Castillo Del' ?ngel: Marked By Vengeance.

CHAPTER: 23
*

Castle.

My car smells faintly of Angel, or maybe it was just me.

Maybe I was tainted by the scent of his skin and those quiet, desperate sounds he made when he came undone.

I should've left earlier. Hell, I shouldn't even have gone there in the first place.

Driving to Angel's house in the early hours of the morning like some heartbroken drunk?

That wasn't me. That was a man who had lost control, and I'd lost it the moment I saw my father's broken body strapped to that chair.

Still, I should have walked away as soon as I woke up to find Angel asleep in that armchair with his head tilted back, his mouth parted, and exhaustion carved into every inch of his face.

I should've left and yet, I didn't.

Because the moment I saw him so unguarded in the early light, my blood had stirred.

So I made a stupid decision again. As if showing up at his house wasn't stupid enough.

Slipping out through the back door of his house, I had circled around to bring the car out back, and parked it quietly behind his building with the engine running. The exit had to be clean, no delays.

I left the back door open just a crack, and when I stepped back inside, I observed him for a moment. Goddamnit, he was beautiful.

And then, I dropped to my knees between his thighs and worshiped him.

The plan went off without a hitch. I got out before he could come down from his orgasm.

I don't know what thrilled me more. The way he moaned with that sinful mouth, or the way he didn't fight me.

He could've stopped me if he wanted to, but he didn't.

Because Angel might be an FBI agent—cold, calculated, and disciplined—but with me? He was weak.

I glanced into the rearview mirror when I drove out and for a split second, I saw him standing by the door, running his hand through his hair in visible frustration.

"You want me more than you want to stop me, little Falco," I murmured to myself, smiling.

***

My smile died when I parked my Porsche at my club's parking lot, and reality returned like a punch to the chest.

My father was dead—tortured and butchered to send some kind of message. And all I had done was run to Angel instead of investigating his death.

I gripped the steering wheel tighter, making the skin around my knuckles turn white.

The rage I'd buried beneath shots of whiskey and Angel's dick was starting to claw its way back to the surface.

Whoever did this thought they sent a message, but they were wrong.

They signed their death warrant, because Castle Lucchese never ran from war.

No, I hunt it down and finish it.

***

Tomas was already waiting at the club entrance when I got out of the car. He didn't say a word—just opened the door and took one long look at me like he was trying to assess whether I was going to collapse or kill someone.

Honestly? I wasn't sure either.

We walked inside together in silence, the weight of death hanging between us.