FOREVER MINE

C H A P T E R 33

ANGELA
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The word echoes in my skull, louder than the ringing in my ears.

The thundering of boots on the metal stairs below sounds like a heartbeat- fast, rhythmic, and deadly.

"Move! Now!" Dante’s voice is a whip, cracking through the haze of dust. He grabs the back of my jacket, propelling me upward as Martin turns back, bracing his large frame against the railing to provide cover fire.

The first volley of bullets sparks against the steel steps. I stumble, my shoes slipping on loose grit, but my mother’s hand is a vice around mine. She’s not the fragile ghost I imagined. She’s moving with a desperate, practised agility that terrifies me.

"Don’t look back, Angela!" she screams over the roar of a second explosion.
We burst through the heavy fire door onto the roof. The night air hits me like a physical blow- cold, biting, and smelling of salt and gasoline.

A helicopter blades whir in the distance, a low rhythmic thrum-thrum-thrum that vibrates in my chest.

"Is that ours?" I gasp, squinting through the smoke.

Dante doesn't answer. He’s already at the edge, scanning the perimeter with a thermal scope. "Incoming! North side!"

"The extraction is two minutes out!" Dante shouts, backing onto the roof as he swaps magazines with lethal efficiency. "We're sitting ducks up here!"

I turn to my mother, my lungs burning. "The truth," I demand, my voice raw. "You said I was hidden because of what I am. Tell me, please."

She looks at the door we just exited, then at the sky, her face pale under the moonlight. "Your father didn't just want a daughter, Angela. He wanted a legacy. A bloodline that he so desperately wanted to be a part of."

Before I can wrap my mind around her words, the door bursts open.

But it’s not the guards.

The man who steps out isn't wearing a tactical vest or a mask. He’s wearing a tailored suit that looks clean and crisps as if there isn't a literal fire around this place. His silver hair is slicked back, and his eyes- cold, calculating- lock onto mine. My breath hitches. My mother’s grip on my hand goes slack, her fingers trembling.

"Going somewhere, tesoro?"

The voice is smooth as silk and twice as dangerous. It's the voice that used to soothe me whenever I cried. The voice that spoke kindly to me and never showed an ounce of malice.

My father.

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The wind howls across the rooftop, whipping my hair across my face, but I don’t blink. I can’t.

My father stands ten feet away, his silhouette framed by the orange glow of the fires below. He looks as if he’s simply waiting for a dinner guest, not standing in the middle of a war zone.

"Let her go, Antonio," my mother’s voice is steady, but I can feel the tremor in her palm against mine.

My father’s gaze slides to her, cold and dismissive. "You were always a poor actress, Rose. Faking your death was a desperate move, even for you. But I guess I should give you a little credit, I only found out about your whereabouts a few months after your disappearance."

"You used me for years, I wasn't going to let you use my daughter as your pawn either." My mother gritted out.

"Don't forget that you lied to them too, pretty Rose..." He trailed off, smirking at her.

My mother went still. "I know, and there isn't a day that goes by where I don't regret the decisions I made."

"Whatever eases your mind, tesoro. But you planning on taking my property is something you will deeply regret." His eyes snap back to me, and the weight of his stare feels like a physical blow. "That, I cannot allow."

"I am not your property," I spit, my voice shaking with a rage I didn't know I possessed. My heart breaking with every piece of word that leaves his mouth.

My father. The man who took care of me, never showing a crack in the mask he so clearly was wearing all these years.

He tilts his head, a ghost of a smirk touching his lips. "You are the blood of the Santiago line, Angela. You carry the key to everything I’ve built- and everything our enemies want to tear down. You think those boys," he gestures vaguely in the air, "can protect you? Your dear brothers ..."

"What are you talking about !" I scream over the roar of the approaching helicopter. "What am I to you? A weapon? A bargaining chip?"

"You are the last key I need to finally open the door to all my power," he says softly, stepping forward.

Dante raises his weapon, the click of the safety echoing in the sudden silence. My father doesn't even flinch.

He reaches out a hand, his fingers gloved in black leather. "Come, Angela. End this foolishness before more blood is spilled on your account. Your mother can stay. You... you come with me."

The betrayal in his words stings worse than the cold. He’s willing to let her go- the woman I thought was dead for years, the woman I thought he loved so desperately- just to keep his grip on me.

"No....is this why you kept me at home all the time?" I whisper. "Why I couldn't go anywhere?" I take a step back, pulling my mother with me. "I’m never going back to your cage. Never again."

His expression darkens, the mask of the sophisticated businessman slipping to reveal the monster beneath. "Then you've chosen a very painful way to-"

He never finishes the sentence. A shadow detaches itself from the darkness behind him. Before my father can react, a pair of strong arms wrap around his neck in a brutal chokehold, and a knee drives into the small of his back.

"Go!" a familiar, gravelly voice roars. My heart leaps into my throat. Angelo.

My brother’s face is twisted with a mix of fury and agony as he pins our father against the rooftop railing. "I've got him! Angela, get to the chopper! Move!"

The helicopter skids onto the roof, the downdraft nearly knocking us over. Dante grabs my shoulder, hauling me toward the open door. "Now, Angela! We won't get another chance!"

I look back once, seeing my brother holding the man who lied to me, the man who loved me- or atleast pretended to love me- and the one now risking everything to break the cycle. Angelo’s eyes meet mine for a split second, a silent plea for me to run.

I don’t look back again.