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27. Torture and Truths

Angioletto's Pov

When I return to the penthouse a little after noon, the soft laughter of my Oceane is the first sound that graces my ears.

I stand by the door, watching her in awe while she plays around with her kitten.

“Angel, you’re so hyperactive.” She coos, scooping the purring kitten into her arms.

How can anyone accuse this innocent girl of a crime as grave as murder?

How can anyone look at that angelic face and think evil of it?

It’s all but a wonder in my mind.

A smile pulling at the corners of my lips, I make a move to approach her. Two steps into the room and my feet force me to a stop when Oceane’s head cranes backwards, her eyes meeting mine.

My brows pull into a furrow, my eyes moving around her delicate, yet, dented features. Regret pulls at the strings of my heart. My marks—the effects of my fist are still visible against her skin, leaving a part of her face swollen and her neck reddened.

My lips pull apart, a sharp exhale escaping through the space as I give my head a
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