The air still reeked of gunpowder and blood.
Smoke clung to the walls like a second skin.
It curled through the shattered remains of the Hotel Valgrande's once grand restaurant.
The marbled floor was slick with dust, shattered glass, and a crimson streak that hadn't yet dried.
Chunks of rubble lay scattered across the floor like broken teeth.
Muffled groans intermingled with the urgent shouts of paramedics and the sharp barks of Santa De Leones' men as they swarmed the almost pulverized scene.
The chaos churned, but it was an organized chaos.
Controlled.
Bernardo and his thugs littered the ground—some unconscious, some shackled and kneeling.
And the rest?
Dead and mangled.
Their threat had been extinguished.
Don Leon lay under careful watch, paramedics on either side.
His breathing was shallow—but steady.
While Franco hovered protectively nearby.
Not far off, Alvaro and Maria knelt beside a newly awakened Leandro, whose lashes fluttered with confusion.
The immediate danger had passed.
But for Tony, a colder, sharper dread was beginning to bloom in his chest.
Something was wrong.
Or missing.
His eyes darted around the ravaged room.
He turned in place.
Slowly at first.
A circle.
He saw his family.
Their people.
The grim aftermath of the sniper attacks and explosion.
But his gaze kept snagging on empty spaces.
In areas where he expected to see a flash of white dress shirt.
A familiar curl of brown hair..
Violet eyes that made his world both unbearable and bearable.
But…
Nothing.
He searched again.
Faster now.
More frantic.
Scanning every face, thinking that maybe he just missed him.
His heart began to hammer against his ribs, each beat louder than the last.
'Where is he?' he asked himself.
His throat dried up.
His lungs tightened.
He spun again.
Still nothing.
His stomach twisted.
"Where is he?" his voice cracked the air like a whip.
A few heads turned.
Their brows knit.
People looked at each other.
Confused.
Wondering who he was looking for.
No one could answer him.
"WHERE IS HE?" he asked again.
Louder.
His voice trembled.
A few more faces turned.
More puzzled glances.
Nobody understood.
Then came a voice, posing a question instead of an answer.
"Who are you looking for?"
It was Alessandro—face smeared with black ash.
His suit rumpled.
Brows tight with concern.
Tony didn't speak.
A beat passed.
Then he lunged.
Eyes wide with something like madness.
There was a sense of urgency in his movements.
Like a feral beast that had spotted its kill.
His hand fisted Alessandro's collar, and slammed him against a half-toppled table.
"Urk—"
"WHERE IS ANGEL?" Tony snarled.
His voice—unrecognizable.
His face—maniacal.
His mind—went back to when Alessandro called Angel—a welcoming gift for the Luchese Don.
"Wha—" then Alessandro coughed.
He tried to struggle.
Tony wasn't choking him—but his grip on Alessandro was like iron.
Wild.
Dangerous.
His aura pressed on Alessandro like a mountain.
Alvaro rushed in.
"Whoa, brother—" he tried to break them apart.
He pulled on Tony.
But Tony was stronger.
And he was mad.
Very mad.
He didn't let Alessandro go.
Couldn't.
If anything, his hold on Alessandro only got tighter.
"I-I..." Alessandro tried to answer.
But he'd already gone pale.
Couldn't breathe.
"Antonio!" a weak but firm voice called from across the room.
It was Don Leon who started to sit up.
"Release him this instant," he rasped.
It was a command.
"No!" Tony answered almost immediately.
He bared his fangs.
There was no hesitation in his voice.
He was ready to kill.
Then—footsteps.
Clack of heels.
Then it stopped.
And—
SLAP
Maria's hand cracked against his cheek.
It echoed.
The room stilled.
No one even breathed.
"Are you going to kill him?" asked Maria.
Her voice was colder than ice.
A scolding look on her face.
But there was a hint of worry in her eyes.
Tony stared.
A beat.
His eyes struggled to focus.
Then he slowly released Alessandro—who crumpled like his wrinkled suit.
Gasping.
Alvaro and Franco caught him before he hit the ground.
