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Price of Freedom	By : Venka Category: +G through L > Hazbin Hotel Views: 85 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own or claim any rights to Hazbin Hotel or its characters, settings, and storyline. All rights to the original series and its intellectual property belong to VivziePop and its respective owners.

Chapter List
- 6
- 7
The door to the third-floor apartment creaked open, and Angel stumbled inside, his legs threatening to buckle beneath him. Each step felt heavier than the last, as though gravity itself had conspired against him. The usual playful spring in his stride was nowhere to be found, replaced by a slow, burdened shuffle. His fur was disheveled, his clothes rumpled and streaked with faint smears of makeup and glitter—the remnants of a grueling day that refused to let him go. His half-lidded eyes were dulled by fatigue, shadows pooling beneath them like bruises born of too many sleepless nights.
This last film had finally been declared a wrap, but the last scenes had drained the last reserves of his energy and left him feeling hollow. The clock ticked toward ten, its steady rhythm a cruel reminder that relief still felt out of reach. The production was over, but the weight of it lingered, making even the thought of savoring his accomplishment impossible. All Angel craved now was sleep—deep, dreamless sleep to drown out the ache in his body and quiet the relentless hum of exhaustion in his mind.
As Angel stepped into the apartment, he froze, exhaustion momentarily giving way to a flicker of alertness as his eyes landed on the unexpected sight before him. Seated at the small, round kitchen table were Charlie and Vaggie, their expressions an intricate mix of relief and concern as they silently watched him. The room was softly illuminated by the glow of a single overhead light, casting warm, golden hues over the scene—a stark contrast to Angel's frazzled and weary state.
Beside them, Luca sat forward in his chair, hands loosely clasped on the table, his brow furrowed with quiet worry. His eyes met Angel's with a tenderness that felt both comforting and unbearable, as though he could see every ounce of the weight Angel carried. That gentle gaze made Angel's already slumped shoulders sink further, his guard crumbling just a bit more under the unexpected intimacy of the moment.
"Angel," Charlie's voice broke the silence, soft yet steady, tinged with worry. She rose quickly from her chair, though her movements were unusually tentative, as if uncertain how to approach him. "You're here early. Are things finally done? Are you…" Her words faltered, trailing off as her eyes roamed over him, taking in the full extent of his disheveled state.
She'd seen Angel return exhausted before—had watched him push himself to his limits time and time again—but tonight was different. Tonight, he looked like a man barely holding himself together, as if the weight of the world was pressing down on him and one misstep might shatter him completely. Her concern deepened, her usually bright expression clouded with quiet alarm.
Before Angel could summon the energy to reply, Luca stood from his chair and crossed the room toward him, his expression growing more serious with each step. His eyes remained fixed on Angel's face, scanning it with quiet intensity, as if trying to measure just how far gone his exhaustion had taken him. There was no judgment in Luca's gaze, only a deep, steady concern that felt almost grounding in the haze of Angel's fatigue.
When he finally spoke, his voice was low and even, cutting through the silence with a calm precision. "These two showed up to one of my sets at Club Incognito," he said, his tone soft but pointed—a subtle nudge to Charlie and Vaggie to tread carefully, their discussion best kept vague.
The words hung in the air for a moment, weighted with unspoken implications, but Luca didn't elaborate. Instead, his focus remained entirely on Angel, waiting to see how he would respond—or if he even could.
Charlie and Vaggie shared a quick, meaningful glance, a silent conversation passing between them in an instant. With a small nod, Charlie turned her attention back to Angel, her expression softening. "Cherri mentioned you liked Luke Strike's music," she began, her voice gentle but genuine. "So, we thought it might be fun to check out one of his performances."
She hesitated, her fingers fidgeting slightly as she searched for the right words. "Things got… um, rather intense, and Luke helped us out of there. We didn't realize you two were friends." Her gaze flicked briefly to Luca, then back to Angel, her tone carrying a subtle mixture of apology and curiosity.
It was clear she was trying to tread lightly, sensing that whatever Angel had been through tonight, he wasn't in the mood for deep explanations or drawn-out conversations. Still, her concern lingered in the way her eyes searched his face, silently asking if he was okay.
Angel's gaze swept over each of them, lingering for a moment on the quiet concern etched into their faces. His exhausted features softened just a fraction, a flicker of something tender breaking through the fatigue. He barely managed to lift the corners of his mouth into a faint, fleeting smile—a small gesture, but one that spoke volumes in its sincerity.
His body felt like it might give out at any moment, the weight of the day pulling at him with relentless force. Yet, beneath the haze of exhaustion, the warmth of their worry wrapped around him like a fragile shield. It touched him more deeply than he wanted to admit, a reminder that even in moments like these, he wasn't alone. But the thought of expressing that gratitude was too much—his energy stretched too thin—so he let the faint smile linger, hoping it was enough.
"Being a celebrity does have its perks," Angel rasped, his voice scratchy and worn, the result of a day spent screaming, crying out in humiliation, and driving himself far beyond his physical limits. The words came with a hint of forced humor, but his delivery lacked its usual sharpness, betraying just how drained he truly was. Even as a porn star, Angel knew his limits—or thought he did. Today had been a grim reminder of just how far those boundaries could be stretched and how much worse they could get.
He cast a glance at Luca, a flicker of suspicion in his weary eyes. Luca inviting Charlie and Vaggie here wasn't entirely a coincidence, Angel guessed. Still, he couldn't bring himself to be annoyed. If anything, the quiet solidarity in the room was a balm, even if he didn't have the strength to fully embrace it. And now, standing in the soft glow of the apartment, every inch of him felt frayed, the edges of his resolve barely holding. But despite everything, their presence eased a tension he hadn't realized he was carrying, even if he couldn't fully show it.
"Come on," Luca said gently, stepping closer to guide Angel toward the couch, which had been arranged in preparation for his arrival. His touch was firm but kind, a steadying presence as Angel reluctantly let himself be led. "You look beat. Sit down before you fall down."
Angel complied without protest, sinking into the cushions with a soft groan of relief, his body finally giving in to the exhaustion he'd been holding back.
Luca crouched slightly, his sharp gaze softening as he studied Angel's face. "Though seriously," he continued, his voice light but tinged with genuine concern, "I wasn't expecting you much before three—like yesterday. What happened?"
The question hung in the air, careful but insistent, inviting Angel to explain but not pressing him if he wasn't ready. Behind them, Charlie and Vaggie remained quiet, their concern palpable but tempered with patience, as if they knew this was a moment Angel needed to navigate in his own time.
Angel slumped into the couch, letting his body sink into a lounging position as if the cushions might somehow absorb the exhaustion weighing him down. The day's fatigue pressed on him like a heavy blanket, leaving him too drained to care about formality.
"That's what I thought too," he murmured, his voice low and scratchy. "But things got wrapped up sooner than expected." He paused, his head tilting back against the couch as a faint scoff escaped his lips. "Val's already planning the next production. Doesn't waste a damn second."
The words carried a bitter edge, though his tone was too tired to fully commit to resentment. It was more a resigned acknowledgment of how things worked in Val's world—relentless, demanding, and unyielding. He closed his eyes briefly, as if trying to shut out the thought, while his fingers absently fidgeted with the blankets beneath him. Despite his weariness, the mention of Val seemed to linger in the air like an unwelcome guest.
For a moment, they all sat in silence, the room filled with an unspoken understanding. Finally, Charlie leaned forward, her voice gentle but resolute. "We're here for you, Angel. No matter what. Tonight, just rest, okay? Everything else can wait."
Angel nodded, his eyes drooping, his breath finally slowing as the tension in his shoulders began to ease. He could feel the weight of sleep pressing down on him, tugging him away from the exhaustion and into a calm, dreamless rest. With his friends around him, the weariness seemed a little more bearable, the strain just a little lighter.
Luca's gaze remained steady, his sage green eyes quietly studying Angel as if trying to piece together the unspoken weight he carried. His expression softened further, concern mingling with something deeper—something harder to define but unmistakably tender.
From a few steps away, Charlie watched the scene unfold. For a fleeting moment, she caught a glimpse of something she hadn't seen in people other than Vaggie and herself, and perhaps her own parents: the shadow of the love and companionship that had once bound Angel and Luca so tightly together. A connection that radiated a warmth that was hard to ignore.
Even now, despite everything—time, distance, and the scars life had left behind—that bond seemed to linger. It was there in the way Luca looked at Angel, his concern laced with an intimacy that couldn't be faked. Charlie's chest tightened at the sight, a bittersweet pang of hope stirring within her. Perhaps not everything had been lost.
