Chapter 19 Lupo
I'm about halfway to town when I see the car.
Black Mercedes. Sleek. Expensive. Driving past me on the narrow road, heading toward the farm. An alarm bell screams in my head.
The car doesn't belong here. No one drives a car like that on these country roads unless they're lost or looking for something.
Or someone.
Isabella's voice echoes in my head from last night, "Draco found me once. He could find me again."
My feet are moving before I make a conscious decision. Walking faster. Then jogging. Then running as fast as I can.
The construction site doesn't matter. The fifty euros doesn't matter. Nothing matters except getting back to that farm.
Getting back to Isabella and Elena.
My ribs scream in protest. The barely healed wound pulls with every stride. But I don't slow down. Can't slow down.
Something's wrong. I know it the way I know how to breathe. The way I know how to kill.
The thought should disturb me. But right now, I embrace it.
If someone's threatening them, I'll need every violent instinct I have.
The run back takes fifteen minutes that feel like hours. By the time I reach the farm, I'm breathing hard and my shirt is soaked with sweat and blood where the wound has reopened.
The Mercedes is parked in front of the house. Driver's door open like someone got out in a hurry.
I slow down, approaching quietly. My body knows how to do this—how to move silently, how to assess the situation, how to become a predator instead of prey.
The front door is closed. No sounds from outside. But through the kitchen window, I can see movement.
I creep closer, staying low, using the angle of the sun to keep my shadow from giving me away.
Then I see them.
Isabella backed against the kitchen table. A man in front of her, his hand on her wrist. He's tall, well-dressed, handsome in a polished way. And he's touching her like he owns her.
Like he has the fucking right to put his hands on Isabella.
The rage that floods through me is instant and absolute. Not the slow burn I've felt before. This is white-hot, blinding, all-consuming.
She’s mine.
The word screams through my head with such force it's almost audible.
And he's touching her.
I don't remember moving. Don't remember crossing the yard or opening the door. But suddenly I'm inside, and they both turn to look at me.
Isabella's face floods with relief and terror in equal measure.
The man—Draco, it has to be Draco—looks merely annoyed. Like I'm an interruption to his important schedule.
"You must be the boyfriend," he says, not releasing Isabella's wrist. "Right on time. We were just discussing you."
"Let her go." My voice doesn't sound like mine. Or the one I’ve come to know as mine. It's colder. Deadlier. The voice of someone who's issued this command before and been obeyed.
Or killed when they weren't.
Draco smiles. "No, I don't think so. Isabella and I are having a private conversation. About our daughter. About our family. None of which concerns you. You should leave while you’re still breathing."
"Let. Her. Go."
He studies me for a moment, taking in my work clothes, my sweat-soaked shirt, my blistered hands. I can see him dismissing me. Just some laborer. Some nobody who got lucky with a vulnerable woman.
"Listen," he says, his tone condescending. "I understand. You've been playing house here, taking advantage of Isabella's situation. But that's over now. I'm her—"
I move.
One moment I'm by the door. The next I'm across the kitchen, my hand around his throat, slamming him against the wall so hard the dishes rattle.
He drops Isabella's wrist, clawing at my arm. His eyes go wide with shock.
"Lupo, don't—" Isabella starts, but I'm not listening.
I lean in close to Draco, close enough to see the fear starting to bloom in his eyes.
"You don't touch her," I say quietly. "You don't look at her. You don't speak to her. And you sure as hell don't threaten to take her daughter."
"She's my daughter—" he chokes out.
I squeeze harder. "Not anymore, she’s not."
His face is turning red. He's trying to break my grip, but he can't. He's soft. Pampered. He might be connected, might have power in his world, but here—right now—he's nothing.
And I know exactly how to kill him.
"Lupo." Isabella's hand on my arm. "Not here. Elena's in the house. She could wake up. She could see. Don’t scare her."
The words penetrate the red haze. Elena. Sweet, innocent Elena who gave me my name and asks me to make eggs.
I can't kill her father in front of her. I release Draco's throat but grab his arm, twisting it behind his back in a move that's pure muscle memory. He cries out, and I clamp my other hand over his mouth.
"The barn," I say to Isabella. "Keep Elena inside. Lock the doors. Don't come out until I tell you."
Her eyes are wide, frightened. But not of me. For me, maybe. Or for what I'm about to do.
"Lupo, if you kill him—"
"I know." I meet her gaze. "Lock the doors."
She hesitates for just a moment, then nods and runs toward Elena's room.
I drag Draco out of the house. He's fighting now, trying to break free, but it's useless. I'm stronger, faster, and I know exactly how to control him.
Where did I learn this?
The barn is cool and dark. I shove Draco inside and he stumbles, catching himself on the workbench. He turns to face me, and I see him trying to regain his composure.
"You're making a mistake," he says, rubbing his throat. "Do you have any idea who I am? Who I'm connected to?"
"No, I don't care."
"You should." He straightens his jacket. "I have people. Lawyers. Judges. Police on my payroll. You lay a hand on me, and you'll spend the rest of your life in prison."
"That assumes anyone will find your body."
The words come out flat. Factual. And I see the moment he realizes I'm serious.
He lunges for the door. I catch him easily, spinning him around and driving my fist into his stomach. He doubles over, gasping. I grab his hair, forcing his head up to look at me.
"You came here to take them," I say. "To take Isabella and Elena back to your world. To hurt them. Control them. Break their bones."
"She's my—" he wheezes. "My family—"
"No." I hit him again. "She's my family. They both are. And you're never going to touch them again."
I'm not thinking anymore. Just acting on instinct. On the absolute certainty that this man has to die today.
My hands know what to do.
