Chapter 49 – Isabella
I lya turned, ready for war. It didn’t matter what the poor organ had been through, my heart jolted, stopped—and then leapt into a furious patter. Rapid Italian shouted through the door, but Ilya prowled into the storm.
He might be a great bear, but what did that make me?
A mama bear.
Hiding in the presence of the enemy wasn’t an option. I palmed my gun, mentally counting the bullets. There would be only one chance to end this before the nightmare destroyed everything I loved.
“Let him go, don. It’s me who you want.” Ilya spoke with authority. He didn’t need to shout or menace for his words to break through the foyer like thunder.
“You?” the don spat. “You’re no one.”
“No—he’s mine, ” I breathed, ghosting to the doorframe and peering around it. They didn’t hear my whisper, didn’t sense my approach. Once again, my enemy underestimated me.
The scene before me was hellish. Nothing could evoke the same terror as the evil man pointing a shotgun at his son and the cage fighter.
Ilya faced the don, frame loose, hands open at his sides. His handgun wasn’t even pointed at Aldo. “It’s true, you don’t know me. But you took something of mine, and you’ve made it a fucking inconvenience to collect.”
I lifted my pistol, forcing my muscles to stop shaking. My blood raced, which would only make the shot harder. I had maybe five seconds to calm down and make the shot.
Time slowed, pulsing at the steady beat of a drum. Ilya took a step toward Alonzo. Air caught in my lungs.
The corner of the don’s eye twitched. “So you destroyed my empire?”
Ilya cracked his neck. I could feel the smile in his next words. “Piece by piece.”
“Dad, no!”
That kid.
One second, he was safe. The next…the shotgun exploded.
My finger squeezed over the trigger as I stepped into the doorway. No more hiding or ghosting about. I faced the enemy and took him down.
Three bullets—one in each knee and the other in the throat. The accuracy was perfect. They were bullseyes to be proud of, and someday, I might be.
Don Aldo fell.
I knew if I looked at the crumpled body of my late fiancé, I would break. Ilya crouched protectively over him. I moved past the gruesome scene to stand over the choking body of the don. His eyes darted about in his head, a last feeble attempt to cling to life.
Bending over his body, I made sure he saw me. The moment our eyes locked, I pulled the trigger one last time.
Aldo’s head snapped back. His body stilled as the hole in his skull began to leak.
“Izzy! Get over here, I need you,” Ilya said quickly.
I turned. Confusion flickered through my chest. Not wanting to see the dead body of my friend, I focused on Ilya’s hands. They were twisting a belt around Alonzo’s thigh. Right above the knee. Blood pooled on the floor. The bright puddle inched out with crimson tendrils—
“Hold his hand!” Ilya barked.
Alonzo groaned loudly.
He was…alive.
Agony tightened my chest.
“Izzy’s coming. She’ll hold your hand, but you’ve got to let me work, okay, bud?” Ilya rasped. That grey gaze flicked up at me, worry etched in the corners of his eyes.
It was such a small thing. The desire to scream and fall apart fluttered through me. But no. Not now! Grief and despair needed to stay locked away tight. I could do this. I could hold the boy’s hand as he left this world. I just had to be impossibly strong for a little while longer. Then I could break.
I didn’t remember ghosting to Alonzo’s side. It was a blur, his form still refusing to focus in my mind.
But the moment something soft and solid clapped into my hand, reality swarmed back in a dizzying rush.
“Hold him tight, Izzy,” Ilya said firmly before he dropped his hold from Alonzo’s wrist and continued to work on the leg. Or rather…the gnarled stump.
I gripped the hand Ilya gave me for dear life. I poured the will to live into my friend. Alonzo focused on me, his body shaking hard from the adrenaline in his veins. That was shock, not necessarily death, right? I think?
Madonna Mia, what’s happening?!
Was there…a chance? I couldn’t bring myself to ask. I grabbed Alonzo’s other hand, bringing them both together in a desperate, wordless prayer.
“Tell me a story,” Alonzo begged in the Old Language.
My chin bobbed, and I cleared my throat. Words melted from my lips in Italian. It was a story grannies told little children about a monster that was tricked into a bog, never to haunt the town again. I couldn’t say why I chose that one, other than it was my favorite and I knew it by heart.
Ilya placed a hand on my shoulder. “He’s stable, but we need to get him to an operating room.”
Stable. Stable? “He’ll live?” I gasped, tears blinking into my eyes.
“If we hurry, there’s no reason he won’t make a full recovery.”
I clung to those words as we moved.