My mother—and look where we are now," her smile died, and she pulled her arm from my grip, twisting her lips with the rage I could feel emanating from her. "Trust and loyalty are completely different things, Marco Falcone. And I don't believe you feel that for me."

"Don't say such bullshit. Damn it, Angela—I'd destroy anyone for you..."

"Yes, you'd do exactly that to keep me by your side—after all, you haven't completed the last part of your revenge plan yet," she raised her finger, pointing at my face, and her face flushed red. "'Having you by my side would also be important to gain the support of the men who worked with your father—after all, you're a Mancini, and our marriage was legitimate, following mafia rules.' Those were the exact words I'll never forget."

"Angela..."

"I was foolish to believe you wanted to follow the rules so no one could contest our marriage. I told myself, 'It's sweet that he doesn't want to take my virginity before the wedding is official,' when all you were thinking was about the Cosa Nostra army questioning the legitimacy of everything—and I'd never deny it because I was already blindly in love with you."

"Let's talk properly—sit down, and we'll talk," I pulled out a chair, but she didn't move. "I thought about that at the beginning, but then everything changed..."

"Changed when? When I killed my mother and you said you didn't love me that same night? Or when you reminded me you'd never promised love? Maybe it was the moment you realized you'd lost someone else to the Mancinis and decided to tell me all those things because you wanted to hurt me? Or did you change how you saw me when you said I'd finally become the weapon of destruction you'd planned to make me from the start?" She hurled all the accusations at me, and only a solitary tear slid down her face as I stared at her, not knowing how to respond. Then she grabbed my hand and placed the gun against it before raising it to her forehead. "If you don't like your out-of-control Frankenstein, put a bullet right in the middle of my forehead. Because I won't go back to obeying you, husband!"

I heard my brother and Frank moving in the background, but all I could do was keep looking at her, paralyzed by everything she was letting me see—all the pain, anger, and suffering she'd been holding in.

Despite all the madness she was doing, I realized that finally, Angel was touching me after everything that had happened to her. After all those weeks without being able to look at me, not letting me touch her, or simply fleeing wherever I was.

She'd shown she still cared—felt jealous of me and angry. She hadn't given up on us, as I'd thought during the trip. She wanted me, and that was explicit in her gaze, with the desperate plea for help.

Because that's exactly what she was screaming by making me hold the gun to her forehead—she was crying out for help; it was a plea to pull her from all the agony she was living silently. And I knew exactly how it felt to be like that, to feel that suffocating sensation would never leave you.

I leaned in closer to her, holding the gun firmly and placing my finger on the trigger. Staring deep into her eyes, I saw the determination trying to camouflage the fear she was feeling—my girl was terrified and thought that way no one could hurt her anymore.

Angel had been building walls and keeping me away all this time, but now I could look at her up close—I could see her walls trembling, about to collapse.

"You changed everything since you arrived here—you changed it and don't even realize," I murmured, getting closer and seeing her eyes roam my face. "You just shot at me, and for much less, anyone else would be dead. You've been challenging me since the day you arrived and pushing me in the opposite direction of my will, making me change my steps every day to please you. And forgive me if I don't know how to love and if I can never give you what you so need—I'm a demon, Angel, and you knew that from the day I held you in my bloodied arms, stealing you from your wedding. Just as you knew I'd never let you go—we're in this together until death."

She swallowed hard, and her hand trembled over mine, showing her walls were crumbling. Angela clenched her jaw and placed her other trembling hand on my chest.

"Then do it. Pull the trigger and end it—set me free," hearing her almost tearful plea reminded me of my mother, begging me to end her suffering and shame.

"If I do that, I'll follow you to hell!" I exclaimed, seeing her eyes widen as I pulled my gun, placing it over her hand on my chest. "You won't get rid of me that easily."

"Marco..." She let out a long sigh, and tears flooded her eyes, giving me the cue I needed.

I gripped her neck with the same hand holding the gun to her forehead and pulled her to me, joining our lips in a desperate, sick kiss. Our mouths crashed hard, and I felt my heart explode in my chest with the sense of belonging.