I drive him to the ground. He's trying to fight back, but it doesn't matter. Nothing matters except ending the threat to Isabella and Elena. He can’t be allowed to live because he’ll keep coming after them.
I'm on top of him, my hands around his throat. This time I don't stop.
Draco's eyes bulge. His face turns purple. He claws at my hands, at my face, drawing blood. But I don't let go.
And as I do, memories flood through me. Vivid, terrible.
A warehouse. My hands around someone's throat just like this.
An alley. Choking someone until they're still.
A basement. Multiple bodies.
But no names. No faces I recognize. Just the knowledge that I've done this before.
That my body remembers what my mind has forgotten.
Draco's struggles weaken. His hands fall away, twitching uselessly. His eyes roll back.
I hold on until he stops moving completely. Until I'm absolutely certain.
Then I hold on for another thirty seconds.
When I finally release him, my hands are shaking. I sit back, staring at the body.
Draco Vitale. Dead by my hands.
I’m not sure how long I sat there staring at him. Glad he’s dead at my hands.
Eventually, I hear soft footsteps outside the barn door.
"Lupo?" Her voice is tentative.
I stand, positioning myself between her and the body. "I told you to stay inside."
"Elena's still sleeping. I locked her door." She steps into the barn, carefully not looking at Draco. "Is he...?"
"Yes."
She's quiet for a moment. "Thank God."
"You shouldn’t be here. I killed him.”
She moves closer, her hands shaking but her voice steady. "He was going to take Elena. Take us both." She looks up at me. "You saved us."
"I murdered him."
"You protected us." She touches my face, and I flinch. I'm covered in his blood. "You did what had to be done."
"When I was killing him, I remembered things. Not everything, but... enough." I step back. "I've done this before. Killed people. Multiple times. My hands knew exactly what to do."
She goes very still. "You remember who you are?"
"No. Just... what I'm capable of."
"And you're telling me this why? So I'll be afraid of you?"
"You should be."
"Maybe." She steps closer again. "But I'm not. Right now, all I feel is grateful that you came back. That you stopped him. If you hadn’t come back, we would’ve been trapped with him again. I was so scared."
The words should comfort me. Instead, they make me feel like I'm pulling her into my darkness.
"We need to move him," I say finally. "Before anyone notices the car."
"Where?"
My mind supplies answers, I shouldn't know. "There's a ravine. I’ve passed it on my way to work. If I send the car over with him in it..."
She nods. “I’ll help you.”
"Absolutely not. You stay with Elena. I'll do this alone."
"Lupo—"
"No." I touch her face. "You can’t be involved with this. And I need to know you're both safe. Go back inside and whatever you do, don’t let Elena come out here to the barn."
She searches my face, then nods again.
When she runs back to the house, I empty his pockets of any identification. Then I carefully wrap up his body in blankets. I wait until dark, until I know Elena is asleep before loading Draco into his Mercedes.
Isabella watches me as I load a gas can into the trunk. "How long will you be gone?" she asks.
"A few hours. It's a long walk back here."
"Walk?"
"The car has to go into the ravine with him."
She wraps her arms around herself. "What if someone stops you?"
"They won't. And I’ll stay out of sight walking back." I pull her close, kissing her forehead. "Lock the doors. If I'm not back by dawn, don’t come searching for me."
"You'll be back."
I drive to the edge of the ravine, quickly soak the interior with gasoline, and send the car over the edge. The sound of the crash and the following explosion echoes through the darkness.
Then I turn around and start walking back home.
My ribs aching. The wound throbbing. But I don't stop.
By the time I see the farm lights, it's long past midnight. Every muscle aches. I'm covered in dirt and sweat and traces of blood.
The door opens before I reach it. Isabella pulls me inside, locking the door behind us.
"Elena?"
"Sleeping. I checked three times." She looks me over. "Are you hurt?"
"No. Just tired."
"Did anyone see you?"
"No one. It's done. He’ll never hurt you again."
She nods, then takes my hand and leads me to the bathroom. She undresses me without speaking, puts my clothes in a bag, guides me into the shower.
The water washes away Draco's blood. Washes away the evidence but not the memory.
Isabella appears beside me, still clothed. She helps me wash, her hands gentle on my battered body, cleaning the cuts on my hands, the reopened wound on my ribs.
"You came back to us," she whispers.
"I promised I would."
When I'm clean, she wraps me in a towel. But instead of leading me to bed, she stands there, looking at me in the dim light.
"What now?" she asks.
"Now we wait. See if anyone comes looking."
"And if they do?"
"Then I'll protect you. Both of you. Whatever it takes."
"Even if it means killing again?"
"Yes."
She's quiet for a long moment. Then she steps closer, her hand coming up to touch my face. "You could have left. When you saw that car, you could have kept walking to town. Pretended you didn't see it. Let him take us."
"Never in a million years would I let him take you."
"Why?" She searches my eyes. "You don't even know who you are. You have no obligation to us. No reason to—"
I silence her with a kiss.
It's desperate, consuming. All the fear and rage and relief pouring into it. She makes a sound in the back of her throat and kisses me back just as fiercely, her hands fisting in the towel around my waist.
When we break apart, we're both breathing hard.
"I have every reason to," I say roughly. "Because you're mine. Because Elena's mine. Because I'd burn the world down before I let anyone hurt you."
She stares at me, something shifting in her expression. Then she takes my hand and kisses it. "Come with me." She leads me out of the bathroom, down the hallway. Past Elena's closed door. To her bedroom. She closes the door behind us and turns to face me.
"I need you," she says simply. "After everything that happened today. After thinking I might lose you. I need—"
I cross the room in two strides and kiss her again. This time slower. Deeper. Pouring everything I can't say into it.
She responds immediately, her hands sliding up my chest, into my hair, pulling me closer.