Chapter Twenty-Five - Isabella
The car glides through miles of open road, black and shining, windows tinted against the world.
I stare out at the passing blur of trees and steel and sky, trying to ignore the suffocating hush in the space between us.
Emil drives in silence, his hands steady on the wheel, jaw set hard enough to crack. I watch his profile reflected in the glass: the dark stubble on his jaw, the rigid line of his mouth, the eyes that won’t look at me.
I’m too tired to fight, too numb to care.
Everything that’s happened—my family turning their back on me, this marriage that’s not a marriage, the endless, gnawing guilt—has left me hollowed out.
I barely slept, haunted by the memory of Emil’s touch, the ache of want and shame tangled up so tightly I can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.
My hands rest useless in my lap. I drift somewhere above my own skin, too worn out even for anger.
The city thins behind us, the world narrowing to the white noise of tires on asphalt and the mechanical hush of air-conditioning.
I glance at the side mirror and see a pair of black cars trailing behind.
It barely registers; I assume they’re just Emil’s men, his shadow always present even when he doesn’t speak it aloud. Everything in his world has eyes.
After a mile, the hair on my arms prickles. Emil’s knuckles go white on the steering wheel, his stare flicking from the mirror to the road ahead. The silence thickens, sharpens, and for the first time in hours I sense something is wrong.
I shift in my seat, forcing my voice to work. “What is it?”
His mouth twists, voice flat and cold. “It’s your family.”
For a split second, relief flares in my chest. I twist in my seat, craning to see better. My heart pounds. “They came for me?”
He doesn’t answer. The car behind us speeds up, closing the gap. I see faces hard and familiar, all lines and shadows. My pulse leaps, hope rising so fast it hurts. I reach for the door, fumbling with the handle. “Emil—”
He grabs my wrist, and orders, voice like steel, “Stay down.”
Before I can argue, one of the black cars swerves, slamming into us with a sickening crunch. Metal screams.
I’m thrown sideways, head cracking against the window. Glass shatters, scattering across my lap.
I hear Emil curse, tires squealing, the car careening off the road and into a shallow ditch. Everything blurs—shouts, gunshots, the sharp, dizzying taste of blood in my mouth.
I claw at the door and tumble out, legs shaking, lungs burning. The world tilts. I stagger, stumbling through weeds and broken glass. For a heartbeat, all I see is the blur of suits, guns raised, chaos swirling around me.
Then I see him—Matteo, my cousin, charging toward me with men at his back. He’s older, harder than I remember, a gun drawn in one hand, wildness in his eyes.
Relief crashes through me, overwhelming, and I run to him, clutching his arm like a lifeline.
“You came for me. Oh God, you came for me. Matteo, please—”
He doesn’t answer, doesn’t even look at me.
He pushes past, barking orders to men behind him to grab me.
Two others seize Emil, dragging him from the wreckage, pinning his arms behind his back.
Emil fights them, teeth bared, but he’s outnumbered, outgunned.
Blood trickles from a gash on his forehead.
“No, stop!” I twist, trying to break free, panic sharp in my throat. “Don’t hurt him! Matteo, please—”
He ignores me, cold as stone. His phone buzzes in his pocket. He answers, listens for a moment, his eyes scanning the wrecked cars and bleeding men. My world narrows to the sound of his breathing, the tremble in his hand.
He lowers the phone, voice flat, empty of all comfort. “Father says… kill them both.”
The words slice through me, deeper than any wound. The hope in my chest dies, hollow and final. I look from Matteo to Emil.
I don’t have time to scream before everything turns to chaos again.
My world freezes. Matteo lifts his gun, hands shaking, eyes haunted by something I can’t read. I stagger backward, breath caught in my throat.
“Matteo… you can’t—” My voice is barely a whisper, thin and desperate.
I search his face for the cousin I knew, the boy who once slipped me pastries under the table at family dinners, who grinned when our fathers weren’t watching. There’s nothing left of him. Only a man caught in a war he can’t win.
He glances away, jaw clenched, sweat shining at his hairline. The gun wavers for a heartbeat, then drops to his side.
“Run,” he mutters, so low I almost don’t hear it. “I’ll tell him you got away.”
The world spins. I look at Emil, struggling on the ground, three men pinning him down, blood pouring from his temple. He meets my eyes—anger, fear, command blazing all at once.
“Go!” he shouts, voice raw and torn. “Run, Isabella! Now!”
But my feet won’t move. Everything inside me wars—leave, stay, help, hide. I’m rooted to the earth, the crash of panic in my head drowning out the rest. Matteo grabs my arm, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise.
“Run before I change my mind!” he hisses, the mask cracking for just a second. “Please.”
