18. Alexei #2
I climb inside without caring that glass slices through my palms. The moment I touch her, her eyes flutter open.
“Alexei,” she whispers.
Relief nearly drives me to my knees. I pull her into my arms, holding her so tightly she lets out a soft sound of protest.
“I have you,” I murmur against her hair. “You're safe. I have you.”
Her fingers clutch the front of my shirt. “The baby.”
Fear tears through me. I pull back enough to examine her face. “Are you hurt?”
“I don't know.” She presses a trembling hand against her stomach. “Everything hurts.”
“Did they hit you there?”
She shakes her head. “No. I kept fighting.”
Of course she did. Even bruised and terrified, she fought.
Luka appears beside the open door, weapon raised as he scans the area. “Boss.”
I look up. One glance at his face tells me everything.
“Where is she?”
“Isabella escaped during the crash.”
Rage surges through me again.
Maggie's expression changes. “Isabella?”
I nod once.
“She was in the van,” Maggie says, pushing hair away from her face.
“What did she say?”
Maggie's eyes glisten. “She said taking Ivy wasn't enough.” Her voice breaks. “She said she was taking our baby too.”
Murder fills my veins.
I help Maggie out of the van and lower her carefully to her feet. She sways. I catch her before she falls.
“Easy.”
“I'm fine,” she murmurs.
She’s not fine. Blood streaks one side of her face. Dark bruises circle both wrists where restraints cut into her skin. The sight feeds the violence already consuming me.
Sirens echo in the distance. Roman's voice crackles through my earpiece.
“Warehouse seven,” he says. “South industrial district. We spotted Isabella entering with two surviving men.”
I tighten my hold on Maggie. “I'm on my way. Maggie is going to the hospital.”
“Good,” Roman says immediately.
Maggie stiffens in my arms. “No.”
I look down at her bruised face. “No?”
“No.” Her eyes flash. “I'm not going to the hospital while that woman is still breathing.”
“You were kidnapped.”
“And she threatened my child.”
“Our child,” I correct automatically.
Maggie stares at me.
I stare back.
“There’s no chance in hell you're leavin’ me behind,” she says.
Under different circumstances, I would argue, but there’s no time.
“Stay beside Luka,” I tell her.
“I can live with that.”
Ten minutes later, our convoy pulls into the abandoned industrial district south of Savannah.
Warehouse seven sits near the end of a cracked access road lined with rusted fencing and weeds taller than the hoods of abandoned cars. Black SUVs surround the building. Armed men take positions behind concrete barriers, loading docks, and derelict equipment.
Roman stands near the main entrance speaking into an earpiece. Beside him, Enzo looks like a man awaiting execution.
The Italian's expensive charcoal suit hangs loose on his frame. Sweat darkens the collar despite the warm evening air. He crushes a cigarette beneath his polished shoe when he sees us approach. Fear has finally found him.
Maggie stumbles climbing out of the SUV.
I catch her at once, sliding an arm around her waist. “Easy.”
She winces. “I'm fine.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because it's true.”
“It’s not.”
Maggie opens her mouth to argue.
Luka closes the passenger door behind her. “Boss is right.”
She glares at both of us.
Enzo sees Maggie and exhales. “You're alive,” he says hoarsely.
Maggie fixes him with a furious look. “Thanks to Alexei.”
Shame crosses Enzo's face before he lowers his gaze.
Roman approaches. “She barricaded herself inside,” he says.
“How many men?”
“Two.” Roman folds his arms across his chest. “Both armed.”
“And Isabella?”
“She has a handgun.”
Maggie's fingers tighten around my sleeve. “She'll use it,” she says softly. “She already threatened to kill me twice.”
Enzo speaks for the first time. “She won't leave quietly.”
Roman turns toward him. “Explain.”
Enzo swallows hard. “The Morettis value appearances above everything. If she knows she's trapped, she'll want witnesses.”
Hatred coils through me. “She doesn’t leave this building.”
“No,” Roman agrees. “She doesn't.”
A gunshot explodes from inside the warehouse. Every man on the property raises his weapon. Then a woman's voice echoes through the building.
“Alexei!”
The sound roots me to the spot. It isn't Clara, yet the resemblance is close enough to send grief slicing through me with renewed force.
“Come inside,” Isabella calls. “Alone.”
Roman catches my arm before I can move. “No.”
I remove his hand. “She wants me.”
“She wants you dead,” he growls.
“She already failed once.”
Roman studies me for a long moment. Then he nods. “Five minutes,” he says. “After that, we're coming through the walls.”
I turn toward Maggie. “You stay here.”
“Alexei—”
“No.”
She grabs my hand before I can walk away. “Come back to us.”
Us.
I brush my thumb across her bruised knuckles.
“I will.”
