Chapter 10 – Isolde #2
“Azrael,” I whisper, hands fisting his shirt, pulling him nearer until there’s no space left, his heat seeping into me, steadying the tremble in my bones.
Our lips crash together—hard, desperate, a kiss that’s all teeth and need, his tongue shoving into my mouth, wet and hungry.
I moan, soft and raw, tasting rain and him, my hands sliding up his chest, nails digging into the muscle beneath his shirt, feeling him tense under my touch.
He groans into me, low and rough, his hand tightening in my hair, pulling just enough to sting, and it’s a lifeline—a moment of us against the noose tightening around our necks.
We break apart, panting, foreheads pressed together, his breath ragged against my lips.
“They want us to kill each other,” I murmur, voice shaking, my hands still gripping his shirt, knuckles white.
“Father—he looked at me like I was nothing, like I’d already betrayed him.
Said he’d cut me out—blood or not—if I don’t end you. ”
He pulls back just enough to look at me, gray eyes searching—fierce, conflicted, a mirror to my own turmoil. “Emilio’s the same—cold as fuck, told me you’re a weakness I can’t afford. Said if I don’t put a bullet in you, I’m no son of his—nothing but a liability. But I can’t, Isolde—I won’t.”
“Then what?” I ask, stepping back, needing air, the humid dampness pressing in, the drizzle outside a soft, relentless hum. “We’re trapped—they’ve got us cornered, and Salucci’s out there, pulling strings, watching us bleed. Do we run? Fight? Pretend we can follow through?”
He rakes a hand through his wet hair, pacing a tight circle, boots scuffing the concrete, his jaw clenched so hard I see the muscle twitch.
“Running’s not us—we’re not cowards. Fighting—fuck, we’ve been fighting Salucci together, and that’s still the play.
But this—” He stops, turning to me, eyes blazing.
“Pretending’s a lie I can’t live. I’m not killing you—not for him, not for anyone.
What do you want, Isolde? Tell me straight. ”
I swallow, the question a knife twisting in my chest, and step closer, my hands falling to my sides, trembling but steadying as I speak.
“I want you,” I say, voice low, raw, the truth spilling free like blood from a wound.
“I’ve wanted you since Venice—since you dared me, matched me, saw me.
Last night—your hands, your mouth, the way you fucked me—it’s not just sex, Azrael.
It’s us—something I can’t cut out, even if it costs me everything.
But Father—he’s my blood, my legacy, and losing that… it’s losing who I am.”
He steps in, closing the gap, his hand cupping my face, thumb tracing my cheek, rough but gentle, grounding me.
“You’re not losing you—you’re more than D’Angelo, more than his fucking pawn.
I want you too—been obsessed since that mask slipped, since you begged for Leo and I couldn’t say no.
This—” He gestures between us, voice dropping to a growl.
“This is ours, not theirs. They can’t take it. ”
“But they can,” I whisper, leaning into his touch, my eyes stinging, the drizzle outside blurring the world beyond these walls. “They’ve got power—guns, men, legacies we’re tied to. If we don’t choose, they’ll choose for us—hunt us, end us.”
“Then we choose,” he says, voice fierce, pulling me closer, chest to chest, his heartbeat thudding against mine. “We stick to the plan—take down Salucci, stop this war. After that, we figure it out—together. No killing, no bowing to them. We carve our own fucking path.”
I laugh—soft, shaky, a release of the tension coiling me tight—and nod slowly, my hands sliding up his arms, gripping his biceps, solid and real beneath my fingers.
“Together,” I echo, meeting his gaze, green clashing with gray, a pact sealed in the dim, damp space.
“But it’s a lie—hiding this, pretending we’re still theirs. How long can we keep it up?”
“As long as it takes,” he murmurs, his hand sliding to my neck, touching the bruise he left, a flicker of heat in his eyes that makes my breath catch. “We’re better at lies than they are—Salucci’s the real enemy, not us. Your father, mine—they’re blind, fighting shadows. We see the truth.”
I nod again, swallowing hard, his touch a lifeline pulling me from the edge. “Okay. Salucci first—then we deal with them. But if they push—if they force my hand—”
“They won’t,” he cuts in, voice hard, pulling me tighter, his forehead pressing to mine again, breath mingling. “I won’t let them. You’re not facing this alone—not now, not ever.”
His words sink in, heavy and warm, and I tilt my face up, kissing him—soft this time, not desperate, a slow press of lips that’s more promise than fire.
He kisses back, gentle but firm, his hand cradling my head, fingers threading through my damp hair, and it’s a moment of calm—a quiet vow in the storm crashing around us.
We pull apart, breathing steady, eyes locked, and I feel it—him, me, us—stronger than the ultimatums, the legacies, the chains trying to drag us apart.
“Soon,” I say, stepping back, adjusting my coat, the drizzle outside picking up, a steady patter against the roof. “Salucci’s meet—we hit it, end him.”
“Soon,” he agrees, voice low, watching me with that fierce, unyielding stare as I turn to the door. “Stay sharp, Isolde—we’re not done.”
“I know,” I murmur, glancing back, a faint smile tugging my lips despite the weight.
I slip out, the humid night closing in, the faint drizzle cooling my flushed skin as I head to my car.
Father’s ultimatum, Emilio’s order—they’re chains we’re defying, traps we’re dodging, and Azrael’s mine—my choice, my fight.
Love traps us, legacy looms, but together, we’ve got a shot, and that’s all I’m holding onto as the darkness swallows me whole.