Chapter 76: A Father's Wrath

Richard’s POV

The moment Ivy confirmed the name, I hung up.

My hand trembled around the phone, my knuckles white as I gripped it too tight. A name I had spent years burying—erasing from my thoughts, from my life—had just been spoken by my daughter.

Dante.

The bastard was back. How did he get out?

I stood frozen, barely breathing, as the past clawed its way up from the grave I’d buried it in. The blood. The screams. The hollow, soulless eyes of my baby girl when I found her—violated, broken, gone.

A storm raged inside me, a fury so potent I could taste it on my tongue.

“Richard,” Marcus’s voice cut through the silence, calm but firm. He knew. He always knew when my mind was slipping into the abyss.

No.

No, no, no.

It couldn’t be.

I heard Marcus let out another long, ragged breath beside me. He dragged a hand down his face, cursing under his breath.

"Dante?" he muttered, voice laced with disgust.

I shot up from my chair so fast it clattered to the floor. The walls of the hotel room felt like they were closing in, the air thick with suffocating heat. My pulse pounded against my skull, a deafening roar in my ears.

“Tell me I misheard her," I rasped, my throat tightening. "Tell me she didn’t just say his name."

Marcus didn’t answer.

That silence spoke louder than any words could.

A tremor ran through my hands, a violent, uncontrollable shake that I clenched into fists. The past came crashing in—memories I had spent years burying, locked behind steel walls in my mind.

Dante.

The boy I took in. The monster I let into my home.

Marcus exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath.

I let out a breath, but it felt more like a snarl. "If he's anywhere near Ivy—if he even breathes in her direction—"

"You’ll what?" Marcus snapped, his voice razor-sharp. "You're gonna swim across the damn ocean, Richard? Walk through the quarantine zone?" He gestured toward the window, where the city stretched out beneath us, so far from home. "We can’t do shit right now, and you know it!"  

I rounded on him. "Don’t tell me to sit here and do nothing!"  

"Then what the hell do you want me to say?" Marcus threw his hands up. "That you should have killed him years ago instead of taking him in? That you should have put a bullet in his head instead of handing him over to the police?"  

The words hit like a slap.  

Because they were true.  

I had believed in second chances. I thought I could change him after picking him from the streets. I was wrong. And my daughter, Evelyn, paid the price for my mistake.  

And now Ivy…  

A chill ran down my spine. Ivy was in danger. My Ivy. The girl I swore to protect, to raise as my own. She wasn’t just my adopted daughter—she was my second chance at being a father. And now the same man who took my first child might have his sights set on her.  

The thought made my vision blur with fury.  

"I need to get back," I growled, my voice low, dangerous. I grabbed my suitcase, as if that alone could open the borders, as if sheer force of will could break a damn quarantine.  

Marcus let out a bitter laugh. "And how do you plan to do that, genius? You think they’re just gonna let you walk through customs?"  

"I don’t care!" I roared, turning on him. "My daughter is in danger! And I’m stuck here—"  

My voice cracked.  

Marcus’ expression shifted, the anger in his face softening just slightly.  

"Richard," he said, quieter this time. "I know."  

I pressed my palms to my face, sucking in a deep breath. My hands were still trembling.  

I felt useless. Powerless. The same way I had felt when I found my daughter’s body all those years ago.  

Marcus exhaled through his nose, rubbing the back of his neck. "Look, I get it. Every part of me wants to be there too. But we can’t. And you losing your head isn’t gonna help Ivy—it’s gonna make things worse."  

I clenched my jaw, barely holding myself together.  

Marcus sat down on the edge of the bed, his shoulders heavy with exhaustion. "We don’t even know how deep this goes yet," he continued. "Dante doesn’t just show up out of nowhere. If he’s out, there’s a reason. And it’s not just to scare Ivy."  

I swallowed hard. He was right. Dante never did anything without a reason.  

Who the fuck let him out in the first place? I needed answers.  

I grabbed my phone, scrolling to Leo’s number. He answered on the first ring.  

"Mr Blackwood," Leo’s voice was sharp, tense.

The moment Leo picked up, I didn’t waste time. My voice was sharp, leaving no room for argument.

“Step away from Ivy. I don’t want her hearing this.”

There was a pause, then the faint sound of movement. “What’s going on?” Leo’s voice was wary, but I could hear the tension creeping in.

I exhaled, steadying myself. Even after all these years, saying his name made my skin crawl. “Dante isn’t just some street thug. He’s a monster. The worst kind.”

Silence. Then a sharp inhale from Leo.

I forced myself to continue. “I took him in once. A long time ago. He was just a kid—lost, broken. I thought I could help him. Give him shelter, food, and guidance.” My throat tightened. “I thought I could fix him.”

I swallowed hard, pushing through the familiar wave of grief and rage. “But I was wrong.”

Leo’s breathing turned ragged, as if he already knew where this was going.

“He raped and murdered my daughter.”

A sharp exhale cut through the line. Then silence. A heavy, seething silence.

I didn’t stop. “They locked him up, but if he’s out now—if he’s anywhere near Ivy—he’s not there by accident. I don't want the police to handle this anymore. Look where involving them got me.”

A low, dangerous growl rumbled through the phone. My grip on it tightened.

“That motherfucker,” Leo spat, his voice guttural with rage.

Good. He needed to be angry. Because this wasn’t just about revenge—it was about survival.

“I don’t care what you have to do,” I said, my voice dropping to something lethal. “Keep Ivy safe. And if you get the chance—” I let the words hang, dark and heavy, “—put that bastard in the ground.”

Leo didn’t hesitate.

“I swear on my life,” he growled, his fury intense, “I’ll rip his fucking head off.”

I gritted my teeth. "Find him fast. Before the authorities do.”

The call ended.  

I let my phone drop onto the table, my hands still clenched into fists. This was what I should have done years ago. I should have killed him myself.

Marcus sat back, watching me carefully. "You just put a hit on Dante Alonzo."  

I didn’t answer.  

Because I didn’t regret it.  

Because this time, there wouldn’t be any second chances.  

This time, Dante was dying.