Chapter Twenty-Five
Isabella’s POV
Outside was an explosive exchange of bullets. Quite a few dead bodies lay in front of me, and I tried to find my way around them. The furniture was ripped to shreds. The bullets made holes in the walls, and the floor was full of shattered glass.
“You're going to be fine,” I said in a stressed exhale. “You can do this. Isabella, you can do this.”
I closed my eyes, trying to gain balance while my head spun with the chaos.
Every sound I heard was a reminder of the wild rampage.
“I can't do this,” my mind began to utter, and I felt the need to escape.
This wasn't me. I wasn't the type of lady who'd leave anyone behind.
This was the moment I became tough, not weak. What the hell was I thinking?
First, I chickened out because I couldn't get myself to kill Marco, and now I'm taking sides with Mikhail, who's risking all he has, including his life, to protect me. Yet, here I am trying to escape. So fucking unreasonable.
“Fuck this.” The words flew out of my mouth before I reached for my pistol by the side of my trousers. I'm the reason there's carnage at Caruso's safe house. It would only be right to fight alongside the people who trusted me enough to care for my safety.
I opened the door and walked out. One of Caruso's men got shot in his left eye by one of Mikhail's soldiers. The car behind the man exploded, and black soot rose up with the orange flames.
I looked around, scanning to see if I would get a clear sight of Mikhail or Yuri, but all I saw was black smoke in the atmosphere.
I placed my pistol back in my pocket and walked back into the building, intending to find my way up the staircase in search of them. But when I did, I felt someone holding my hand right before I placed it on the wooden rail.
I tried to yank my hand away, but I couldn't. The man had a large moustache and a buzz fade on his head. His stomach protruded, and he had a tattoo of a snake on his left neck.
“Let me go!” I yelled. Somehow, my stupid mind made me think that the man with the white vest was merciful enough to let me run free.
He pulled me backwards, and I fell to the ground.
His hands held onto the collar of my coat, and I hit his chin with my fist. The man's head didn't move, almost as though he didn't feel any pain.
His grip on me tightened the more I tried to get away.
My neck hung in the crook of his elbow while he dragged me further into the house.
I knew where he was taking me. The same escape door that I used to sneak my way in.
“Relax. Just a little more and you'll be safe.” His Italian accent came out strong, and I wasn't willing to exhibit weakness. I had to protect myself, even if it meant shedding blood.
So I reached for the pistol and cocked it.
The first shot I fired was on his right thigh.
He lost his balance and let go of me. The second shot went through his throat.
His eyes bulged while he fell to the floor, bleeding.
He looked as though he wanted to speak, maybe cry for help or sympathy. But I couldn't care less.
My eyes caught a shadow beside me. Two Italian men walked out of the kitchen and stood without a firearm.
As soon as our eyes met, they ran towards me.
I stretched my hand out and shot the guy in the front.
My arms went back in recoil, yet I saw the second guy reach for something behind his back.
I shot him immediately, and the bullet passed through his head.
My pulse pounded in my veins. My heart skipped a beat, and my vision began to blur.
I ran outside and gasped for air while holding onto the rail. I heard the shouting of names. My hands were covered in blood.
Mikhail stood at the center of the battle, engaged in what seemed to be a hand-to-hand combat with Caruso.
“Great,” I said in a low intonation. “Just great.”
I wondered what in the world he was thinking to set himself in the middle of a shootout. For Mikhail to do this meant he knew how to find his way out of this. So, I lay low and made sure there weren't any Italians creeping up behind me.
The fight got intense, and the exchange of bullets slowed to a stop.
Caruso had a good right hook when he hit Mikhail in his solar plexus.
Mikhail bowed low, and he hit him in the face.
It was rough for me to watch. I began to panic.
My heart beat raced and my eyes teared up in what seemed to be defeat.
He hit Mikhail on his knees until he fell to the ground, right before he grabbed a handful of his hair and raised him up again.
“I knew you were fucking weak,” Caruso's voice tore through both parties. “Loving Isabella made you weak. And this is where your journey ends, Mikhail.”
And just like that, Mikhail found his way between Caruso's legs, tripping him to the ground.
Caruso stood up, smiling proudly, and Mikhail caught him off guard when he threw a punch at his left rib.
Caruso fell on one knee, and Mikhail went forcefully with a jab to his face.
He shouted in pain, every punch taking Caruso down further.
“She's. Not. My. Weakness!” He yelled while he punched him in time with each word he spoke. “She's. My. Strength!”
He kept punching Caruso until I saw blood fly out of his face. I observed how his nose sank in, and the more Mikhail kept going, the more the blood. It was the most horrific sight I had seen in my life.
Mikhail stood up. His chest rose and settled as he breathed hard, and I looked beyond him. The Italians began to flee, one after the other, but Yuri and the rest of the soldiers chased after them, firing bullets at their cars.
The atmosphere cleared, and Mikhail turned to see me looking at him in awe. It was at this moment that I knew that Mikhail wasn't only my husband, but my ruthless guardian, and I found it to be both intriguing and charming.
His face was covered in blood and soot. Blood dripped down his hands.
We’d lost hundreds of our soldiers, but many more deaths came from the Italians. It was a win for the Lobanovs, and from this point on, I knew that nothing was ever going to be the same.
