ISABELLA

Chapter 29

The knock on the door was too sharp, too deliberate. Not the sound of a neighbor, not the sound of a courier. Sofia froze mid-step, the old wooden spoon still in her hand from stirring soup in the kitchen. Her sharp eyes flicked toward the front door, her instincts—the ones she thought she buried when she fled Russia years ago—screaming.

Another knock. Louder this time.

Sofia swallowed hard, wiped her hands on her apron, and walked to the door. She opened it just a crack.

Three men stood on the porch. Suits, sharp shoes, the kind of confidence only men carrying guns could have. Their eyes were cold. One of them smiled, but it didn’t reach his face.

“Good evening,” he said in accented Italian. Russian laced every syllable. “We’re looking for Isabella Rossi.”

Sofia’s breath hitched. Her blood ran cold. She knew immediately—these weren’t Italians. They weren’t neighbors. They were Bratva.

Her lips pressed into a polite smile, masking the dread clawing at her chest. “She isn’t here,” she said calmly, her accent sharper than usual. “Perhaps you have the wrong house.”

The tallest one leaned against the doorframe, smirking. “We don’t have the wrong house, babushka. We know exactly who lives here.”

Before she could react, the second man shoved the door wide open, nearly knocking her back. The third pushed past, scanning the hallway, the living room, as if Isabella might be hiding behind the curtains.

Sofia’s heart pounded. She knew what this was. They weren’t here to ask. They were here to take.

Her voice came out firm, but the old steel in it shook loose after years of silence. “This is not your territory. You have no right to be here.”

The tall one chuckled darkly. “Rights?” He pulled a knife from his jacket, twirling it between his fingers with deadly ease. “We don’t need rights. We take what belongs to us.”

Sofia’s pulse spiked. She gripped the edge of the counter, her mind racing. Isabella was upstairs, unaware. She couldn’t let them reach her.

The man with the knife stepped closer, his grin sharp. “Where is she?”

When she didn’t answer, he slammed his fist against the wall, making the family photos rattle. Sofia flinched but kept her chin high.

“NICO!” she screamed suddenly, her voice echoing through the house like a gunshot.

Upstairs, Nico shot up from his bed, heart racing. He knew that tone. He didn’t need explanations—his mom had drilled it into him since he was a boy. If she ever called his name like that, it meant one thing.

Danger.

He charged into Daniella’s room first, the little girl frozen with wide, terrified eyes. “Nico?” she whispered, clutching her teddy bear.

“Shhh,” Nico hissed, scooping her up in one arm despite her protest. His voice was low but urgent, clipped in a way that brooked no argument. “Don’t make a sound.”

Without hesitation, he sprinted down the hallway and burst into Isabella’s room. She was by her vanity, confusion painted across her face. “Nico, what—”

“No time,” he cut her off sharply, his voice like steel. His dark eyes burned into hers, filled with a mix of fear and determination. “Grab Daniella’s hand and listen to me.”

She obeyed instantly, seeing the raw seriousness on his face. Nico shoved the girls into the walk-in closet, pulling clothes aside and dragging a hidden panel from the back wall. A small crawlspace—one only he and Aunt Sofia knew about.

Gripping Isabella by the shoulders. “Stay in here. No matter what you hear, no matter what happens—do not come out. You understand me?”

Isabella’s eyes widened, her heart hammering against her ribs. “Nico, what’s happening? Who’s—”

“Do you understand me?” he barked, his tone leaving no room for argument.

She flinched, then nodded quickly, pulling Daniella close.

Nico’s face softened just a fraction as he brushed Daniella’s hair back, kissing her forehead. “I’ll come back for you. I promise.”

Then he slid the panel shut, locking them into darkness.

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Nico’s fingers tightened around the cold metal of his gun, knuckles white. Every nerve in his body screamed, but he pushed the fear down, focused only on the task at hand. The voices downstairs had grown louder, harsher, closer.

He took a deep breath, heart hammering in his chest, and crept toward the top of the stairs.

From the landing, he could see through the banister—the intruders moving through the foyer, their Russian-accented commands cutting the air like knives. One of them had already grabbed a vase, tossing it aside carelessly as they searched.

Nico’s jaw tightened. He pressed his gun close, finger brushing the trigger, every instinct screaming at him to act.

“Not in my house,” he muttered under his breath.

He descended slowly, one step at a time, keeping to the shadows, letting his presence remain unseen. The taller man with the knife hadn’t noticed him yet, focused on tearing through the kitchen for anything of value.

Nico’s mind raced. He had to protect Isabella and Daniella without giving the intruders a chance to act.

And then, in one swift motion, he stepped forward, gun raised, voice low but commanding. “Stop right there!”

