Chapter 11 - Isolde #2
I hear something and tense, gun raised—until I see him, Azrael, his black jacket glistening, gray eyes scanning as he sprints inside, boots splashing through puddles.
Relief floods me, hot and sharp, and I stand, holstering my gun, stepping into his path.
He clocks me—rain-soaked, trembling, fierce—and grabs my arm, pulling me behind a stack of crates, his heat a shield against the cold seeping through my coat.
“D’Angelo,” he says, voice rough, low over the wind, his hand sliding to my neck, thumb feeling my pulse. “You’re here—fuck, what happened?”
“Varela,” I reply, voice steady despite the storm inside, leaning into him, needing his solidity. “It’s done. Leonardo’s branded me a traitor—set a bounty on my head, twenty million. I’m out—cast out, hunted by my own blood.”
His eyes darken, jaw clenching, and he curses—low, vicious—pulling me closer, his grip tightening. “A bounty? That reckless fuck—your father let him?”
“Didn’t stop him,” I say, bitter, my hands fisting his jacket, knuckles bearing down on the damp fabric. “Marcella warned me—Leo’s calling in every gun he can, mercenaries, our own men. Father’s done with me—said I’m a disgrace, fucking you, choosing you. I ran—had to get to you.”
“Fuck,” he mutters, gray eyes blazing, his hand sliding to my face, cupping my cheek, rough but steady. “But you’re here—chose me—and I’m not letting them touch you, Isolde. Not a fucking chance.”
“What do we do?” I ask, voice breaking, stepping back to pace, the storm’s roar swallowing my words as I turn to him. “They’re hunting me—us—Salucci’s still out there, and now this. Run? Fight? Where do we even go?”
He grabs my shoulders, stopping me, his grip firm, grounding me against the wind tearing through the mill.
“We fight,” he says, voice hard, fierce.
“Salucci’s meet’s tomorrow—we hit it, end him, gut this war from the root.
After that, we run—together. Somewhere they can’t reach us, figure it out. But I’m protecting you—starting now.”
“Fight,” I echo, nodding slowly, the weight settling, my hands sliding to his chest, feeling his heartbeat under my palms—a steady thud against the chaos. “I’m not running alone—not without you. But Leonardo—he’s my brother, Azrael, and he wants me dead. How do I face that?”
“You don’t,” he says, voice low and rough, dragging me closer, his forehead pressing hard against mine, rain slipping from his hair to my skin. “I take the hit—he comes near you, he goes through me first. He’s already a dead man if he even tries.”
I laugh—soft, shaky, a release of the knot in my chest—and grip his jacket tighter, his warmth seeping into me. “You’d kill my brother for me?”
“For you,” he murmurs, eyes fierce, his breath mingling with mine, sharp with rain and resolve. “Spared him once—won’t again if he’s hunting you. You’re mine—we’re in this—and no one’s taking you from me.”
The wind howls, thunder rumbling close, and I nod, a pact sealed in the stormy dark—him, me, us against them all. “Okay,” I say, voice steadying, stepping back, adjusting my coat. “Salucci first—then we run. Together.”
“Together,” he agrees, voice rough, but then his eyes narrow, head snapping toward the window as headlights flare through the rain—two cars, engines growling, cutting the storm. “Fuck—company.”
I draw my gun, crouching low beside him, heart pounding as shadows move outside—men, armed, spreading out, their shouts faint over the wind. “Leo’s men?” I whisper, peering through the crates, the drizzle blurring their shapes.
“Or Salucci’s,” he mutters, pulling his pistol, checking the clip with a quick, practiced flick. “Either way, they’re not friendly. Back exit—north wall. Move.”
We sprint—low, fast—boots splashing through puddles, rain stinging my eyes as we weave through the mill’s ruins, the storm masking our steps.
A shout cuts through—“There!”—and gunfire erupts, bullets pinging off stone, splintering wood inches from my head.
Azrael shoves me behind a rusted beam, firing back—two quick shots, a scream echoing as one drops—and grabs my arm, pulling me toward a jagged hole in the north wall, overgrown with vines.
“Go!” he barks, covering me, and I dive through, thorns snagging my coat, tearing fabric as I hit the muddy ground outside, rolling to my feet.
He’s behind me, leaping out, rain soaking us as we sprint into the trees—dark, tangled, the wind whipping branches into my face.
More shots ring out, bullets thudding into trunks, and I duck, weaving, Azrael at my side, his hand gripping mine, pulling me forward.
“Car’s a quarter mile,” he pants, voice tight, dragging me through the underbrush, mud sucking at my boots, rain blinding me. “Keep moving—they’re close.”
I nod, breath burning, legs pumping, the storm a chaotic shield as we break through the trees, his car looming ahead—a black shadow in the downpour.
We reach it, diving in—he slams the driver’s door, I scramble into the passenger seat—and he guns the engine, tires spinning in the mud before catching, lurching us forward.
Gunfire peppers the rear, glass cracking, and I duck, heart slamming as he swerves, the car fishtailing through the rain-slick dirt, headlights cutting the dark.
“Hold on,” he growls, hands tight on the wheel, weaving through the storm, the mill fading into the fog behind us. The shots fade, the pursuit lost—for now—and I slump back, panting, rain dripping from my hair, soaking the seat.
“Safe—for a minute,” I mutter, turning to him, his profile sharp against the dash lights, jaw clenched, eyes fierce.
“Not safe,” he says, voice low, glancing at me, hand reaching to squeeze mine, rough and steady. “But alive. We’re out—together. Salucci’s next, then we run—far as we can.”
I nod, gripping his hand back, the storm raging outside, lightning illuminating the road ahead—a path fraught with danger, but ours.
Leonardo’s branded me a traitor, Father’s cast me out, and Azrael’s my shield, my choice, my fight.
There’s no turning back—not now, not ever—and as the rain pounds the roof, I know we’re running blind, but we’re running together, and that’s enough.