C9 Concerned Father

Dante felt his beast lunge to the surface as he pulled the motherfucker off her.

He flung him hard against the wall, where the coward slid down with a pitiful yell.

“What are you doing? I was talking with my daugh…”

As Dante moved towards him, the bastard made a move to run, but Dante grabbed and slammed him against the wall.

He sent his fist into his weathered face as Aguillar and his nurse rushed in to treat the girl.

He wished he had his brass knuckles on as he sent another punch into the man’s face, breaking his nose.

The smell of blood called to his inner darkness, and he methodically delivered punch after punch until his face became a bloody mess.

Even then, Dante didn’t stop.

The image of the bastard’s fist wrapped around her throat? Fuck.

He sent another punch into his bandaged chest.

The wheezing sound from the bastard didn’t stop Dante from raising his fist again.

He snarled as a hand touched his raised arm. Cold, glacial orbs stared at Angelo.

“He won’t last, boss,” said his consigliere.

Dante turned to look at the man hanging limply in his hand with his head lolled to the side.

He dropped him like a piece of trash and looked at Angelo.

Angelo nodded before he looked at the two men behind him.

The men quickly grabbed Tad and carried him out of the room.

Angelo followed them out.

With a strange feeling in his gut, Dante turned towards the bed.

The nurse who was staring at him wide-eyed, quickly looked away, and he saw her hand shake as she handed a swab to Aguillar.

“She okay?” Dante asked with his eyes pinned on the unconscious girl.

Aguillar looked angry as he said, “She will live, sir…but, I think he strangled her. Why would he do that?”

Dante took an unconscious step towards the bed, swore and turned towards the door.

His men gave him a wide berth as he walked out of the house and went straight to the shooting range.

The sleek, secluded range had dark, polished concrete floors and steel-paneled walls. The dim, recessed lighting cast an ominous glow on his hard face as he opened the glass-enclosed armory which showcased different custom guns on velvet-lined shelves. Each of the sophisticated gn had the initial D. C on them.

The firing lanes were lined with black leather-padded dividers, and each lane had a digital target system that displayed red and gold bullseyes on high-tech screens. Then at the far end, a bulletproof, reinforced wall with a matte black finish housed advanced bullet traps, while the ceiling has ventilation ducts.

Along one side of the range, a plush, deep red velvet sofa sits in a corner lounge area, complete with a vintage wooden bar stocked with top-shelf liquor.

Dante reached for his favourite Berreta and removed it from safety. He didn’t bother with the ear muffs as he methodically shot off twenty rounds with deadly precision while the red bullseye lit up like crazy.

The scoreboard was racked up before he finally stopped.

He tossed the gun on the red couch before he reached for a bottle of Mount Gay.

He downed the first glass, then poured the second glass to the brim before taking out his phone.

The recovery room came into focus with a few taps of his finger.

Aguillar’s nurse was to one side.

Dante flexed his bruised knuckle as he zoomed the video to the bed.

She was covered up to her neck, so he couldn’t see the damage the strangling had done to her delicate skin.

The cold rage he had just got under control welled inside him as he remembered what he had seen earlier.

Though he hadn’t really believed the asshole’s show of concerned father, he had asked one of his men to take him to the recovery room.

The plan was to catch the two of them in whatever discussion they might be having.

Though he had never seen the man before, he wanted to know why he had sent his daughter to him as a decoy.

He grew up learning the ways of the underworld, so it wouldn’t surprise him if some asshole had decided to use some suburb fool as a way to get to him.

He watched the man enter the room through the monitor in his office. He was focused on the man’s face and was surprised by the rage on it when he saw her.

By the time he looked at the girl’s face, the sheer terror there slammed into his chest like a motherfucking punch.

Then he fucking touched her.

Dante didn’t even think of telling his men to pull the bastard out. The urge to make sure that bastard never used those hands again was so huge that he could taste blood.

You were late again.

A stab of pain made Dante look down at the hand holding the glass.

The glass had shattered in his hand while he was gripped by his dark thoughts. He swore as the dark amber liquid splashed over his hand and the hardwood floor.

As Dante picked the shards of glass out of his hand at the small first aid station close to the exit, he curled his fingers against his throbbing palm and wondered why he was affected so much by her pain.

She is not Isabella.

“I fucking know!” he yelled suddenly as he smashed his balled fist against the wall.

He held on tightly to the edge of the first aid slab while breathing harshly.

A few seconds passed before he opened his eyes. The tortured look on his face was gone, and his face was wiped clean of any emotion as he wiped off the blood on his hand, and then slapped a bandage on it.

Angelo was waiting for him in the basement.

“He is out,” Angelo said immediately.

“Father and daughter seemed to have a thing for tapping out,” Dante thought with a sneer.

Angelo opened the heavy door behind him and stepped aside.