Charlie's gaze shifted, and her faint smile vanished as her eyes caught on a discolored patch near Angel's shoulder, just above his collarbone. A fresh bruise, dark and angry against his pale fur, stood out starkly in the soft light. Her breath hitched, a quiet gasp escaping her as she froze, her concern shifting to alarm.
She glanced quickly at Luca, who had noticed it too. His expression, so gentle moments ago, hardened in an instant. His eyes narrowed, a sharp focus locking onto the bruise, and his jaw tightened with quiet fury. It was subtle but unmistakable—the flicker of protective instinct rising within him, sparking something fierce in the chestnut-furred spider demon.
Luca's hands flexed at his sides, his voice low and measured as he finally spoke. "Angel," he said, his tone calm but edged with something heavier. "What happened?"
The room seemed to still, Charlie and Vaggie exchanging a silent look as the weight of the question lingered in the air. Angel, slouched and weary on the couch, gave no immediate answer, his eyes flickering toward the bruise as if he'd forgotten it was even there—or wished he could.
"It's nothing," Angel muttered, his voice rough as he waved a hand dismissively. "Just a, uh… mishap during the performance. You know how it goes. Things get rough sometimes." He forced a smile, a weak attempt at brushing it off, but the effort fell flat. The smile didn't reach his eyes, and the tension in his posture betrayed him.
Luca's eyes remained fixed on him, sharp and unyielding. The way he drew in a slow, deliberate breath through his nose spoke volumes, a silent acknowledgment that he wasn't buying the excuse. His gaze flicked back to the bruise, then to Angel's face, searching for cracks in the facade.
"Uh-huh," Luca said finally, his tone low and edged with skepticism. "Rough, huh? Sounds more like someone forgot where the line was." There was no accusation in his voice, just a quiet, simmering anger at the idea of someone his erstwhile lover deliberate harm—whether Angel was willing to admit it or not.
Charlie shifted uneasily, glancing between the two men, while Vaggie folded her arms, her lips pressed into a thin line. The tension in the room was palpable, thick enough to make the soft hum of the overhead light seem deafening. All eyes were on Angel now, waiting for a crack in his defenses, waiting for him to let them in.
Both Charlie and Vaggie knew in their hearts that Angel's explanation was a lie, and the bruise wasn't the result of a simple mishap at the studio. It bore the unmistakable mark of something deliberate, something cruel—and they both knew exactly who was responsible. Valentino.
The memories resurfaced with startling clarity in Charlie's mind, her stomach twisting with unease. She could still picture the sight of the Moth overlord dragging Angel out of his dressing room, his usual smug sneer twisted into something darker. The fur around Angel's white eye had been blackened, bruised as though Val had struck him in a fit of rage. That wasn't the first time either.
She remembered another moment, not long ago, at that downtown sex club Angel had visited with Cherri Bomb and a few others from the hotel. The place reeked of danger, but Angel had carried himself with a boldness that night, even under Valentino's oppressive gaze. When the Moth overlord had made a move to add Niffty as one of his sex workers. The Moth was weirded out by the bug-like cyclopes behavior but still figured there would be some interest in that. Angel who had been holding on to Niffty despite knowing that in trying to retrieve her he would be exposing his presence in the club to Val. Getting to his feet with Niffty in his arms he had stated "Fuck off, Val" despite the risk of doing so.
When Val had reacted to this, Angel had declared with unwavering defiance, "I may have to put up with your bullshit, but you ain't fuckin' with any of my friends!" His voice had been steady, filled with a fire that dared Valentino to challenge him there with all the people in the club as witness.
The retaliation had been swift and merciless. Val had backhanded Angel with such force that the spider had crumpled to the floor, the sound of the impact echoing across the club. Charlie could still see it—the way Angel lay sprawled on the ground, dazed and vulnerable, thin streams of blood trickling from his nostrils and down his face as the room froze around him.
Cherri Bomb had stood off to the side, her wide-eyed expression betraying her shock. She had known things between Angel and Valentino were bad, but that moment had unveiled just how deep the cruelty ran. Her usual fiery bravado had faltered, replaced by a stunned silence.
Husk, however, had been different. His entire body had tensed, his claws bared. There was a quiet storm brewing behind his sharp eyes, a readiness to attack if Angel required help. But Angel hadn't. Instead, he'd forced himself to his feet, refusing to give Valentino the satisfaction of seeing him stay down.
Charlie's chest tightened as the memory washed over her. That moment had painted the picture clearer than any words ever could—Angel's life wasn't just hard. It was a battlefield, with Valentino looming over him like an ever-present threat. And now, the fresh bruise on Angel's shoulder was just another reminder of the chains he couldn't seem to break.
And then, the words—Val's chilling promise, spoken with a sadistic smirk: "Enjoy the rest of your night, bitch, because I'm going to enjoy making you pay for it tomorrow."
That promise had lingered like a shadow over Angel ever since. And now, as Charlie's eyes settled on the bruise near his collarbone, the weight of those memories crashed over her. This wasn't random. This wasn't an accident. This was Valentino's cruelty, plain and simple, written across Angel's body like a scar.
Vaggie's jaw tightened, her fists clenching at her sides. She didn't say anything, but the fiery determination in her eyes spoke volumes. Charlie felt it too—a mixture of helplessness and anger, bubbling just beneath the surface. They wanted to protect Angel, to pull him out of Valentino's reach once and for all, but the grip that monster had on him was suffocating, unrelenting.
Angel didn't meet their eyes. Whether from shame, fear, or sheer exhaustion, he kept his gaze fixed on the floor, his forced smile fading into something that looked more like defeat.
Vaggie rose to her feet, her movements deliberate as she stepped forward, closing the distance between herself and Angel. Her sharp, narrowed eyes locked onto his, scrutinizing him with a mixture of determination and concern. Her voice, when she spoke, was quiet but firm, leaving no room for evasion.
"Angel," she said, her tone steady and unyielding, "you don't have to brush it off with us."
She took another step closer, her gaze unwavering, as though willing him to believe her. "If something is going on, you can tell us," she added, her words gentle but pointed, making it clear that she wouldn't accept another half-hearted dismissal.
The room fell silent, the weight of her words pressing down like a heavy blanket. Charlie stood just behind her, nodding subtly in agreement, her hands clasped tightly in front of her chest. Even Luca, who had been hovering near Angel protectively, shifted his stance, his arms crossed as he leaned slightly closer, silently reinforcing Vaggie's sentiment.
Angel continued to stare holes into the floor, his discomfort evident in the way he avoided the eyes on him. He shifted slightly on the couch, his body tense despite the effort to appear casual. "I'm fine, really," he said, his voice firm but lacking conviction. "Just… tired, that's all."
The words hung in the air, unconvincing and hollow, like a poorly rehearsed line he'd used too many times before. His hands fidgeted in his lap, betraying the cracks in his facade.
Vaggie's expression tightened, her brows furrowing as she crossed her arms. "Angel," she began, her tone softening but still resolute, "you don't have to pretend with us."
Charlie took a hesitant step forward, her eyes wide with worry. "We just want to help," she added gently, her voice almost pleading. "You don't have to go through this alone."
Luca said nothing, but the way his jaw clenched and his fists curled at his sides spoke volumes. He stayed close, his presence a silent but steadfast reminder that Angel wouldn't have to face whatever this was without support.
Angel's lips parted as if he wanted to say something, but no words came. Instead, he simply looked away again, his shoulders slumping further under the weight of their concern.
Charlie exchanged a worried glance with Luca, the weight of unspoken understanding passing between them. It was clear that Luca had seen this side of Angel before—his stubborn refusal to open up about the things that truly mattered, especially when those things cut too deep. Angel's resistance wasn't just pride; it was fear, self-protection, and perhaps a misplaced instinct to shield the people he cared about.
Her eyes lingered on Angel, taking in the bruise on his shoulder, its dark hue standing out starkly against his pale fur. It made her wonder what other marks—hidden beneath his clothes—he was trying to keep from view. Even the way his lanky form seemed to shrink as he curled in on himself spoke volumes. His body language screamed that he longed to share the weight of what was happening, to let someone in. But he couldn't. He wouldn't.
Charlie could almost hear the reasoning in his silence. If he told them the truth, it would pull them into his problems, dragging the entire hotel into the mess of Valentino's wrath. The dangers that lurked around him were far too great, too unpredictable. Then there was the studio itself—the things Angel refused to confront even in his own mind, the horrors he downplayed to survive another day. Admitting the truth to anyone would mean facing it fully himself, and that was a line he wasn't ready to cross.