The intruders froze, startled by the sudden authority in his tone. The tallest man spun, eyes widening, knife raised.

Nico’s aim was steady, unwavering. “Out. Now. Or I swear you’ll regret it.”

The intruders hesitated, weighing their options.

One of the men laughed, a cold, harsh sound. “And who are you, little boy? You think you can stop us?”

“I don’t think. I know,” Nico snapped, his gun unwavering, eyes locked on each of them in turn. “Get out. Before someone gets hurt—real hurt.”

The man with the knife lunged forward, but Nico was faster. A shot rang out—a warning through the floorboards—and the intruder stumbled back, eyes wide, chest heaving.

The other two exchanged a look, realization dawning too late. Nico wasn’t just a kid—they were facing someone who would kill to protect his family.

Sofia’s voice cut through, sharp and commanding: “Get out! Now!”

The intruders hesitated again, sizing up the situation, then slowly backed toward the door. Nico didn’t lower his gun until the sound of their retreating footsteps faded into the night.

He exhaled, hands shaking slightly, heart racing.

Nico moved quickly, grabbing the panel to open it. “It’s safe,” he whispered, ushering them out into the hallway. His eyes still burned with intensity.

Isabella nodded, shaken but relieved. Daniella clung to him, trusting him completely.

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Leo’s POV

My phone buzzed in my pocket, Matteo’s name flashing on the screen. My gut dropped before I even answered.

“What is it?” I demanded, already stepping into the sleek black Deluca car, engine roaring to life.

Matteo’s voice was tight, controlled, but the tension underneath was enough to make my blood boil. “Leo… it’s Isabella. She’s in trouble. Someone tried to—”

“I know.” My hand slammed the wheel, sending the car surging forward. “Get in there and bring them out. All of them. Now.”

“Yes, Leo. On it.”

I didn’t wait for him to say more. Every second mattered. I didn’t care about traffic, about the flashing lights of the city around me. My mind was consumed with one thought: Isabella.

The image of her soft face, terrified, hidden somewhere in that house— I could feel the possessiveness rising, the rage clawing at me.

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We reached the front door, Matteo at my side. I knocked hard, deliberate, each strike echoing through the quiet night. Seconds stretched, but the door swung open almost immediately.

Nico stood there, tense, gun still in hand. Isabella was behind him, and the sight of her—so small, so fragile, yet alive—hit me like a punch. My chest tightened. Nico didn’t move to block me; he just stood there, silent but alert.

The second our eyes met, I stepped forward and pulled Isabella into my arms. She stiffened for a moment, then melted slightly against me. “Leo…” she whispered, but I didn’t let her speak.

“Are you okay?” I demanded, voice low and dangerous, scanning her for even the slightest sign of injury. My hands gripped her shoulders, trembling only slightly with the mixture of relief and rage. “Tell me you’re okay. Right now.”

She nodded, but her lips trembled. “I… I’m fine,” she whispered, voice small.

“Don’t lie to me,” I growled softly, tightening my arms around her. “I can feel it. If anything had happened to you…” My voice trailed off, sharp with unspoken threats.

She shivered, but I held her tighter. “You’re safe now,” I said, though I knew that safety was fragile in this world. “I won’t let anyone touch you.”

After a few tense seconds, I stepped back slightly, just enough to let her breathe. My eyes darted to Nico and Matteo. “Good work,” I said curtly, then turned back to her.”

Once Isabella was steady, I finally noticed the woman standing just inside the doorway. She was older, sharp-eyed, her posture straight despite the fear in her gaze.

“I’m Sofia,” she said cautiously. “Aunt Sofia.”

I studied her for a long moment. This was the first time I was meeting her. I didn’t know if I should trust her yet, but instinct told me she was solid, a survivor.

“We need to leave,” I told her, voice cold but controlled. “You’ve been exposed. This house isn’t safe anymore—not for you, not for Isabella, not for Daniella.”

Her eyes widened slightly. “I—I understand. But where—?”

“I’ll provide a place,” I interrupted, keeping my tone sharp. “Somewhere secure. Matteo will take you there. Nico, you and Daniella go with her. Isabella,” my gaze fell on her, intense and unwavering, “you stay with me. You’re the most important. You need protection more than anyone else right now.”

Isabella’s eyes flicked to mine, silently asking if she could argue. She didn’t. She knew better. She needed me—and I wasn’t about to let anyone endanger her again.

“Pack lightly,” I continued, already moving toward the car. “We leave in ten. Matteo will handle logistics. We don’t wait. Not for anything.”

Sofia nodded, and Nico exhaled sharply, realizing he had little choice but to follow orders. Isabella’s hand brushed against mine as we moved, and I didn’t pull away. Not yet. Not while the world outside still wanted to reach for her.