Chapter 27 Stay With Me
Stay With Me
One Hour Earlier
I hope you haven’t forgotten me… it feels like you have. —Iz
Enzo
My fingers fly over my keyboard while Kai’s voice filters through the speaker on my phone. “Ten minutes ago, someone that could be Izzy was walking near Washington Heights. It’s blurry, and her face is covered, but the clothes fit your description.”
“Send me the exact location,” I demand.
“Already done.”
My phone chimes. I pull open the footage then check the pinpoint on the map.
“Keep searching, I’m going to check this out.”
“On it.” Kai hangs up.
I’m out of my seat, jacket and gun in hand, already dialling Dante. I tell him where to meet me while the elevator descends.
There’s no time to wait for a driver. I snatch the nearest key—thank God it’s my Jag—slide behind the wheel, and gun the engine.
The journey feels endless as I weave through busy traffic. Every second wasted is another moment she could be slipping away from me.
My phone rings. Kai again. I hit the answer button on my steering wheel.
“What have you found?” I ask.
There’s a moment of hesitation. That heartbeat of silence is enough to have my heart skipping as tension bunches my shoulders.
“Izzy was stuffed into a van by two men less than five minutes ago.”
My arms shake as I force myself to continue breathing.
“Where?”
“Sending you the exact location and the license plate of the van.”
I pull up the map just as I swerve to avoid hitting another car. Their horn fills the air, echoing in my ears as I fly by.
Hanging up with Kai, I call Dante again.
“Shit,” he breathes, after I fill him in. “We’re five minutes out.”
I check the map. “I’m seven away.” That’s if I break every traffic law in existence.
“We’ll get her back. She’ll be okay.”
Dante’s words do nothing to calm my racing thoughts. I already know who has her. It’s Lucas. Who else would it be?
The next seven minutes require me to run ten red lights, drive on the left side of the road three times, and almost cause two crashes while I go double the speed limit. But none of that matters.
The van comes into view. Dante and Rafael are already here, blocking its way. The van slams on its breaks.
I don’t even wait for my car to come to a complete stop before I’m running.
The vans back doors fly open and there’s a flash of movement. Gunshots ricochet through the street.
Then—I see her.
She runs for me; eyes locked on me as if I’m the only other person in the world.
But then Lucas appears behind her.
I watch it happen.
See the moment the bullet rips through her.
Her mouth parts in a silent scream.
My heart stops beating.
I run. Faster than I ever have. My legs burn. My lungs tear. None of it matters.
She collapses just as I reach her, and I catch her, dragging her into my arms as we both crash to the ground. Fire burns along my shins as I skid across the concrete.
“Izzy.” My voice trembles. I brush sweat-soaked hair from her face, fingers shaking.
“You came,” she whispers, barely audible, reaching up to touch my cheek.
Her eyelids flutter closed.
“No, Iz,” I choke out. “Stay with me. Look at me. Open your eyes, baby.”
She blinks them open—pain-drenched and watery blue.
I just got her back. I can’t lose her. Not like this. Not ever.
“I love you,” I tell her. “I love you, okay? So you can’t leave me.”
I don’t know where the bullet hit. All I see is blood. Her blood. So much blood. It stains my hands, my shirt, the ground beneath us.
Dante skids to a stop beside us, panting. “We lost them, boss,” he says, voice thick. His eyes drop to Izzy in my arms. “Doc’s on his way. But he’s far out.”
I nod. I can’t speak.
All I can do is hold her.
My perfect Isolde.
Broken again.
Because of me.
I’m frozen.
Stuck.
I should do more.
She’s naked—I rip my jacket off, covering her as best I can.
I need to get her help.
Stumbling to my feet, Izzy cradled in my arms, I call out—a desperate plea.
Flashing blue lights surround me. I barely register them—until a paramedic tries to rip Izzy from my arms. I snarl, ready to kill anyone who touches her.
“Sir,” he says, swallowing hard. “Mr. Russo, you need to let us do our job. I promise—we’ll take care of her.”