Then I enter the warehouse alone.
Dust covers every surface. Broken machinery sits abandoned beneath skylights clouded by years of neglect. Shafts of evening sunlight spill through cracked glass, illuminating decades of decay. At the center of the warehouse stands Isabella Moretti.
She’s beautiful. The realization horrifies me.
Silver threads weave through dark hair. Pearls rest against her throat. Even after the crash, she carries herself with aristocratic grace. And she has Clara's eyes.
For one terrible instant, I cannot breathe.
Isabella smiles. “You see her, don't you?”
I say nothing.
“Everyone always saw Clara when they looked at me.” Isabella's smile fades. “Until you.”
I hold her gaze. “You tried to kill my daughter.”
Isabella lifts her chin, her grip tightening on the gun. “I tried to reclaim my granddaughter.”
“My daughter is not yours,” I say, each word precise.
Anger twists Isabella's features. “You stole her from us.” Her voice rises. “Clara belonged with family.”
“Clara chose her family,” I reply, taking another careful step forward.
“She chose you,” Isabella hisses, raising the gun higher. Grief and fury war across her face. “And look where that choice left her.”
Pain slices through me. “She died because of men like Enzo.”
“No!” Isabella growls. “She died because she loved you.”
Movement near the entrance pulls my attention away. Enzo has entered the warehouse.
Idiot.
“It's over, Isabella,” Enzo says, his voice shaking. “Roman has every exit covered.”
Isabella slowly turns toward him. The smile curving her mouth is terrifying. “You betrayed me.”
Enzo pales. “You were going to kill me.”
“I was always going to kill you.”
The gun fires. Enzo rocks backward as blood blossoms across his chest. He stares at Isabella in stunned disbelief before collapsing to the concrete.
Then Isabella swings the weapon back toward me. “Now,” she says, “we finish what Clara started.”
Roman's men burst through the side entrances. Gunfire erupts.
One of Isabella's remaining guards swings his weapon toward me. I fire first. He slams backward into a rusted conveyor belt and crumples to the floor. The second man pivots toward the entrance where Roman and three soldiers advance in formation, weapons raised.
He never gets the chance to fire. Luka shoots him twice.
Silence settles over the warehouse once more. Only Isabella remains.
She stands twenty feet away, chest rising unevenly, pearls gleaming beneath shafts of dusty sunlight pouring through the cracked skylights overhead. Hatred burns in her eyes, and her hand remains steady as she points the pistol directly at my chest.
Roman steps into my peripheral vision, his expression grim. “It's over, Isabella.”
She lets out a hollow laugh. The sound echoes through the cavernous building.
“You think this is over?” she asks, shaking her head. “My daughter is dead.”
Roman's gaze turns glacial. “You came after my family.”
“I lost my child,” Isabella hisses, fury flashing across her face.
“You lost her years before she died,” he says.
Isabella's gaze snaps toward me. “Because of him.”
I take a step forward. “You lost Clara because you tried to own her.”
“You know nothing about my daughter,” Isabella snaps.
“No,” I agree, keeping my voice level. “I only knew the woman she became after she escaped you.”
Pain ripples across Isabella's face. For an instant, I don’t see a mastermind or a murderer, but a grieving mother. Then it vanishes.
“She belonged with her family,” she cries.
“She had a family.”
“You stole her!”
“You’re wrong.” My voice fills the warehouse. “Clara chose me. She chose Ivy. She chose our life.”
“She died because of you!” Isabella screams.
The accusation tears through the building. I absorb it because I’ve lived with those same words inside my own head for four years.
Fresh tears spill down Isabella's face. “She should have come home,” she whispers.
“She was home,” I tell her.
Roman edges farther into the warehouse, his weapon still trained on Isabella. “Put the gun down, Isabella.”
“No.”
“You have nowhere left to go.”
Isabella smiles through her tears, and the expression chills me. “Neither does he.”
The gun swings toward me. Every muscle in my body locks. Maggie gasps from the doorway behind me.
“Alexei!”
I don’t take my eyes off Isabella. She raises the weapon with both hands, grief, hatred, and madness warring across her face while tears continue sliding down her cheeks.
“You should have died with her,” she whispers.
The shot never comes. Roman fires first.
The crack of the gunshot echoes through the warehouse, deafening in the sudden silence. Isabella screams as the bullet tears through her shoulder. The pistol flies from her hand and skids across the concrete while she crashes to her knees, clutching the wound as blood pours between her fingers.
Roman never misses.
Before Isabella can recover, four of Roman's men are on her. They wrench her arms behind her back and force her face down onto the concrete. She fights viciously, kicking and screaming while they secure her wrists.
“Clara!” she sobs. “Clara!”
Roman approaches slowly, his expression carved from stone. “It’s over,” he says.