Even though he understood Charlie's status as one of Hell's highest powers, Angel wasn't naive enough to assume she could fix everything. Deals were binding in ways that even celestial authority couldn't undo, especially when a soul had been bargained away. And the last thing he wanted was for Charlie, or anyone else, to fight his battles for him. If anything, he feared that standing up for him might make them targets too.
Charlie sighed, the weight of her own helplessness pressing down on her. She knew she couldn't force Angel to talk, but seeing him like this—worn down, defensive, and trapped—made her heart ache.
Instead, Charlie softly said, "We're here for you, Angel. Whenever you're ready, we'll be here." Her voice carried a quiet strength, offering him the safety to speak if he chose—but also letting him know that they wouldn't abandon him, even if he kept it all inside.
Luca shook his head, frustration flickering across his face. If it were just him and Angel, he liked to believe the other spider might have been more forthcoming about whatever was eating at him. But deep down, he wasn't so sure. Even when they were alive, Anthony had never been one to open up easily—especially not about the things that really mattered. The things that happened in his family home, particularly where his father and older brother were concerned, had always been met with a wall of silence. Angel's deflection now felt all too familiar.
"You don't have to talk about it if you're not ready," Luca said, his voice softening as he crouched slightly to meet Angel's eye level. "But something's going on at that studio. This ain't like before…" His words trailed off, his gaze lingering on Angel's slumped frame.
He gestured vaguely toward the bruise on Angel's shoulder, his hand dropping back to his side before it could hover too long. "This—whatever's happening—it's not just wear and tear from a rough day. You don't have to tell me everything, but you've gotta stop pretending it's nothing."
Angel didn't respond immediately, his eyes continued to be fixed somewhere on the floor. His fingers fidgeted with the blankets, pulling at a loose thread as though it might unravel something larger. Luca exhaled, the tension in his jaw easing slightly as he straightened up.
"You've always carried too much," Luca added after a moment, his tone quieter but filled with a raw honesty. "I just don't wanna see it break you this time."
The room was silent, save for the faint hum of the overhead light. Charlie and Vaggie exchanged a glance, both stepping back slightly to give the two spiders space, though their worry still lingered in the air. They could see it too—the weight Angel was carrying, and the walls he kept putting up to keep them all out.
"I know," Angel said softly, his voice carrying a hint of sincerity that wasn't often present in his usual flippant tone. He managed a small, well-meaning smile, one that faltered at the edges as his usual bravado slipped. His pink gaze flicked between the three of them—Luca, Charlie, and Vaggie—each of them watching him with concern so palpable it almost felt like a weight in the room.
For a moment, he seemed to hesitate, as if he might actually open up. His eyes softened, his lips parting slightly, and the guarded look he usually wore started to crack. But just as quickly, he shook his head, as though shaking off the vulnerability like an unwanted coat.
"It's been a long day," he murmured, his voice trailing off as he leaned back against the couch cushions. "Really, I just… I just need some rest right now."
The excuse hung in the air, thin but unchallenged. Luca's jaw tightened, his frustration evident, but he didn't press further. Charlie gave Angel a small nod, though her worried gaze lingered on him a moment longer. Vaggie frowned but crossed her arms, clearly biting back a comment.
"All right," Luca finally said, his voice calm but laced with quiet resignation. "Get your rest. But Angel… just remember, you don't have to do this alone. Not with your friends here."
Angel nodded faintly, but his gaze stayed on the floor. It was clear he wasn't ready to take that step yet. The room settled into an uneasy silence, the unspoken words between them louder than anything anyone could have said.
"Maybe we should go," Vaggie suggested quietly to Charlie, her voice soft but purposeful. She could sense the tension in the room—the truth in Angel's exhaustion but also the clear hesitancy that said he wasn't ready, or able, to share what was really happening.
She glanced briefly at Charlie, her own thoughts racing. The song they had overheard Angel singing, laden with pain and resignation, coupled with the bruise on his shoulder, painted a picture they couldn't ignore. The pieces were starting to fall into place, and the chilling realization that Angel's very soul might be owned by Valentino hung heavy in her mind.
As much as Vaggie wanted to confront Angel about their suspicions, she knew now wasn't the time. Angel wasn't in the right headspace, and forcing the issue would only make him retreat further. Whatever was happening at the studio, whatever hold Valentino had on him, it was something they would have to approach carefully—and with patience.
Charlie nodded, her lips pressed into a thin line as she glanced at Angel. "Yeah," she said softly, reluctant but understanding. "You need your rest. We'll head out for now."
She stepped forward, crouching slightly to meet Angel's downcast gaze. "Just remember, we're here, okay? Whenever you're ready to talk, we're not going anywhere." Her words were earnest, but her eyes carried a quiet plea, as though hoping Angel would believe her.
Angel managed another faint smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Thanks, doll. I mean it," he said, his voice low and strained. "I'll be fine."
Charlie hesitated but stood, exchanging a look with Vaggie. Luca lingered nearby, his expression unreadable, though the tension in his posture suggested he wasn't entirely ready to leave. Still, he didn't argue, simply stepping back to give Angel some space.
As the three of them moved toward the door, the unspoken weight of their suspicions followed them like a shadow. They all knew this wasn't over, but for now, they would respect Angel's boundaries and give him the time he needed.
"I'll walk you girls out," Luca offered, his voice steady but gentle as he glanced at Charlie and Vaggie. He moved toward the door, his posture calm but carrying an undercurrent of protectiveness. "Don't worry. I'll make sure Angel gets back to your hotel in the morning. You gals need a lift to your hotel?"
"Thanks," Charlie said. "But we'll manage on our own."
"All right," Luca said, his tone measured as he followed Charlie and Vaggie to the door. Before stepping out, he glanced back into the apartment, his eyes catching on Angel, who was reluctantly settling under the blanket on the couch. Satisfied that Angel was at least trying to rest, Luca turned back and stepped into the hallway with the two women.
As they walked toward the elevators, Luca's brow furrowed, his expression darkening with unspoken thoughts. "Is there something you know about what's going on at Valentino's studio?" he asked quietly, his voice low but edged with tension. He shot a glance at the two of them, his sharp gaze lingering. "Because I'm getting the same feeling I did stepping into Valvano's office that one time."
Charlie and Vaggie both stopped mid-step, exchanging a quick look. Vaggie's lips pressed into a thin line, her body language rigid, while Charlie hesitated, her worry written plainly across her face.
"It's… complicated," Charlie admitted finally, her voice almost a whisper. "We don't have the full picture, but we've been piecing things together."
Vaggie crossed her arms, her expression hardening. "Let's just say we're starting to suspect Valentino's grip on Angel is a lot worse than even he lets on. It's not just about work—it's deeper than that. More… binding."
Luca's frown deepened, his chest tightening as he processed their words. "Binding?" he repeated, his voice sharp with a mix of confusion and dread.
Charlie nodded, her gaze dropping briefly. "We think Valentino might… own his soul," she said hesitantly, the weight of the words almost too much to bear. "It's not just a contract for his work. It's everything."
Luca exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. The tension in his body seemed to coil tighter, his mind racing as the implications hit him. "That bastard," he muttered under his breath. "If that's true, it explains a hell of a lot. But it also means this isn't just something Angel can walk away from."
"No," Vaggie said firmly, her voice steely. "But it doesn't mean we won't find a way to help him. We just have to be careful. This isn't a fight we can rush into."
Luca nodded slowly, his expression grim but determined. "I get it. But Angel's not gonna open up about this—not easily. He probably suspects you know more than you're saying, but don't confront him about it he'll just shut you out even more. It was months before he even told me what Valvano had attempted."
Charlie sighed as they stepped into the elevator, her voice quiet but filled with concern. "I don't know all of Angel's side of the story about… that person he killed," she admitted, her words careful. "But it feels like there are similarities between Valvano and Valentino—more than just their names. The way they operate, the way they manipulate and control... it's too familiar."
She glanced at Vaggie, who gave a small nod of agreement, then back to Luca. "We suspect there's more going on than Angel is willing to admit—or even feels like he can say. He's been through so much, and he's got this way of brushing things off, but…"
Charlie hesitated, her brow furrowing as she searched for the right words. "Vaggie and I heard one of Angel's more recent songs. And—" she paused, her voice catching slightly, "it sounded like a cry for help. Like he's trying to say something without saying it."
Vaggie crossed her arms, her expression darkening. "It's not just the lyrics, either. It's the way he sang it. Like he was pouring out something real. It didn't feel like a performance—it felt personal."
