Chapter 37
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
The basement stairs are exactly as I remember them.
Narrow. Concrete. The kind of tight space where one person with a gun could hold off five if they knew what they were doing. I move down carefully, my rifle up, my breathing controlled, Matteo right behind me and the rest of the team following in tight formation.
The first landing comes and goes without incident.
Second flight.
At the bottom I hold up my fist and everyone stops again.
I can hear voices now, low and indistinct, coming from somewhere down the corridor ahead. Male voices. At least two, maybe three.
I signal: two guards, straight ahead.
Matteo nods and signals to Dante and Luca. They move forward, silent as shadows, and I count the seconds in my head.
Three.
Four.
Five.
The sound of impact. A grunt cut short. A body hitting the floor.
Dante's voice, barely a whisper: "Clear."
We move forward into the corridor and there are two guards on the ground, both unconscious, both disarmed, and the hallway stretches ahead exactly as I drew it. Cells on the left, storage on the right, and at the far end, the back cell.
We move quickly but carefully, checking each cell as we pass. Empty. Empty. Empty.
The back cell door is closed.
I can see light under it, the bare bulb kind, and my heart is hammering so hard I can hear it in my ears, but my hands are steady on the rifle.
Matteo moves up beside me and looks at the door, then at me.
I nod.
He reaches for the handle and I prepare myself for what I'm going to see, for whatever condition she's in, for blood or bruises or worse.
The door opens.
Isabella is on the floor against the far wall, her hands still zip-tied, her face bruised just like in the photo, and when she sees us, her eyes go wide.
"Enzo," she breathes.
The sound of my name from her mouth breaks something open in my chest.
I'm moving before I think, crossing the cell, dropping to my knees in front of her, my hands already reaching for the zip ties.
"I've got you," I say, and my voice is shaking now that I can see her, now that she's real and alive in front of me. "I've got you, Isabella. You're safe."
"You came," she says, and tears are running down her face. "You actually came."
"Of course I came." I cut through the zip ties with my knife. "Did you think I wouldn't?"
"I didn't know if you—if Matteo would—" She can't finish because she's crying too hard.
I pull her into my arms and hold her tight, careful of injuries I can't see yet, and she's shaking against me, her face pressed into my neck.
"Where's Vittorio?" Matteo asks from the doorway.
Isabella pulls back slightly and points to the corner.
Vittorio is slumped against the wall, his hands also restrained, blood on his face, conscious but barely.
"Get him up," Matteo orders, and Dante moves to cut Vittorio's restraints.
"Can you walk?" I ask Isabella quietly.
"Yes. I think so. They didn't—" She stops. "I'm okay. Just bruised."
"We need to move," Matteo says. "Now. Before—"
The sound of gunfire erupts above us.
Loud and close and sustained, the distinctive crack of automatic weapons, and all of us freeze for a split second.
"They know we're here," Rafael's voice comes through the radio. "O'Rourke's men are mobilizing. We've got contact on the main floor. Heavy resistance."
"Copy that," Matteo says into his radio. "We're coming up with the packages. Clear us a path to the loading dock."
"Working on it."
More gunfire. Closer now. The sound of it echoing down the stairwell.
"Stay behind me," I tell Isabella, helping her to her feet. "Don't let go of my vest. Whatever happens, you stay right behind me."
She nods and grabs hold of the back of my tactical vest with both hands.
Vittorio is on his feet now, supported by Dante, looking unsteady but functional.
"Let's move," Matteo says.
We head for the corridor and the gunfire intensifies above us, and I can hear shouting now, orders being given, the chaos of a full engagement.
We're halfway down the corridor when the basement door at the top of the stairs bursts open and three men come through, weapons up.
They see us.
Everything happens at once.
I push Isabella behind me and raise my rifle, and Matteo is already firing, precise controlled bursts, and one of the men goes down immediately.
The other two return fire and bullets are ricocheting off the concrete walls and I'm backing up, keeping myself between Isabella and the threat, returning fire when I have a clean shot.
Dante drops the second man.
The third retreats back through the door and slams it.
"Move!" Matteo shouts. "Before they regroup!"
We run for the stairs, Isabella's hands still gripping my vest, and we hit the steps and start climbing fast.
At the top I pause and check the door, listening.
More gunfire but it sounds like it's coming from the far side of the warehouse now, the main entrance area where our other teams are engaging.
I signal: clear for now.
We move through the door into the main warehouse floor and it's chaos.
Our men are engaging O'Rourke's forces across the space, using containers for cover, muzzle flashes lighting up the darkness like strobes, and the air smells like gunpowder and blood.
"Loading dock is that way," I say, pointing. "Thirty yards. We can make it if we move fast."
"On three," Matteo says. "One. Two. Three."
We move as a unit, running low, using cover when we can find it, and bullets are whipping past us, too close, and I'm focused entirely on keeping Isabella behind me, on being the wall between her and anything that wants to hurt her.
We're almost to the loading dock when someone steps out from behind a container.
Killian O'Rourke.
He has a gun raised and it's pointed directly at Isabella and everything slows down in that particular way time does when death is close.
I don't think.
I just move.
I shove Isabella to the side and raise my rifle and fire in the same motion, and Killian's shot goes wide as my bullet catches him in the shoulder, spinning him around.
He goes down but he's already rolling behind cover, and I move forward because wounded is not the same as dead and I'm not leaving him alive to come after her again.
"Enzo!" Matteo shouts.
I move around the container, but Killian is already gone, a trail of blood leading toward a side exit, and I can hear a door slamming in the distance.
He got away.
Fuck.
I turn back and nearly run into Declan O'Rourke standing ten feet away with a gun pointed at my chest.
