Pure Venom And Unadulterated Rage.

                                        

                                              
CHAPTER: 25

Castle.
I'm starting to think I've gone soft.
How? I didn't know but I was sure of it. And I wasn't talking about the kind of softness that made you adorable.
No, I meant the kind that makes you hesitant and vulnerable. The kind that makes you look weak, and the kind that gets you killed.
I started noticing it in the way Adriana kept touching me lately like she thought she had the right. Like she thought I would allow it.
It was in the way the mob leaders looked at me during meetings, all calculated expressions and tight-lipped excuses. 
Not one of them had been able to uncover the traitor in their ranks—the one who killed a federal judge and risked dragging all of us down.
I lit a cigarette with a flick of my thumb and leaned back in my office chair, exhaling slowly. 
A week ago, I had gotten a call that my father wanted to speak to me, and that it was urgent.
I dropped everything and went. And what did I find? A corpse tied to a chair and tortured beyond recognition but I knew it was him. Or I thought I did.
I buried him the next day, standing over his casket, surrounded by half of the East Coast's criminal royalty as I gave the speech.
And yet, just yesterday, I received another call. This time from the facility.
Colt Lucchese—the man I buried yesterday—was apparently getting better.
"Mr. Lucchese has been more responsive lately," the nurse had said, like it was nothing. "The new treatment protocol is working. He's forming words now, not full sentences yet, but we're hopeful."
I couldn't speak. Infact, at that moment, breathing became difficult.
I had to ask her to repeat it, and she did, sounding a little concerned that I wasn't more thrilled.
Thrilled?
I had just buried him.
Before she hung up, I scheduled an appointment for tomorrow, telling her I wanted to see him in person.
Then I ended the call and collapsed into my chair the same way my world was collapsing around me.
I stared at the wall across from me for a long time, not even blinking.
Had I really grown this soft? So soft someone could fake a corpse, fake a setup, fake a funeral and I didn't even notice?
The number that called me that night—saying my father had requested to see me—was now disconnected. There was no trace of it.
Tomas and I had tried everything, but there was no chance of a trail.
I knew exactly what this looked like, and what it meant. It meant that someone had played me. Hard.
And the worst part? I had no idea why. Or who.
Tomas had looked just as shaken when I told him. We made a decision on the spot that this didn't leave the room. No one could know.
If the other families caught wind of this, they'd question everything. My judgment. My power. My right to the throne.
I could feel the cracks already forming beneath my feet. And still, in the middle of all this chaos, there was Angel.
The one man who shouldn't be in my thoughts, but he was.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the way his head fell back when I touched him. The way his voice broke when he whispered my name. 
He was supposed to be my weakness. But right now, he was the only thing keeping me from breaking apart completely.
And that terrified me more than anything else.
Because if Angel ever turned on me, if he ever decided to stop wanting me and start hunting me—which he would when he realizes who I am—I wasn't sure I'd survive it.
***
I didn't speak for most of the drive. Tomas had the wheel, and even though he didn't ask questions, I knew his mind was running as wild as mine.  But there was nothing to say.
There were times for questions, for conversation, for speculating the impossible—and then there were times like this. When the only thing you could do was move forward and see the madness for yourself.
We were heading to the facility—the same one where my father was supposed to be wasting away in silence. The one where I had thought his body no longer was.
The plan was simple—get in, see him, confirm with my own goddamn eyes that he was breathing. That he was alive and real.
And if he was, then the investigation would start. Someone had played me, staged a corpse. And I wanted names, I needed blood to flow.
But first, I had to see him.
The facility was tucked behind a private road, disguised as a wellness retreat for the ultra-rich, with white walls, marble floors, and smiles that didn't reach their eyes.
I stepped out first, the wind biting at my coat as a nurse with a pinched face and tight bun led us inside. 
Tomas stayed back, instinctively scanning the area for anything off. He didn't trust any of this and frankly, neither did I.
The nurse stopped in front of a door at the end of a quiet hallway and turned to me with a frown, nodding for me to go in.
I watched her leave before pushing the door open.
The room was lavish, furnished more like a hotel suite than a medical wing. My money paid for all of this.
And sitting by the window, in a dark robe with his back straight, was Colt Lucchese. My father.
My breath caught somewhere between my chest and throat.
He looked older than I remembered. His face was gaunter, but his eyes—God, those eyes—were the same: piercing, sharp, and full of hatred.
He looked at me like I was the filth beneath his shoe. Like he didn't just dislike me, but also despised me.
And yet, I kept my expression cold and unreadable.
Walking toward him slowly, I sat in the chair opposite his—trying not to let the crack in my chest reach my face.
What was I expecting? Gratitude? Surprise? I didn't even know. 
I hadn't visited him since I first locked him in here. This place was supposed to be both his prison and his peace. 
He'd drowned himself in alcohol for so long, I'd figured keeping him sedated and medicated was the only mercy I could give the man who had once ruled the underworld with a bloodstained crown.
But now?
Now I didn't know what the fuck to think.
My father leaned forward, hands trembling slightly from whatever medication he was still on, and opened his mouth.
One word, just one syllable, but it gutted me.
"Die."
He said it with so much venom that I could feel his rage. He still hated me, never quite forgiven me for what had happened 10 years ago. 
And no amount of money or years of loyalty could undo that.
I stood slowly and without a word, locking my jaw as I turned and walked out of the room.
And as the door shut behind me, the only thing I felt was unadulterated rage.