I want to scream, to beg him to stop, to grab Emil and drag him into the woods with me. But there’s no time. The men are shouting, guns swinging, someone calls my name. My heart breaks, split clean down the middle.
I turn and run, stumbling into the trees, branches tearing at my dress, feet slipping on roots and moss and mud. I run until my lungs burn and my legs shake, until my sobs are lost in the thunder of blood in my ears.
I don’t know how far I go. Miles, maybe, through scrub and shadows and the scent of pine and rot. The road appears out of nowhere, an old pickup rattling toward me, headlights blazing through the dusk.
I flag it down with shaking hands, gasping out half a story about a car accident and men with guns. The driver—a woman old enough to be my grandmother, eyes sharp with suspicion and concern—lets me in, silent as I sob in the passenger seat.
She drops me off on a quiet street. I know it only by the number on the mailbox. Dimitri’s house, a place Emil said was safe, a place that smells like gun oil, clean linen, and strong coffee. I stumble up the steps, fists pounding on the door until my knuckles bleed.
It swings open, and Dimitri stares at me, shock flashing across his face before he pulls me inside, hands steady but gentle. I collapse against his chest, all the fear and adrenaline crashing down at once.
“They tried to kill us. Matteo… Emil—” I can’t get the words out, choking on sobs and blood and dirt.
He doesn’t waste time. He lifts me, deposits me on the sofa, then grabs his gun from a drawer. His voice is a knife, sharp and precise as he barks orders into his phone.
“Lukyan. Emergency. They took Emil. I want every man we have out searching. No one stops until we find him.” He turns to me, softer now. “Tell me everything. Quickly.”
I try. Between sobs and shudders, I piece it together—the black cars, the crash, the armed men, the way Matteo shoved me into the woods. How he’d saved my life with a word, how Emil’s blood stained the ground as they dragged him away.
Dimitri listens without a single interruption, jaw clenched, eyes narrowed with fury. When I finish, he paces, running a hand through his hair.
“They weren’t supposed to move this soon. Bastards.”
My hands shake. “Why would they do this? Why would they try to kill me?”
He hesitates only a moment. “Because you’re a humiliation to them now,” he says, voice low and bitter.
“You’re part of us. Part of the Bratva. They can’t bear it.
Your uncle… he’d rather see you dead than see the world believe a Bruno belongs to the Russians.
You’re proof we have power over them. You’re a symbol of everything they’ve lost.”
The truth is worse than I imagined. “He doesn’t love me,” I whisper, the words crumbling as they leave my mouth. “Not enough.”
Dimitri doesn’t lie. “No. Not enough. Greed means more to men like your uncle than blood ever could. You’re a pawn to them, Isabella. That’s all you’ve ever been.”
It hurts more than any wound. I curl in on myself, body wracked with silent sobs, every hope I ever had shriveling up and dying in my chest. My own family would rather see me dead than let me live in the shadow of another man’s empire.
Dimitri kneels beside me, voice quieter. “You’re not alone. We’ll get Emil back. I swear it.”
Somehow, that promise holds me together. I wipe my eyes, drawing a shaky breath. “If they hurt him—”
He squeezes my shoulder. “We’ll find him.”
He stands, already dialing again, voice sharp and commanding as he rallies his men. I watch him, tears drying on my cheeks, feeling the old Isabella dying and something harder, sharper taking root in her place. I am no one’s pawn, not anymore.
Tomorrow, the world will know what happens when you try to kill what refuses to break.
Dimitri grabs his jacket, sliding a pistol into his waistband, and leans over me as I struggle to sit up.
“We have to move fast, Isabella. Do you remember anything else—license plates, faces, where they took Emil?”
I shake my head, fighting panic. “It happened so fast. Matteo… he was there, but he saved me. He told me to run. The rest, I don’t really remember.” My voice breaks. “There were three cars. I think they went north, back toward the old highway, but I can’t be sure.”
Dimitri curses under his breath, already dialing. “That helps. We’ll search every mile. Stay here and lock the door. No one comes in unless it’s me or Lukyan.”
I clutch his sleeve. “Dimitri, please, if you find them, if you find Emil… don’t let them kill him. Promise me.”
His expression softens, only for a heartbeat. “I promise. He’s too valuable to lose. Besides, you’re family now, Isabella, like it or not.”
I close my eyes, relief and terror warring in my chest. “Thank you. Just bring him home.”
He nods once, sharp and decisive, then glances at me, softer now. “You did the right thing. Don’t blame yourself for any of this.”
As he heads for the door, barking orders into his phone, I curl up on the sofa, listening to the house settle around me; each tick of the clock is another second closer to whatever comes next. My family tried to erase me, but I’m still here.
I whisper into the empty room, “Hang on, Emil. We’re coming for you.”