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.