Eventually, I nod, forcing myself to release her. They lift her onto a stretcher and begin working.
I don’t take my eyes off her.
She’s loaded into the ambulance. No one bothers trying to stop me from climbing in. They see the determination in my eyes—or maybe it’s my reputation that keeps them quiet. Either way, I’m not leaving her.
The ride to the hospital feels endless, though it can’t be more than five minutes. The paramedics shout medical terms I don’t understand, working frantically to keep her stable.
As soon as we arrive, they rush her straight into surgery.
“Mr. Russo, you’ll need to wait here,” a nurse tells me.
“Like hell I will,” I snap, trying to push past her.
To her credit, she doesn’t flinch. She places her hands firmly on my chest.
“If you want her to have a chance, you’ll let us work. Wait here. We’ll update you as soon as we can.”
I take a shuddering breath, forced to stand down.
The moment Izzy disappears through the doors, my knees give out. A broken wail tears from my throat.
I can’t lose her.
Please.
I need her.
A hand claps my shoulder, firm. I spin, teeth bared—but it’s just Dante.
“Come on,” he says, pulling me up. “Let’s sit.”
I collapse into one of the plastic blue chairs. The seat beside me dips as Dante settles in.
And we wait.
It’s been hours since Izzy was taken through the doors of the operating room, and I was forced to wait on the other side.
Dante sits on my right. Papa, who arrived not long after, is on my left. Doc, who was a few hours away, just called to say he’ll be arriving soon.
The door swings open, and I see the same determined nurse from before.
I push myself up from my seat, crossing the hall in a few quick strides.
“How is she?”
She presses her lips together, eyes scanning me with practiced restraint.
Every second of silence feels like an eternity of agony.
“She’s stable. The bullet went straight through—shoulder wound, no damage to vital organs.”
I exhale for what feels like the first time in hours, relief flooding through me.
“Thank you,” I croak.
She nods, her eyes turning sympathetic.
“We’ll be moving her up to the ICU for recovery. You can see her soon. But first, I’ll need you to fill out some paperwork to get her officially checked in.”
I follow her as she turns and walks away.
We stop on the next floor, heading to the reception desk. “Okay, we need her full name. You said it was Izzy?”
“Yeah.” My throat is raw. “Isolde,” I pause, feeling the weight of it, “Delaney.” Fuck. I hate using that name, but I have no choice if they’re going to do their jobs properly.
Her lips part, expression twisting. “As in Lucas Delaney’s wife?”
I growl low, a threat curling in my chest. “Call him, and it’ll be the last thing you ever do.”
She falters, looking like she wants to argue, but something in my expression silences her. She nods quickly.
“Who are you to Isolde?” she asks me—personal or professional curiosity, I’m not sure.
“She’s my—" I choke back a sob. "She’s my best friend.”
Over her shoulder, I spot Izzy’s bed being wheeled down the hall toward one of the rooms. I move to follow, but the nurse steps in my path again. She’s got balls, I’ll give her that.
“I’ll let you know when you can go in. Please wait here.”
I force myself to hold back, to not take this frustration out on her. She’s doing her job. Barely. I drop into a nearby chair just as Dante and Papa walk in, Doc trailing behind.
He doesn’t waste time, heading straight for the doctors. I watch him speak with them; watch the way his body tenses.
I’m on my feet before he even turns around. “What is it?”
Doc raises a hand, trying to calm me. “Take a beat. I’ll explain.”
“Tell me now,” I growl. “Or so help me God—”
He sighs, rubbing a hand down his jaw. “They found signs of sexual assault. They’ll need her permission to do a rape kit when she wakes up.”
My jaw clenches so hard I feel something crack. I already know who did it.
“Do it now,” I snap.
Doc shakes his head. “We can’t. Not without her consent. Their rules.”
I want to punch a hole in the wall. Scream.
Rules. Always fucking rules—when the monsters who did this play by none.