Luca leaned back against the elevator wall, his brow furrowed as he absorbed their words. "A cry for help…" he echoed softly, his voice tinged with frustration and a trace of guilt. "Damn it, Anthony."
He exhaled sharply, running a hand over his furry face taking care to avoid the fang-like formations of his auxiliary eyes. "If he's putting it in his music, it's because he doesn't feel safe saying it outright. That's… that's how he's always been, even back when we were alive. He'd drop hints, but he'd never actually come out with it unless he felt like he had no other choice."
"It's one of the few ways he can express himself," Luca said, his voice low but laced with understanding. "Through his music, without drawing too much attention—at least not from the wrong people. Take one of his songs, 'Addict.' I saw it performed live once."
He paused, his brow furrowing as the memory surfaced. "At one point during the performance, he went off script. It wasn't obvious to most people, but for a second, he wasn't just singing. He was… calling Valentino out. Just a few words, but it was enough to shift the energy in the room."
Luca's jaw tightened as he continued. "And it caught Valentino's attention. I could see it. The way Val was watching him, like he was calculating something. Angel's face… he looked defiant, but it didn't last. After the performance, Angel was taken off stage pretty quickly. I can't say what happened next, but whatever it was, I doubt it ended well for him."
Charlie's hand flew to her mouth, her eyes wide with alarm. "He called him out? On stage?" she whispered, horrified. "That's… that's so dangerous."
Vaggie shook her head, her expression a mix of anger and sadness. "It sounds like Angel's trying to fight back in the only way he feels he can. But if Valentino noticed, and if he reacted… it's no wonder Angel's so guarded now. He knows exactly what he's risking every time he pushes back."
Luca nodded grimly. "Exactly. And Val's not the kind of guy to let something like that slide. Whatever Angel's going through, it's probably worse than he's letting on, but he's too scared—or too stubborn—to admit it."
"That's what scares me." Charlie said. "If he doesn't feel like he can tell us, it means he's afraid of what might happen if he does. And with Valentino…"
She didn't finish the thought, but the weight of her implication hung heavily in the air. Vaggie's jaw tightened, and Luca's eyes darkened, his fists clenching at his sides.
"That could be why he broke off your friendship," Vaggie suggested, her tone thoughtful but tinged with a sharp edge of suspicion. She turned to Luca, her arms crossed as she continued. "I haven't encountered Valentino or any of the Vees personally—thankfully. They're some of the most recently appointed Overlords, but from everything I've heard, they're not people to overlook. Not by a long shot."
She paused, her brow furrowing as her thoughts solidified. "Angel may have distanced himself because he didn't want Valentino, or any of the Vees, to notice a connection between you two. If Val thought for even a second that your friendship could pose a threat, he'd make sure Angel paid for it. Maybe even worse than he already does."
Luca's jaw clenched, and he looked away for a moment, the suggestion cutting deeper than he cared to admit. "That… makes sense," he said finally, his voice quiet but heavy. "Angel's always been like that—pushing people away when he thinks it'll keep them safe. But damn it, I never thought it was this bad."
Charlie placed a hand gently on Luca's arm, her expression soft with understanding. "It's not your fault, Luca," she said. "Angel's just trying to survive in the only way he knows how. But if Vaggie's right, and he broke things off to protect you… it means he still cares about you."
"Cares or not," Vaggie interjected, her tone firm, "it doesn't change the fact that Valentino is a threat. And if Angel's tied to him in a way that he can't easily break, then he's probably been trying to shield everyone close to him from Val's wrath."
"I can understand that," Luca said, his voice low and serious. "Valentino is dangerous, no doubt, but what makes him worse is the alliances he keeps. Vox and Velvette are even more dangerous in their own ways."
He leaned against the elevator wall, his expression grim as he elaborated. "Vox runs the televised media, and he uses his technology to control people and keep tabs on anyone he sees as a threat to his corporation. It's not just surveillance—it's manipulation, making sure no one steps out of line without him knowing about it. And Velvette? She's a social media influencer, always working closely with Vox. But she's got another angle. She produces this… love potion, with Valentino's help."
Luca's voice dropped further, and his jaw tightened. "I've seen it in use. It's like slipping someone a Mickey, like they used to do back in the day. Just a drop in someone's drink, and moments later, the person's incapacitated. But it's worse than just knocking them out. There's definitely an aphrodisiac element to it. The victim becomes… vulnerable, susceptible to physical advances while they're in that state. It's sick."
Charlie's already pale complexion grew even whiter, her black lips parting slightly as the implication of Luca's words sank in. Her hands gripped the railing of the elevator, knuckles turning white. "That's… horrific," she whispered, her voice trembling.
Vaggie tensed beside Charlie, her entire posture rigid, her fists clenched tightly at her sides. Her expression darkened, her eyes narrowing with a mix of fury and disgust. "They're drugging people," she said flatly, her voice cold and sharp. "Taking them in, using them like toys. That's beyond vile."
She took a sharp breath, her voice rising slightly with the sheer weight of her anger. "And they feel they can get away with this just because they're Overlords. Because no one dares to challenge them."
Charlie reached out instinctively, placing a hand on Vaggie's arm to steady her, but her own face mirrored the turmoil in Vaggie's words. "It's horrifying," she said quietly, her voice trembling. "The fact that they think their power gives them the right to destroy lives like this… it's evil."
The two girls lapsed into a heavy silence, the weight of what they now understood pressing down on them. In Hell, owning souls was the foundation of power, the currency by which Overlords maintained their standing and control. It was an unspoken rule of the city—a brutal system that everyone understood, whether they liked it or not.
But even within this twisted framework, there was usually a certain balance. Most Overlords, while far from kind to the souls they possessed, adhered to a begrudging respect for the people under their control. Deals were honored—strictly, yes, but not always sadistically. There was cruelty, but rarely the kind of relentless, targeted malice they were beginning to see from Valentino.
Even Alastor, with his chilling demeanor and dark sense of humor, maintained a strange equilibrium with those he ruled. Husk, for example, might resent the circumstances that put him under Alastor's power, but there was a grudging respect between the two. Alastor didn't push him beyond his limits, didn't seek to break him for the sheer enjoyment of it. That wasn't the kind of power he thrived on.
But Valentino? Valentino was different. He didn't just control; he crushed. He didn't just own; he dominated. And unlike most Overlords, he didn't seem interested in maintaining even the smallest semblance of respect for the souls under his thumb. His power was wielded with an almost sadistic glee, designed not just to subjugate but to destroy.
Charlie's hands trembled slightly as she clasped them together, her gaze distant and unfocused. The enormity of the situation pressed down on her, a weight she wasn't sure she could bear. Reluctantly, she began to accept a truth she had been avoiding: this wasn't something she could solve right now. Maybe, in the worst-case scenario, not ever.
Letting out a dismayed breath through her nose, she turned to Luca, her expression weary but grateful.
"Thank you for looking after Angel," Charlie said softly, her voice tinged with both appreciation and a hint of sadness.
Luca met her gaze, his expression steady but shadowed with his own worry. "Of course," he replied, his voice calm but resolute. "He's important to me, too. I'm not going to let anything happen to him if I can help it."
Angel lay still on the couch, his eyes shut but far from asleep. His body begged for rest, but it refused to come. The bruises mottling his skin ached with every subtle shift, making any position unbearable after a few moments. Worse still, his body couldn't seem to regulate its temperature.
Under the blankets, he felt uncomfortably warm, his skin prickling with heat. Frustrated, he'd kick the covers away, only to feel the sharp bite of the chill moments later, leaving him shivering and reaching for the blankets again. It was an endless cycle of discomfort, one that left him irritated and restless.
Finally, he'd resorted to stripping down to just his shorts and stockings, hoping it would ease the heat. The fabric of his Valentino coat, with its weight and texture, had been unbearable against his tender skin, especially the fresh bruises from earlier that day. His ribs throbbed where Val's claws had gripped him too hard, and his shoulder still stung from the force of being shoved into the wall during one of Val's fits.
Angel's pink eyes fluttered open briefly, staring at the dim ceiling above him. The quiet hum of the apartment was almost maddening, offering no distraction from the dull ache that radiated through him. He pressed a hand over his face, his fingers trembling slightly, as memories of the day replayed in his mind. Val's anger. The sneer in his voice. The way Angel had forced himself to endure it all, to act as though it didn't hurt—as though it didn't matter.
But now, alone in the dim light of the apartment, there was no one to perform for. No one to fool. And the cracks in his armor felt deeper than ever.