**********
Mikhail limped and squeezed himself into the back seat.
The car began to move. Our car drove between Yuri and the rest of the soldiers.
I was grateful to have the chance to breathe such clean air.
I turned around to see Mikhail's face. He had a welt on his left cheek, a wounded lip, and a black eye.
He winced as the car jolted past a bump.
“Are you alright?” I asked. He gave a light nod. It was moments like this that I wished I had something to clean his face with. Something to tend to his wounds with. Maybe a first aid kit or so. But there was nothing.
“That was incredible,” I said in a low tone, hoping he wouldn't hear.
“What?” He asked. His voice was low and lacked briskness. My face grimaced for a short second as I recalled the unending jab he shot at Caruso's face.
“The way you killed Caruso. It was incredible and horrible at the same time.” I tried to imagine what was left of Caruso's face.
He probably passed out after the third punch because his hands slid to the floor in defeat.
His face must be distorted, that's if he still had something to call a face.
Nonetheless, he was dead now, and all that mattered was this moment.
Mikhail forced himself through the pain to turn and look at me. His pale blue eyes fell on mine. The car seemed to be driving at high speed, and Mikhail's face made me worry if he had sustained an internal injury.
“You know, all I did back there, I did it for you.
I might not be nice or charming or romantic.
But I know that I'm a protective partner.
I grew up handling the most violent job in the Bratva union.
I don't make peace with people who waged war. I kill and get overly violent when anyone messes with the people I love, and in this case, you.” He winced again.
“You mean so much to me, Isabella. Hundreds of men died today.
Not because I gave them orders to open fire at the Italians, but because I'd give anything, even myself, to make sure that you're safe and well cared for.
Your beauty is more than a thousand suns.
Your voice is better than the chirp of birds.
I only hope that soon, you realize that I mean what I say.
I hope you see that you're not a pawn to me but my wife. And I love you, even to the death of me.”
I had forgotten how to breathe after Mikhail finished speaking. I didn't know if I wanted to smile or cry. I knew I wanted to do both, and it was impossible. I longed to kiss him, submit myself to his every pleasure, to be his forever. He meant every word he said, and that was what defined him.
The car jolted, and Mikhail coughed out in pain.
He struggled to rest his back on the seat, and I helped him through it.
Deep down, I felt the rush of words. So many things I intended to say hung in the air.
I looked at my Mikhail, then turned to look out the window.
Tears formed in my eyes and streamed down my cheeks.
I didn't know what I did to make a man love me this much, to give his all to me as though his life meant nothing to him.
“Are you okay, Isabella?” He asked after I sniffed.
“Yes,” I said in response, cleaning the tears from my face. “I can't wait for us to get home so you can relax and get better.”
**********
Yuri and some of the guards carried Mikhail to the bed in a rush.
“Everything hurts.” He said after they put him down and let him relax on the soft mattress.
“You're going to be fine,” Yuri said. “I've told the nurses to come and treat your wounds.”
“And tell them not to forget those bandages. I think I broke my arm.”
“Of course, Mikhail. At least, you get to enjoy Isabella's company before they arrive. Her presence might relieve you from some pain.”
“Get out, Yuri.” Mikhail forced a smile onto his face, and Yuri turned to exit. “Yuri,” he called out again, securing his attention. “Thanks.”
Yuri still kept his stern, mysterious look. He gave a mock bow and walked out of the room. I looked at Mikhail's face and traced patterns on his arms. I wondered what all the tattoos on his body meant. He wasn't as buff as Yuri, but he definitely had the muscle and will of a killer.
The sun had begun to set, and the orange tinted our silent bedroom. I leaned in and kissed him on his lips. His breath scattered on my face; he smelt of smoke and sweat. His lips tasted almost salty, and his eyes opened wide in wonder.
“You know, you've destroyed me, Isabella,” he coughed out. “You should know that I don't care. I'd let you destroy me over and over again. As long as I get you, I'm willing to pay the price.”
I sighed. My fingers traced more patterns on his torso while I tried to get the words together.
‘Speak, Isabella, just say it. Say it!’ my brain screamed. My mind was in chaos. ‘You know how to talk. Don't play dumb now. Say it,’ I told myself.
Emilia's words came into my thoughts. Don't run, I heard her say. So I sighed again and shifted my gaze from his torso to his blue eyes. My mouth opened, and I felt the words rushing out.
“There's something I must say, Mikhail,” I heard myself stutter. My mind kept talking to me, telling me to breathe. Breathe, Isabella, breathe. You can do this. Stop running from the truth. This is your reality. Accept it.
“What?” Mikhail asked. His voice sounded close to a whisper.
“I…I…”
“You…what, Isabella?”
“ I love you, Mikhail. I think I've always known that I love you and want to be with you.
And I don't want you to take this the wrong way.
I don't love you as a weapon of war or as revenge.
I love you because you've kept on choosing me over and over again.” My eyes clouded with tears, and my heart drummed.
“I love you so much,” I said, throwing myself at his body. He made a noise that reminded me he was in pain.
“I'm sorry.”
“It's fine. I was built for pain.” I laughed at his joke and sniffed. His face shone with a beauty I knew I would cherish every day.
“I love you too, Isabella.”
We both smiled, content in happiness.