"Enzo Bianchi," he says calmly. "I remember you. Nine years ago. You took something of mine."
"She was never yours."
"Everything in that basement is mine." His finger tightens on the trigger. "And now you've come back to take her again. That's twice you've cost me leverage. Twice you've interfered with my business."
"Then you should have killed me the first time."
"I'm correcting that mistake now."
He starts to squeeze the trigger and I'm already moving, diving to the side, and the shot goes wide and I'm rolling and coming up with my rifle raised.
I fire.
The bullet catches him center mass and he staggers backward, his gun dropping from his hand.
I fire again.
And again.
Three shots, close grouped, professional, and Declan O'Rourke goes down and stays down.
I stand over him and put one more bullet in his head to be sure.
For Isabella.
For what he did to her nine years ago.
For what he tried to do now.
He's dead before he hits the ground.
"Enzo!" Isabella's voice behind me.
I turn and she's there, pale and shaking, and I cross to her quickly and pull her against me.
"It's over," I say quietly. "He's dead. He can't hurt you anymore."
She nods against my chest but doesn't speak, just holds onto me.
"We need to move!" Matteo appears beside us, Vittorio with him, both covered in dust and blood that I don't think is theirs. "Rafael has the loading dock secured. We can get out now."
I keep one arm around Isabella and we move together toward the exit, stepping over Declan's body, avoiding the ongoing firefight, and finally we're outside in the cold air and there are vehicles waiting and our men are falling back, covering the retreat.
"Get her in the car," Matteo says to me.
I help Isabella into the back seat and she won't let go of me, her hands fisted in my vest.
"I'm coming with you," I say. "I'm right here."
Vittorio gets in on the other side, still silent, still looking shaken, and Matteo gets in the front.
Dante drives and we pull away from the warehouse fast, tires squealing, and behind us I can hear the last of the gunfire fading.
We're three blocks away when it happens.
A single shot from somewhere I can't see, and the back window explodes inward, and Vittorio makes a sound, surprised and pained.
He slumps forward.
"Vittorio!" Isabella reaches for him.
I'm already checking him, my hands finding the wound in his back, blood spreading fast, too fast, arterial.
"Drive faster!" I shout at Dante.
Vittorio's breathing is ragged, wet, and when he coughs blood comes up.
"Isabella," he says, and his voice is weak. "I'm sorry. For everything. For—"
"Don't talk," she says, and she's crying. "Just hold on. We're almost—"
"Tell my father—" He coughs again. "Tell him I—"
He doesn't finish.
His breathing stops and his eyes go unfocused and I check for a pulse and find nothing.
"No," Isabella whispers. "No, he didn’t deserve this—"
"He's gone," I say quietly.
She makes a sound that's half sob, half scream, and buries her face in her hands.
Matteo turns around from the front seat and looks at Vittorio's body, and his expression is carefully blank but I can see the calculations running behind his eyes.
Vittorio De Luca is dead.
Killed during a rescue operation.
The alliance with the De Luca family just went from unstable to catastrophic.
We drive the rest of the way in silence.
Back at the compound there's chaos.
Medical teams are treating the wounded. Men are debriefing. Weapons are being cleaned and counted. The wounded are being stabilized and the dead are being documented.
Isabella refuses to let go of me until we're inside, until we're in a private room and I can check her over properly.
"I'm fine," she keeps saying. "I'm not hurt."
But her hands are shaking and she's pale and there's blood on her clothes that isn't hers and she's not fine, not even close.
I get her to sit down and I check her anyway, cataloging injuries. Bruised ribs. Cut on her temple. Bruises on her wrists from the restraints. But nothing broken, nothing that won't heal.
"You came for me," she says while I work.
"Of course, I did."
"Vittorio said—he said you were gone. That you left."
"I did leave. But that doesn't mean I stopped—" I stop and look at her. "I never stopped, Isabella. I never stopped thinking about you or worrying about you or loving you. Not for one second."
She starts crying again and I pull her against me and hold her.
"I've got you," I whisper into her hair. "You're safe. I've got you."
The door opens.
Matteo.
He looks at us for a long moment, at Isabella in my arms, at the way we're holding each other, and something complicated moves across his face.
"We need to talk," he says quietly. "Both of you. Now."
Isabella pulls back and wipes her eyes. "What happened? With Vittorio?"
"That's what we need to discuss." Matteo's face is grim. "Because his death just made everything significantly more complicated."
We follow him to his study and he closes the door and stands behind his desk with his hands flat on the surface.
"Salvatore is going to see this as an act of war," he says without preamble. "His son died on our operation. It doesn't matter that we were rescuing both him and Isabella. It doesn't matter that the O'Rourkes killed him. All that matters is that Vittorio is dead and we were responsible for him."
"What does that mean?" Isabella asks.
"It means war is coming. The De Lucas will demand restitution. Blood for blood. And without the alliance—" He stops. "Without another way to secure peace, we're looking at open conflict."
He looks at me.
"You saved her today," he says quietly. "You led us in. You got her out. You killed Killian O'Rourke. You did everything I asked and more."
I wait.
"But Vittorio's death changes everything. The political cost—" He shakes his head. "I don't know if I can protect both of you from what's coming."
Isabella stands. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying that the O'Rourkes are weakened but not destroyed. Declan is dead but his organization still exists. And now the De Lucas want blood." He looks between us. "I'm saying that rescuing you might have just started a war we can't win."
The silence that follows is heavy and terrible.
Isabella's hand finds mine and squeezes.
"We'll figure it out," I say quietly. "Whatever comes next, we'll handle it."
Matteo looks at our joined hands and something in his expression softens slightly.
"Yeah," he says. "We will."