Angel had just been weighing the idea of a warm shower to soothe his aching body and, hopefully, coax himself into some much-needed sleep when the soft click of the apartment door broke the silence. His muscles tensed instinctively, and he quickly pulled the blankets over himself, shielding his exposed skin as Luca stepped inside.
The sage-green-eyed spider didn't glance in Angel's direction, but there was an unspoken awareness in the way he moved. Luca didn't need to look to know Angel was awake; the faint rustle of the blankets and the slight shift of the couch's frame were enough to clue him in.
"You're still awake, aren't you?" he asked, not needing confirmation. He didn't press further, instead moving to the kitchen and beginning to fill a glass of water.
Angel hesitated, debating whether to respond or feign sleep, but he knew Luca wouldn't be fooled. "Yeah," he admitted quietly, his voice scratchy from exhaustion and disuse. "Can't seem to get comfortable."
Luca nodded, still not looking directly at him, as he set the glass of water on the counter. "Figured as much," he said simply. "You've got that look about you. Like you've been trying to shut your brain off, but it won't listen."
Angel huffed a soft, humorless laugh, sinking further into the cushions. "Guess I'm not as good at hiding it as I thought."
Luca didn't respond right away, but his presence alone felt grounding, like a silent reminder that Angel wasn't entirely alone in his restless night.
"You have some rather interesting companions," Luca commented casually, breaking the quiet as he leaned back against the counter, arms crossed. His tone was neutral, almost teasing, but there was a genuine curiosity beneath it.
"'Interesting' is a good way to describe them," Angel said, his tone laced with a faint bite of irritation. He shifted under the blankets, his tired pink eyes narrowing slightly as he glanced at Luca. It didn't take much to connect the dots—the unspoken reactions between Luca and Charlie earlier had made it clear that the Princess of Hell had been poking her nose into things better left untouched. At least, in Angel's opinion.
"Vaggie's okay," Angel continued, his voice softening slightly, though his irritation still lingered. "I mean, she protects everyone at the hotel, which I appreciate. But I'd like her better if she could loosen up every once in a while. She's always so wound up, like she's ready to fight all seven rings."
He paused, letting out a soft huff as he adjusted the blankets again, his shoulder brushing against the fabric with a wince. "And Charlie… well, she's sweet, but she's always got this thing about helping people, you know? Sticking her nose into stuff that would be better off left alone. Like… I dunno, maybe she thinks she can fix everything. But some things…" His voice trailed off, leaving the unspoken sentiment hanging in the air.
"I'd be more concerned if she didn't want to help," Luca said, his voice steady but laced with a hint of reminiscence. He leaned back, arms crossed, his green eyes steady as they rested on Angel. "It kinda reminds me of your twin sister in a way."
Angel's brow furrowed slightly, his fingers tightening around the edge of the blanket, but he didn't interrupt.
"Molly wasn't in the know about the family business," Luca continued, his tone softening. "And she had the sense to understand that she was being kept out for a reason. But that didn't mean she was blind to what was going on. She could see the cracks, the way things didn't add up. She knew something was wrong, even if no one would tell her outright."
He paused, his gaze drifting as if recalling an old memory. "But Molly wasn't reckless about it. She knew where the lines were—what she could ask and what she couldn't. And if something really bothered her, something she couldn't ignore… she'd figure out the right questions to ask. Especially if it was about you."
Angel let out a low scoff, though it lacked any real bite. "Molly was always a worrier," he muttered, looking away. "Didn't matter what it was—she'd find a way to make it her problem."
"Yeah," Luca said, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "That's what sisters do. But with Molly, it wasn't just worrying for the sake of it. She wanted to protect you in her own way, even if she didn't have all the pieces. Just like the Princess is trying to do now."
Angel's eyes flicked to Luca for a moment, irritation flashing in their pink depths. "Charlie's got no business sticking her nose into my life. Molly might've had an excuse, but Charlie? She's just setting herself up for trouble."
Luca shook his head slightly, his smirk fading. "Maybe she is. But the thing is, she cares. Same way Molly did. You can be mad about it, or you can accept that people are gonna worry about you whether you think you deserve it or not."
Angel's jaw tightened, his gaze dropping back to the blanket. "Doesn't mean it's gonna change anything," he muttered.
"Maybe not," Luca agreed, his voice quieter now. "But it doesn't mean you have to go through it alone, either."
Angel didn't respond, his shoulders sagging slightly as he pulled the blanket higher around himself. Luca didn't press further, letting the silence settle again, but the weight of his words lingered in the room.
Luca turned toward the kitchen cabinet with quiet purpose, pulling it open and retrieving a small box. Without a word, he shook a single packet free from the box, returning it to its place before tearing the packet open with a practiced ease. A couple of effervescent tablets tumbled into the glass of water he'd set aside earlier, fizzing and swirling as they dissolved.
He watched the water for a moment, ensuring the tablets fully dissolved into a uniform solution before picking up the glass. The soft sound of the fizzing liquid filled the silence as he walked back toward the couch, his movements calm and deliberate.
"Here," Luca said, his tone calm but firm as he handed Angel the glass. The chestnut-furred spider leaned slightly closer, his green eyes steady. "This should help you sleep. And it'll also help with that cold you've been coming down with."
Angel glanced up at him, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before he quickly masked it with a casual shrug. "Cold? Pfft, what cold?" he muttered, though the scratchiness in his voice and the faint congestion in his breathing betrayed him.
Luca raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by Angel's deflection. "Don't play dumb, Anthony," he said evenly, his tone carrying just enough firmness to cut through Angel's usual defenses. "You've been sounding congested since you called me the other day. These long shifts at the studio are obviously running you into the ground. You're not fooling anyone."
Angel froze slightly at the use of his real name, a flicker of something—frustration, maybe embarrassment—crossing his face. "Oh, so now we're bringing out the Anthony card?" he muttered, his voice hoarse as he sank deeper into the couch. "What next, you goin' to play big brother to me too?"
Luca smirked faintly, but his green eyes softened as he leaned against the arm of the couch. "Wasn't it you who asked why I wasn't your fratello maggiore?" he said, his voice calm but steady. "Regardless of how you and Enzo view each other, even he would see that you're burning yourself out. It's written all over you. I get it, you don't like people worrying about you, but you're not invincible. Pushing through everything like this isn't doing you or anyone any favors."
Angel sighed, staring into the faintly fizzing liquid, but made no moves to take it. "Yeah, well, not like I've got a lot of options," he muttered. "I don't show up for work and he'd have no problems paying the hotel a visit to drag me back to the studio by force. This whole thing about havin' me work until three in the morning was so I'd be so tired I'd have no choice but to bunk at the studio.' "
"That doesn't mean you can't take care of yourself when you're off the clock," Luca countered, his tone softening but still firm. "I know you have a lot goin' on, but letting yourself get sicker isn't gonna make anything easier."
Angel continued to eye the glass of water Luca was holding out, his expression skeptical. He knew Luca wouldn't hand him a spiked drink—Luca wasn't that kind of guy—but old habits and bad experiences were hard to shake. After all, he'd lost count of the number of times someone had slipped Velvette's 'Love Potion' into his drinks, whether it was Valentino himself or some forgettable rando at a bar. At this point, the only drinks he trusted were the ones he poured for himself—or the ones Husk slid his way.
"Couldn't I just take a shower instead?" Angel asked, his voice carrying a hint of weariness. "Standing under hot water usually helps me relax."
"Shower in the morning," Luca said firmly, still holding out the effervescent water. His sage-green eyes didn't waver as he added, "Besides, you looked like you were about to keel over when you walked in here. Even the princess could see that. And for the record, I could feel you were running a temperature the second I guided you to the couch."
Angel blinked at that, his hand instinctively brushing against his forehead. "I don't feel that bad," he muttered, though his tone lacked conviction.
"Yeah, sure," Luca replied with a smirk, though his voice carried genuine concern. "You looked so fine earlier, dragging yourself in here like a zombie. Now stop being stubborn and drink this. It'll help with the fever, and it might actually get you to sleep without tossing and turning all night."
Seeing that this was an argument he wouldn't win, Angel reluctantly sighed and pulled an arm out from under the covers to take the glass. Before he could reach it, Luca stepped back slightly, his movements deliberate. A second pair of arms sprouted from Luca's waist, seamlessly transferring the glass from his primary hands to the secondary pair.
Without a word, Luca knelt down in front of the couch, one set of hands gently gripping the edge of the blanket. Angel stiffened immediately, his pink eyes narrowing in warning. "What the hell are you doing?" he snapped, trying to pull the covers tighter around himself.