"I'm sorry," Tony uttered before he turned away.
His breath hitched.
His entire body trembled—he couldn't control it.
It wasn't from fear.
No.
It's rage—
So thick.
It bled into despair.
And then—
He screamed.
"AHHHHHHHHHHH!"
Like a wounded beast.
The people flinched from how raw it sounded.
Then Tony spun around.
His eyes were still wild.
He scanned every shadow.
"ANGEL!" he yelled.
He called to every corner.
"ANGEL!!"
He searched through every person.
But no one answered.
Tony felt like the world was crashing on him.
He couldn't breathe.
Like he was drowning.
He fell on his knees.
Pain jolted his body.
But he did not care.
He still yelled, or at least tried to..
Instead, his voice came out like a whisper.
But everyone still heard it.
"Angel.. where are you?" his voice cracked into a hoarse rasp.
His memory was replaying everything that happened.
They were just talking with Maria.
Then Bernardo shot his gun..
And after that—
The people murmured.
It turned into a hornet's buzz.
"SHUT UP!" he snapped.
Silence.
His hands gripped his head.
Trying to block out the noise.
Then he pulled at his hair.
It hurts.
But it was nothing compared to the agony inside his chest.
He tried to remember again.
But this time, it was Angel's face.
His expressions.
The way he looked at Tony.
His sweet sweet voice.
The way Angel felt in his arms.
How he fit there perfectly.
His heart felt like it was being jabbed with dozens of needles.
Then the way Angel said '..mi ami.. (love me)'
His whimpers.
His heat.
Then—
"Uhm, young master..."
A voice.
A Santa De Leones' man braved himself to step forward.
His body was shaky, his eyes wide.
Tony turned, tense as a loaded spring.
Hope bloomed.
But his eyes were still half-crazed.
The man quivered at the intensity of Tony's eyes.
Then in a trembling voice:
"D-does he have violet eyes?" the man asked.
Tony tried to surge forward, but Alvaro moved faster.
Alvaro positioned himself in between Tony and the brave man.
"Move," Tony said coldly.
His eyes were raging mad.
There was a fire in them.
It burns.
Alvaro gulped.
He could almost feel the fire in his skin.
It was like hell's fire.
"Calm down brother, please."
Alvaro still managed to say.
"Move Alvaro," Tony's voice sounded ruthless, like he would really hit his brother.
But Alvaro was unyielding.
He matched Tony's glare.
Alvaro was also a Santa De Leones.
It was his blood.
Even though Tony's blood carried more of the legacy.
"No."
Alvaro was determined.
And for a moment—they only stared at each other.
Locked in a breathless standoff.
Silver eyes to light gray.
The people held their breaths.
Then—
"Shit!"
Tony cursed—viciously.
He turned away from his brother then kicked over a chunk of rubble.
The sound echoed like a gunshot.
Then he punched the wall.
Like a big stone falling from a cliff.
Blood dripped.
Tony reined in his frustrations.
He dragged a shaky breath in.
"Fuck!"
He kicked more and punched more.
And people only watched.
Once he was done, and a bit calmer, Tony asked.
"Where is he?"
The man swallowed hard, then gestured behind him.
"W-we just got back from the control room," he started.
The man looked at the CIA agents they had caught there.
"We detained them, they were trying to give instructions to someone."
He swallowed again.
"And—"
Tony glared.
He had wasted enough time.
He cut the man off.
"Get straight to the point," his voice was like steel.
The man gulped a mouthful of saliva.
"I saw them in the underground lot of this hotel from the CCTV—"
Before the man could finish speaking, Tony was already sprinting.
"He was with Federico Luchese, he was taken!!" the man shouted to Tony who was already a distance away.
Don Leon exhaled.
'Damned blood,' he thought.
Then he commanded in a small voice.
"Back him up," then he inhaled.
"...Our heir."
Santa De Leones men moved.
Weapons drawn.
They took one of Federico's men for directions.
Then they sprinted towards Tony.
But Tony neither looked nor cared.
There was only one thing on his mind.
One name on his lips.
'Angel.'
**