Page 4 of My Sweetest Temptation

“Angelica?” Alphonse’s smooth voice brought me back to the present.

“I had to try,” I whispered. I thought I could make him understand. Our families don’t have to be enemies.

Alphonse’s voice rose slightly. “Your father had you beaten half to death!”

My eyes stung with fresh tears as my new reality sunk in. “I never thought he’d hurt me. I thought…”

“You didn’t think,” Alphonse cut in. “That’s the problem, Angelica. You didn’t consider the consequences. I told you to let me handle this.” He gently brushed a stray tear from my cheek. “I can’t lose you.”

“I thought I could change things,” I murmured, pleading with him to understand. “I thought I could make him see that our love is worth more than a grudge.”

Alphonse’s expression softened, but his tone was hard. “Angelica, you changed the rules of the game when you confronted your father. You can’t stay here. You have to run and hide.”

“Hide?” I protested, my voice rising in panic. “No. My life is here?—”

“You won’t have a fucking life if you stay!” Alphonse interrupted. “He will hunt you down and show you no mercy, and I refuse to watch the love of my life be killed in front of my eyes.”

“But they’re my family,” I whispered, tears streaming down my cheeks. Dante, Camilla, my sister, and my mother—I’d never see any of them again.

Alphonse leaned closer, his breath warm on my face. “Family?” he growled. “Your family is who did this to you!” He gestured to my body. “The moment you chose me over him, you became expendable.”

I bowed my head. “I wanted to be brave, Alphonse. To stand up for you, for us, for our love.”

“Bravery is knowing when to fight and when to flee. It’s not jumping into the lion’s den and believing you won’t get ripped apart. It’s knowing when to disappear, Angelica.”

“But where will I go?” I asked, looking back up at him. “What if we can’t be together? What if?—”

“Shh,” Alphonse soothed, his concern momentarily forgotten as he wiped my tears away. “Listen to me, Angelica. For this to work, I cannot know where you are or who you will become. You’ll never be safe, ever, if I know.”

There was a short moment of silence as I absorbed what he said. I hated that we had found ourselves in this situation. Breaking the silence, he spoke again.

“I can’t protect you here; not while your father is alive. You have to understand,” he continued, urgency creeping into his tone, “I’d burn the world down for you, but I need you to make the choice that will keep you alive.”

The air between us was filled with unspoken tension and longing. Shadows swayed across the walls, flickering in rhythm with the candlelight. I sat on the edge of the bed, my heart pounding, breaths shallow and uneven as Alphonse leaned in closer, emanating with a force to be reckoned with that I could barely grasp. His deep, intense gaze met mine, and his dark eyes shimmered with tears. “Angelica,” he whispered, each syllable curling around my heart, “you won’t lose me. I promise. We’ll find a way to be together. But first, you have to trust me enough to leave this place behind. I can’t let you face him again. Please, Angelica. Ti amo. Sei mio per sempre.”

Before I could respond—before the words could find their way to my lips—Alphonse closed the distance between us, his lips brushing against mine in a soft, tentative kiss. Time seemed to slow, and I melted into him, the warmth of his body igniting a flicker of hope within me. A brief, beautiful escape from the pain that had intertwined our lives like a thorny vine. But just as quickly as it began, a violent crash shattered our moment. The door burst open, slamming against the wall with a force that reverberated through the room. Alphonse jerked back and stood in front of me, blocking me from the intruders. He yanked his gun from his waistband, pointing it toward the doorway. His men, clad in black suits, eyes sharp and alert, flooded the room.

“Boss!” one of them shouted, his voice slicing through the air like a knife.

“What is it?” Alphonse demanded, lowering the gun to his side.

“Giuseppe D’Onofrio just dumped his right-hand man on the front lawn.”

My father killed him?

The words struck me like a physical blow. I felt the blood drain from my face, my heart sinking like a stone in a bottomless well.

Dante.

He paid the price for my freedom. I could hardly bear it. Tears welled in my eyes, spilling over as my grief, suffocating and relentless, crashed down upon me.

“No,” I gasped. “No! They killed him because of me! It’s my fault!”

Alphonse turned to me, his expression fierce yet tender. “Angelica, listen to me. This isn’t your fault. Dante made his choice. That was his duty, and one he took seriously. He knew the risks that came with protecting you.”

But my sobs grew louder, despair clawing at my throat, choking off any semblance of reason.

Oh, Dante. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.

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