"Relax," Luca said softly, his tone calm but firm as he peeled the blanket back before Angel could stop him. The fabric fell away, revealing the truth Angel had been hiding beneath.
Luca's expression darkened the moment his eyes fell on Angel's body. His normally vibrant chestnut fur bristled slightly, and his jaw tightened. Angel's skin was a canvas of pain—mottled with bruises in varying stages of healing. Fresh, dark purples and blacks sat stark against his pale complexion, while older ones had faded into ugly shades of blue, green, and yellow. Angry red welts marked spots where claw-like fingers had dug deep into his flesh, and a few scratches glistened faintly with the beginnings of scabs.
Angel shifted uncomfortably, his arms instinctively crossing over his chest in a weak attempt to shield himself. "Happy now?" he muttered bitterly, looking anywhere but at Luca. "It's not as bad as it looks."
Luca's second set of hands carefully placed the glass of water on a nearby coffee table, his focus entirely on Angel. "Not as bad as it looks?" he repeated, his voice low and incredulous. "This isn't just 'bad.' This is—" He cut himself off, taking a deep breath to steady his tone.
Angel scoffed, not bothering to hide his emotion. "Take a wild guess," he said, his tone dripping with bitter sarcasm. "Like you don't already know."
Luca didn't reply immediately, his green eyes scanning Angel's injuries with a mix of fury and frustration. He exhaled slowly, his fists clenching and unclenching as he fought to keep his anger in check. "Tony," he said quietly, his voice softer now, "you can't keep doing this. You can't keep letting this happen to you. This was happening with your father when you were alive, this is even worse and this is your employer we are talkin' about."
Angel finally looked at him, his eyes glimmering with a mix of defiance and exhaustion. "And what the hell am I supposed to do, huh?" he shot back. "He owns me, Luca. You think I can just walk away?"
Luca's gaze didn't waver, but his hands rested lightly on the couch, as if grounding himself. "No," he said evenly. "I know it's not that simple. But letting this keep happening isn't surviving—it's breaking you."
Angel swallowed hard, his bravado crumbling further under Luca's unwavering stare. The silence between them was heavy, filled with unspoken words and emotions neither could fully voice. Finally, Angel reached out again for the glass of medicated water. Luca handed it to him without a word, his expression softening just slightly.
Angel downed the fizzy, salty-flavored liquid, his throat bobbing with each swallow. It wasn't entirely unpleasant, though it left a faint tang in his mouth as he set the empty glass on the table. He settled back against the cushions, pulling the blanket up over his lap as he let out a long, slow breath.
"I guess I've never been the one to make the best choices," Angel admitted, his voice quieter now, almost reflective. His gaze drifted to the ceiling as he added, "Sometimes I wonder if I should've just run for it back then. When we were living at your family's winery."
Luca straightened slightly, his green eyes narrowing in thought, but he didn't interrupt.
"You remember," Angel continued, a faint, hollow chuckle escaping his lips. "The times you'd go into town, and you'd tell me—real serious, too—'If you're gonna run, Anthony, do it while I'm gone, because if I'm here, I won't let you.'"
Luca's brow furrowed, his chestnut fur bristling slightly as memories of those times surfaced. He met Angel's gaze, his voice softer now, tinged with regret and the weight of unspoken truths. "I meant it," he said, his words slow and deliberate. "I didn't want you to go—not because I wanted to stop you from being free, but because I knew what would happen if you got caught."
He leaned back slightly, his arms crossing as he let out a quiet sigh. "I mean, yeah, given the economic climate back then, and the fact the family was tangled up in the Castellammarese War, maybe I could've done something. Had us both pack up in my old sedan, forged new identities, and started over somewhere new. By the time the gang war ended and the Don remembered us, we'd be long gone."
There was a pause, and Luca's expression darkened. "The problem is, I'd pledged to the family. And you know your Pa didn't take betrayals lightly. Hell, none of them did. If I ran, the Don would've used every connection he had to track me down and make sure I paid for it. We'd spend the rest of our lives looking over our shoulders, waiting for the day some guy showed up to settle the score."
He glanced down, his hands fidgeting slightly as the memories weighed heavier. "But if it had been just you on the run… that'd be different. You were resourceful, and even Enzo knew it. You'd have figured out how to get by. And your Pa?" He let out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. "Your Pa didn't give a damn about you. If you ran, he'd brush it off, probably say you were dead and not waste the effort chasing you."
Angel let out another humorless laugh, shaking his head as his pink eyes flickered with something bitter and raw. "Yeah, well, I didn't go. And look where it got me. Dragged back to the city, and told I had two choices: join the family or be seen as dead to the family."
He leaned back against the couch, his hands fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. "If I'd agreed to be disowned, I'd have lost everything. Wouldn't have been able to see Molly again, wouldn't have had a roof over my head, and every document I'd need to make a living? Destroyed. I'd have been left scrounging with the Hoovervilles, beggin' for scraps and fightin' rats for shelter."
His voice cracked slightly at the mention of Molly, but he quickly masked it with a sharp scoff. "So yeah, I stayed. And look where that got me."
Luca leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his green eyes locking onto Angel's. There was no judgment in his gaze, only a quiet intensity that seemed to cut through the bitterness hanging between them. "You didn't run then because you weren't ready," he said softly, but firmly. "And maybe you still aren't."
He paused, his voice steady but layered with thought as he added, "Though the fact they haven't gunned you down like the others who've left the family? That says something."
Angel raised an eyebrow, his pink eyes narrowing slightly as he snorted. "Yeah? And what's that supposed to mean? That they like me or somethin'? Hate to break it to ya, Luca, but Enzo and the rest ain't exactly fans of my sparkling personality."
Luca tilted his head slightly, his expression unwavering. "No, they don't like you," he admitted plainly. "But, they know you're useful. If they didn't, you'd be erased long ago, just another loose end tied up."
Angel frowned, his fingers tightening around the blanket as he considered Luca's words. "So what, I'm alive because I'm useful? Cause, I'm workin' for an Overlord like Val or I managed to get the good graces of the Princess of Hell. Great. Really makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside."
"It's not about feeling good," Luca countered, his voice calm but resolute. "It's about understanding leverage. You've got it, Tony, even if you don't think you do."
Angel frowned, his pink eyes narrowing slightly as he stayed silent, waiting for Luca to explain.
"What you were always good at," Luca continued, his gaze steady, "was attracting people. You've got this way about you, this charm that makes people want to work with you, trust you, even in this world. Enzo? He repels people. Back when he was alive, before he went by Arackniss, no one wanted anything to do with him unless they had to. They all knew he was bad news. And the people who were interested in him? They didn't exactly have respectable reputations."
Angel huffed, looking away as he pulled the blanket a little closer around himself, but he didn't interrupt.
"You, on the other hand?" Luca pressed, leaning forward slightly, his green eyes locking onto Angel's. "You were a fixer. Sure, you served as a soldier, but you were the guy who could hold sit-downs with other families and actually get things resolved peacefully. It was rare that you had to resort to threats, let alone actual violence. You made people want to listen, want to cooperate."
Angel scoffed, shaking his head slightly. "Yeah, well, look where all that got me," he muttered, his voice tinged with bitterness. "Real success story."
Luca didn't back down, his gaze steady and unwavering. "That's why they haven't killed you," he said firmly. "Because they see something in you that's worth keeping alive. Being with Valentino may serve them in some way, but there's more to it than that."
He leaned forward slightly, his tone thoughtful but pointed. "I've seen those commercials for that hotel you're a part of. And that interview the Princess tried to have earlier this year. You've got connections to some big names, Tony. The Radio Demon, Princess Charlie, and even King Lucifer himself—just being associated with them is enough to get the Don's attention. And trust me, they'd see that as both an opportunity and a threat."
Angel rolled his eyes, pulling the blanket closer around himself. "Oh, trust me," he muttered. "The Ragno Clan can keep their damn business. I just don't want to be dragged into their BS ever again."
"Maybe you don't," Luca acknowledged. "But the Ragno Clan knows you're not just some garden-variety thug. You've always had a way of bringing people together, Angel, even when you don't realize it. That's rare—hell, it's probably rare even in a place like Heaven, let alone down here."
He leaned back slightly, letting his words sink in before continuing. "That's why Valentino keeps you around. It's not just about control—it's about value. You bring him customers, clients, people who wouldn't give him the time of day if it weren't for you."
Angel's jaw tightened, his pink eyes narrowing as he turned to Luca. His expression was hard to read, his voice quiet but sharp. "Value?" he repeated, the word cutting. "That's all I am to them? A tool to keep things running smooth? A puppet on strings they can pull whenever they want?"
