Chapter 8: Who Did This to You?

The subterranean parking garage beneath the Baccarat Hotel was an echo chamber of damp concrete and low-hanging shadows. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting a sickly greenish tint across the rows of pristine, high-end sports cars parked in the gloom.

Angelica walked briskly toward her designated vehicle, the sharp, rhythmic clicking of her heels resonating loudly against the cold concrete walls.

The heavy, metallic revelation of the Del Toro shipping empire was still burning in her mind, a dark puzzle she was desperate to untangle.

Suddenly, the screech of worn rubber broke the silence as a battered black sedan whipped around the corner, blocking her path entirely.

The door slammed open, and Michael staggered out, his expensive Brioni suit wrinkled and his hair disheveled from a sleepless, hysterical night.

"You think you're clever, don't you, Angelica?" Michael roared, his voice cracking with a toxic mixture of desperation, ruin, and bruised masculine pride.

His eyes were bloodshot and wild, reflecting the absolute terror of a man whose financial empire had been completely liquidated before breakfast.

"You think that Italian savage is going to protect you forever?" he hissed, stalking toward her with his fists clenched tightly at his sides. "You owe me that proprietary AI source code, Angelica—you belong to the Vance family, and you are going to give me what is mine!"

Angelica didn't retreat a single step; her ice-blue eyes tracked his erratic movements with a chilling, detached calculation.

"The only thing I owe you, Michael, is a front-row seat to your own public execution," Angelica replied, her voice remaining perfectly smooth and devoid of fear.

Losing the last shred of his upper-east-side restraint, Michael lunged forward with an animalistic snarl, his large hand wrapping violently around her slender wrist.

His fingers dug into her pale skin with bruising force, twisting her arm backward as he tried to drag her toward his open car door.

The phantom pain of her past life flared deep within her bones, but her survival instincts instantly kicked into a lethal, ice-cold gear.

Her free hand slid into her blazer pocket, her fingers locking tightly around the heavy, sharp steel tip of her tactical fountain pen.

Before she could plunge the metal weapon straight into the tendon of his wrist, a sudden, deafening roar of a high-performance engine shattered the concrete silence.

A matte-black armored SUV tore around the pillar at sixty miles per hour, its heavy tires screaming as it fishtailed and slammed to a halt inches from Michael’s legs.

The passenger door didn't just open—it flew off its hinges with a terrifying, violent force as Alessandro Del Toro erupted from the vehicle.

His immaculate tuxedo from the gala was gone, replaced by a dark, unstructured Italian coat that billowed behind him like the wings of a descending demon.

His face was a mask of pure, homicidal fury; his amber eyes were completely unhinged, burning with a lethal fire that transcended corporate boardroom rivalry.

In a fraction of a second, Alessandro crossed the distance between them, his massive six-foot-three frame instantly obliterating the space.

His large, calloused hand clamped around Michael’s throat like a hydraulic vise, breaking his grip on Angelica with a sickening, audible snap.

With a terrifying display of raw, unrestrained masculine strength, Alessandro lifted Michael completely off his feet and slammed him backward into the reinforced concrete pillar.

The impact echoed through the garage like a gunshot, cracking the plaster and knocking the breath entirely out of Michael’s lungs.

"Alessandro!" Michael choked out, his eyes bulging in absolute terror as his legs dangled helplessly above the oil-stained floor.

Alessandro didn't answer with words; he simply tightened his grip, his knuckles turning white as he choked the remaining oxygen out of the trembling man.

Six elite Del Toro security details dressed in tactical black gear deployed flawlessly from the SUV, instantly sealing off every exit and perimeter of the subterranean level.

They stood like silent statues in the shadows, weapons lowered but ready, transforming the public garage into a private execution chamber.

Angelica stood perfectly still, her tactical pen still gripped in her hand, her breath catching sharply in her throat as she witnessed the spectacle.

She had always been her own shield, always prepared to bleed and fight her way out of the dark entirely alone.

Seeing a man drop his polite, billionaire mask to tear down the physical world just to protect her skin was a jarring, utterly stunning sensation that fractured her emotional walls.

Alessandro turned his head slightly, his feral, unhinged gaze sweeping over her face until it locked onto the angry red welt swelling on her pale wrist.

The sight of her bruised skin seemed to snap something fundamental inside the billionaire’s highly disciplined mind, unleashing a dark, primitive beast.

He turned back to Michael, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly vibration that felt less like human speech and more like a tectonic shift.

"Who gave you permission to touch what is exclusively mine?" Alessandro growled, his face inches from Michael's weeping eyes.

He didn't wait for an answer; with a short, brutal movement of his forearm, he drove his heavy fist straight into Michael's jaw, shattering the bone.

Michael collapsed onto the concrete floor like a sack of wet flour, clutching his broken face as he let out a pathetic, muffled shriek of agony.

Alessandro stepped forward, his heavy leather boot coming down directly onto Michael’s outstretched hand, crushing his fingers against the gravelly concrete until the bone cracked.

"Please... stop... Mr. Del Toro, please..." Michael groveled, his upper-class arrogance entirely dissolving into raw, primitive begging as he wept into the dirt.

"Listen to me very carefully, you pathetic piece of garbage," Alessandro whispered, bending down until his shadow completely smothered the weeping man. "The Vance family's assets, their real estate, and their literal heartbeats now belong to my ledger."

He pressed his boot down harder, enjoying the agonizing scream that ripped from Michael’s throat.

"If you even breathe the same air as Angelica again, I won't just ruin your company," Alessandro murmured with a terrifying, calm finality. "I will personally erase your entire bloodline from the New York registry before the sun goes down. You are already a ghost."

Michael nodded frantically, his face pressed flat against the oil-stained concrete as he wept, his spirit completely and permanently broken.

Alessandro stepped back, his expression instantly shifting from a homicidal apex predator into a cold, clinical businessman.

He reached into his breast pocket, pulling out a crisp silk handkerchief, and slowly, meticulously wiped the flecks of Michael's blood from his knuckles.

He tossed the stained fabric onto Michael’s trembling back with a look of supreme, unbothered disgust before turning his attention entirely back to Angelica.

The terrifying, murderous aura surrounding him vanished the moment his amber eyes locked onto hers, replaced by an intense, suffocating protectiveness.

He closed the distance between them with slow, deliberate steps, his gaze scanning her from head to toe to ensure she wasn't hiding any other injuries.

Without asking for permission, Alessandro stepped into her personal space, his large, warm hands gently reaching out to encircle her waist.

With effortless strength, he lifted Angelica completely off her feet, cradling her against his broad, muscular chest as if she were the most precious, fragile royalty on earth.

Angelica’s breath hitched, her hands instinctively resting against his heavy shoulders, feeling the rapid, violent thrumming of his heartbeat against her palms.

He didn't let her walk, refusing to let her soles touch the concrete that had been contaminated by the scum groveling beneath them.

Alessandro steered her toward the open door of his armored SUV, settling her gently into the deep, heated leather seat with a tenderness that contradicted his violent nature.

He leaned across her to buckle her seatbelt, his dark silhouette blocking out the harsh fluorescent lights of the garage, his breath brushing warm against her lips.

"You're safe now, Tesoro," he murmured, his thumb gently tracing the unbruised skin of her cheek. "The world outside this car is officially over for them."

The heavy door slammed shut, sealing them into a silent, soundproof sanctuary of luxury as the SUV accelerated smoothly out of the dark, leaving the ruins of her past behind.