Luca met his gaze evenly, his expression steady but thoughtful. "Even if you don't intend to, in a way, you're already working against them both," he said. "Valentino, the Ragno Clan—they rely on control, on keeping you in their system. And here you are, tied to this hotel that's pushing the idea of redemption, something they don't want anyone believing in."
Angel blinked, his irritation faltering slightly as confusion flickered across his face. "Redemption?" he muttered. "You really think I'm capable of that? Come on, Luca. Heaven's been making it pretty clear I'm not exactly on their VIP list."
Luca leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he spoke. "This whole redemption thing? Yeah, I get it—questionable, especially since Heaven's been raining hellfire on this world for centuries. So let's take Heaven out of the equation for a second."
Angel raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued despite himself. "Okay… so what's redemption without Heaven, then?"
"It's not about proving you're worthy of Heaven," Luca said, his voice calm but deliberate. "It's about proving you're worthy of something better than what you've got now. Redemption isn't for Heaven, Anthony—it's for you. For the chance to pull yourself out of the mess they've trapped you in and find something better, something that feels like your own."
Angel stared at him, his lips parting slightly as if to argue, but no words came out. His fingers tightened around the blanket as he looked away, his jaw working as he processed Luca's words.
"You think I haven't thought about it?" Angel muttered after a moment, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant. "About wanting something better? But wanting doesn't make it happen. You think Val's just gonna let me walk off into the sunset because I decided I want a change?"
"No," Luca admitted. "He's not. But that doesn't mean you can't work toward it. Every small step you take—every move that's yours and not his—that's you fighting back. That's you taking a step closer to being in a better place. And maybe it's not redemption in the Heaven sense, but it's still redemption for you."
Angel didn't respond immediately, his gaze fixed on the floor as he mulled over Luca's words. For once, he didn't have a quick comeback or a sarcastic quip. Instead, he sat there, silent, the weight of what Luca had said settling heavily on his shoulders.
Luca's voice softened, but his tone remained firm and resolute as he leaned forward, locking eyes with Angel. "You're more than that," he said, his words deliberate and steady. "But to them, that's how they see you. And that gives you a card to play, Angel. Even if it's not a big one, it's still a card. And you're damn good at playing the hand you've got."
Angel frowned, his jaw tightening as he processed Luca's words. "Yeah? And what good's a card when you're up against a whole damn deck stacked against you?" he muttered bitterly, pulling the blanket tighter around himself.
Luca didn't flinch. Instead, he leaned back slightly, giving Angel the space to vent but not letting his gaze waver. "It's not about the odds," he said evenly. "It's about knowing when to play the card you've got. Timing, Angel. You've been surviving this long because you know how to read people, how to get them to react the way you need them to."
Angel scoffed, his pink eyes narrowing. "Yeah, and look where that's gotten me. Bruised, battered, and stuck in Val's pocket like a shiny trinket he shows off to his pals."
"Maybe," Luca admitted, his voice steady but unwavering as he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "But you're still here. And you're not just surviving—you're building connections. That hotel? Those people? They're part of your deck now, whether you realize it or not. And when the time comes, they'll be there for you."
Angel frowned, skepticism flickering in his pink eyes, but Luca continued before he could interrupt.
"Unlike Val or the Ragno family, I've got the impression that the Princess doesn't want you to change to suit her or anyone else—not even for Heaven's standards," Luca said, his tone softening slightly. "She doesn't see you as a tool, Anthony. She sees you as someone worth saving because she believes you deserve to be the person you want to be."
Angel let out a low scoff, his shoulders sagging as he leaned back against the couch. "Yeah, well, that's sweet and all, but 'deserve' doesn't really mean much down here. Last I checked, the world ain't exactly full of happy endings for guys like me."
"No, it's not," Luca agreed, his tone calm but resolute. "But it doesn't mean you can't try for something better. The Princess isn't trying to shove you into some mold or make you play by her rules. She's giving you the space to figure out what you want to be—and she's willing to stand by you while you do it."
Angel's gaze dropped to the floor, his fingers idly fidgeting with the frayed edge of the blanket wrapped around him. His voice, softer now, carried a hint of vulnerability he rarely let slip. "Yeah, but what if I don't know what I want?" he muttered. "What if I've been stuck in this mess so long I don't even remember who I was before all this?"
Luca's expression softened, his usually steady demeanor tinged with quiet understanding. He reached out, resting one hand lightly on the edge of the couch, close enough to offer comfort without crowding the other spider. "Then you figure it out, one step at a time," he said gently, his voice calm but sure. "And you let the people who care about you help along the way. The hotel, the Princess, me… we're all here. You're not in this alone."
Angel didn't look up, but his fingers stilled for a moment, the words hanging in the air.
Luca hesitated for just a beat before adding, his tone even softer, "And while I can't speak for Molly, I'd like to believe this: even if she never sees you again—whether it's in Heaven or here in Hell—she'd be glad to know you found a family that's worthy of having you. A family that sees your worth and loves you for who you are."
Angel's grip on the blanket tightened, his shoulders tensing as those words hit somewhere deep. He let out a shaky breath, his voice barely above a whisper. "You think she'd be proud of me? After everything?"
Luca's green eyes softened further, and his voice carried a quiet certainty. "I think she'd be proud of the fact that you're still fighting. That you're still here, still trying, even when it feels impossible. That's who you've always been, Tony. A fighter. And if she could see you now, surrounded by people who care about you—not because they have to, but because they choose to—I think she'd be damn proud of her twin brother."
Angel swallowed hard, his head dipping slightly as he tried to keep his emotions in check. For a long moment, he didn't say anything, the silence between them thick but not heavy, carrying the weight of shared understanding.
The white-furred spider's pink eyes began to droop, his body sinking deeper into the couch as the medication Luca had given him started to take effect. His breaths grew slower, more even, as the tension in his posture gradually eased.
Luca, noticing the shift, quietly stood and walked to the kitchenette. He picked up the empty glass from the table and rinsed it out in the sink, the soft sound of running water filling the otherwise quiet apartment. When he returned, he found Angel half-asleep, his long legs tangled in the blanket, his head resting against the back of the couch.
"I'll stay with you until you fall asleep," Luca said softly, his voice low but steady. He crouched down beside the couch, his green eyes scanning Angel's face. With a gentle motion, he reached out and brushed aside the long shock of white fur that hung over Angel's face. His fingertips barely grazed Angel's skin, but even that was enough to feel the lingering heat radiating from his fevered body.
For a moment, Luca hesitated, considering whether a shower or bath might help. But he quickly dismissed the thought. Rest was what Angel needed most right now, not more strain.
A gentle, bittersweet smile crossed Luca's face as he watched Angel, his erstwhile lover, finally begin to surrender to sleep. The sharp edges of Angel's usual bravado were gone, replaced by a quiet vulnerability that few rarely got to see. It stirred something deep within him—a mixture of love, sorrow, and a fierce determination to keep Angel safe, no matter the cost.
As Angel's breathing deepened and his face softened in slumber, Luca settled himself into a chair nearby, his gaze never straying far. Whatever battles Angel still had to face, Luca silently promised himself he would be there, just as he always had been. For tonight, at least, Angel could rest.
Charlie sat on the cushioned bench seat beneath her bedroom window, brushing her long blond hair in slow, even strokes as she prepared for bed. Despite the quiet of her room, her mind was anything but still. The events and revelations of the day swirled in her thoughts, each one slotting into place like the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle—creating a picture that was as heartbreaking as it was clear.
Angel had grown up in a world devoid of the unconditional love most people took for granted. Familial love, for him, wasn't about safety or warmth—it was transactional, dependent on what he could provide or become for the family. There were people in his life who likely cared about him deeply, like his sister Molly, but even that love had been overshadowed by the expectations and demands placed upon them all.
Her brush stilled momentarily as a pang of sorrow ran through her. How could someone thrive in a family where love was conditional, where even the idea of openly loving someone could be seen as a liability or a disgrace? Angel's upbringing hadn't just been cold—it had been dangerous. Love, when it existed, was kept as a secret shame or a personal risk, hidden away to maintain appearances. It was no wonder he had built walls around himself, using humor, flirtation, and bravado as armor.
Charlie resumed brushing her hair, her movements slower now as her thoughts deepened. She had seen glimpses of who Angel was beneath the surface—the cracks in his facade where vulnerability and yearning peeked through. He wasn't heartless. Far from it. Angel cared deeply, even if he didn't know how to show it in ways others might recognize. But how could he? He'd been taught that love was a transaction, a bargaining chip, and nothing more.
Her heart ached at the thought. The hotel, her mission—it wasn't just about redemption in the grand, theological sense. It was about giving people like Angel the chance to redefine themselves, to see their worth beyond what they could provide to others. It was about helping them discover the love and belonging they had been denied in life.
Setting her brush down, Charlie clasped her hands in her lap, her eyes reflecting the soft glow of the lamp beside her. "I'll help him," she whispered to herself, the words barely audible but resolute. "Even if it takes a lifetime, I'll help him see he's more than what they made him believe." With that, she stood and prepared for bed, her resolve strengthening with each passing moment.
Her gaze shifted to the window, where the distant skyline of Pentagram City glimmered against the dark, hellish night. Her eyes landed on the V-Tower, the shining pinnacle of the entertainment district, its glowing façade dominating the view. The building was a monument to power and excess, its sleek architecture a stark contrast to the decay and despair that sprawled across much of the city.
In the past, Charlie had barely given the tower a second thought. It was just another symbol of Hell's wealth, housing thriving conglomerates like VoxTek. A place that represented success in a world where sin was currency. But now, with what she had learned about Angel and the Vees, the building took on a far darker meaning.
She could see it for what it truly was: a glowing edifice built on the suffering and exploitation of sinners. It wasn't just a corporate headquarters—it was a prison. A glittering palace where the Vees—Valentino, Vox, and Velvette—ensnared their victims, draining them of their dignity, their freedom, and even their souls to fuel their own ambitions.
The thought made her stomach twist. How many like Angel were trapped in that place, forced into service under the guise of opportunity or coerced into compliance by fear and manipulation? The tower wasn't just a symbol of power; it was a testament to the cruelty and greed that kept Pentagram City turning.
The white-furred spider had clearly been caught off guard when he arrived at Luca's apartment and found both Charlie and Vaggie there. His initial reaction was one of tension, his sharp pink eyes scanning them warily, as though anticipating an ambush of concern or prying questions. But once it had been explained that their presence was coincidental and not part of some grand intervention, he seemed to relax—at least a little.
Even so, Angel had tried to maintain his usual bravado. The casual quip—"Being a celebrity does have its perks"—had been a clear deflection, a ruse meant to gloss over the deeper connection between him and Luca. But Charlie and Vaggie weren't blind. The subtle exchanges between the two spiders—the flickers of concern in Luca's eyes, the guarded way Angel held himself—suggested that Luca had said things Angel wasn't entirely sure he wanted them to know.
Charlie and Vaggie, sensing the delicate nature of the situation, had wisely chosen not to press. Whatever had been shared between Luca and Angel, they knew it wasn't their place to demand answers, not now. Instead, they kept the conversation light, their words careful and supportive, while silently taking in the details that Angel wasn't saying out loud.
When Charlie's eyes had drifted to the ugly, blackened bruise on Angel's shoulder—half-hidden beneath his clothes—it had confirmed what they had both begun to suspect. Whatever was happening at Valentino's studio wasn't just about long hours or demanding work. There was something darker going on, something Angel wasn't ready to talk about.
There had been moments when it seemed like Angel might open up, his defenses slipping just slightly as exhaustion dulled the sharp edges of his usual persona. His eyes had flickered with something—hesitation, vulnerability, maybe even a plea for help. But every time, he had pulled back, brushing it off. Whether it was exhaustion, reluctance, or fear—or some combination of the three—he'd ultimately decided to say nothing.
Charlie's heart ached as she recalled the encounter. She had seen the cracks in Angel's armor, the weight of whatever he was carrying dragging him down. But pushing him for answers wouldn't help; if anything, it would drive him further into his shell. For now, all they could do was offer their quiet support and let him know they were there whenever he was ready. She just hoped that when that moment came, it wouldn't be too late.
Vaggie quietly exited the bathroom, the faint scent of lavender soap lingering in the air as she adjusted the straps of her white silk nighty. The damp fabric clung to her figure, and droplets of water still shimmered in her silver hair as she padded softly into the room. Her remaining eye softened, a tender smile playing on her lips as she looked at Charlie, who was already curled up in bed.
There was something so innocent, almost childlike, about Charlie in moments like these. Her golden hair spilled across the pillows, her hands tucked under her chin as she stared into the distance with a quiet, contemplative expression. It was a stark contrast to the maternal authority she exuded when addressing the inhabitants of the hotel or dealing with the challenges of her mission.
But that very contrast was what concerned Vaggie the most. Charlie only seemed to retreat into this gentle, vulnerable state when something was deeply bothering her.
"You're thinking about him, aren't you?" Vaggie asked knowingly, her voice soft as she slipped into bed beside her lover. She pulled the covers over herself, her one eye fixed on Charlie. "About Angel."
Charlie blinked, startled from her thoughts, and turned to Vaggie with a faint, apologetic smile. "Am I that obvious?" she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
"To me, sí," Vaggie replied, her tone laced with gentle teasing but underpinned by genuine concern. "You've been like this ever since we left Luca's apartment. You're worried about him."
Charlie sighed, her red eyes shimmering with a mix of sadness and determination. "I can't help it, Vaggie," she admitted. "The more I think about everything we've learned, the more it breaks my heart. Angel's been through so much—things no one should have to endure. And he just… brushes it off, like it's normal. Like it doesn't matter."
Vaggie reached out, brushing a strand of hair from Charlie's face, her touch gentle. "It's how he copes," she said softly. "It doesn't mean it doesn't matter to him. He's just scared to let anyone see how much it does."
"I know," Charlie whispered, her voice trembling slightly. "And that's what scares me. I feel like he's carrying all of this on his own, and I don't know how to help him. I want to, but… what if I say the wrong thing? What if I make it worse?"
Vaggie leaned closer, wrapping an arm around Charlie and pulling her into a comforting embrace. "You won't," she assured her. "You've already done more for Angel than he probably knows how to admit. Just by being there, by showing him that someone cares, you're helping."
"It's… I don't know," Charlie said, her voice soft, as if she were working through her thoughts aloud. She sat up slightly, her golden hair spilling over her shoulders as she looked down at her hands. "I mean, I think of this hotel and everyone here as my family. That's what I wanted when I started this—someplace where people could feel like they belonged."
Her gaze flicked toward the window, where the faint glow of Pentagram City's skyline could be seen. "I have my dad here now, and everyone else—I feel a kinship to all of them. But Angel…" She trailed off for a moment, her brow furrowing as she tried to find the right words. "Angel, I've grown to see as a brother."
Vaggie, sitting beside her, watched her carefully, her single eye soft with understanding. "A brother?" she prompted gently.
Charlie nodded, her lips curving into a faint, bittersweet smile. "Yeah. I don't know if I see him as an older brother or a younger one. If we're going by age, technically I'd be the older one, but Angel…" She hesitated, letting out a soft sigh. "Angel has been—is—an older brother in so many ways. There are times he finds answers to problems I don't know how to deal with. He's been through so much, and somehow, he's still able to see things from a perspective I can't always reach."
Her hands tightened slightly around the edge of the blanket as her voice grew quieter. "Even now, he's out there in this city, laying sick on a friend's couch. And from the sound of it, Valentino's already planning his next film production. It's like no matter what he does, he can't get a break."
Vaggie reached out, resting a hand on Charlie's shoulder. "Angel's strong," she said firmly. "Stronger than he gives himself credit for. He's made it this far, hasn't he? And he's got people who care about him—Luca, you, me, the hotel. He's not as alone as he might think."
"I know," Charlie whispered, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "But it doesn't make it any easier to see him like this. I wish I could do more for him, but I don't even know where to start. Especially with Valentino still holding so much power over him."
"You've already started, Charlie," Vaggie said, her voice gentle but resolute. "By being here, by giving him a place to call home, even if he doesn't always stay. You're doing more than you realize. And when he's ready, he'll come to you. He knows you're someone he can trust."
Charlie let out a shaky breath, leaning into Vaggie's comforting presence. "I just hope it's enough," she murmured. "Because I don't know how much more he can take."
"It will be," Vaggie assured her, pulling her into a gentle embrace. "Because he's not just fighting for himself anymore. He's got us, and we've got him. No matter what Valentino or anyone else throws at him, we'll be there to help him through it."
Charlie nodded slowly, letting Vaggie's words sink in as the weight on her heart eased, if only slightly. "Thank you, Vaggie," she whispered, holding onto the quiet strength her partner always seemed to provide.
Together, they sat in the soft glow of the room, finding comfort in each other as the challenges of the city and its Overlords loomed outside.
- 6
- 7
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Price of Freedom