ISABELLA

Chapter 49

Isabella’s pov

Matteo’s hand never left the small of my back as we made our way through the lobby toward the waiting cars. His grip wasn’t harsh, but it was firm enough to tell me he wasn’t giving me the choice to slow down. Something about the way Leo had spoken just moments ago—calm, low, but heavy with authority—kept replaying in my mind. See a friend, he had said, but the look in his eyes had told me something entirely different. Those eyes… sharp, watchful, dangerous.

We were just a few steps away from the main doors when the sound split through the night.

Bang!

The crack of a gunshot. My heart lurched violently in my chest, and I froze as if my entire body had turned to stone. For one suspended moment, I couldn’t breathe. The sound echoed through the hall, followed by another burst of noise, and then muffled screams of people inside.

“Leo—!” The name ripped out of me before I even realized I had said it. My head whipped back toward the building, panic flooding my veins so fast it left me dizzy. My first instinct was to run back, to find him, to see if he was safe.

But Matteo’s arm shot out, locking around my waist with the kind of strength that reminded me he wasn’t just Leo’s second-in-command, a soldier trained for this very chaos. “In the car, now!” he barked, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“No, Leo is—”

Another gunshot rang out, closer this time, louder, shattering any argument I thought I had. My chest tightened as my heartbeat pounded in my ears. People were shouting now, their footsteps rushing in every direction inside the venue.

Matteo didn’t hesitate. In one forceful motion, he pulled me toward the car waiting at the curb. I stumbled, half-dragged by his strength, my heels clicking against the pavement as I fought against him.

“Matteo, please—” I gasped, trying to twist out of his grip. “I can’t just leave him!” My voice cracked, raw with desperation, but Matteo’s focus didn’t waver for even a second.

He yanked the back door open and practically shoved me inside the sleek black car. My body hit the leather seat, my palms scraping against it as I scrambled to sit upright.

“Matteo!” I cried, but he was already moving.

He slammed the door shut hard, the lock clicking into place. My fists pounded against the tinted glass, but his face appeared in the reflection—hard, unreadable, protective to the point of cruelty. For only a second, his eyes met mine through the glass: sharp, steady, and unyielding.

And then he was gone.

Matteo pulled his gun free from the holster hidden beneath his jacket. The metallic sound of it clicking into readiness sliced through the air. Without hesitation, he sprinted back toward the chaos, his tall frame disappearing into the shadows of the building.

I pressed my trembling hands against the window, chest heaving so hard I thought my ribs would shatter. The sounds of gunfire echoed from inside, muffled but sharp enough to slice through the heavy air. My heart was racing so fast it felt like it might leap out of my chest.

My stomach twisted, my throat closed up, and hot tears blurred my vision. All I could think was—

Leo is in there.

Leo, with his calm voice and steady hands. Leo, who had looked at me before letting me go, as though he’d known this might happen.

And I was trapped in here, useless, while he was in the middle of it all.

The walls of the car suddenly felt too small, too suffocating, my body restless with terror. I pressed my forehead against the cool glass and whispered his name like a prayer.

“Leo…”

Leo pov

The moment Matteo led Isabella toward the doors, I turned back, scanning the room again. The hairs at the back of my neck stood on edge—instinct, that unshakable sense that something was wrong.

The sharp crack of a gunshot split through the air.

I didn’t flinch. My hand was already at my side, drawing the Glock I carried. The room erupted into chaos, men scrambling, women screaming, chairs overturning as people dove for cover. But all I saw were them.

Russians.

The tattoos on their knuckles, the cold gleam in their eyes, the way they moved—calculated, fast, like wolves that had been waiting for the right moment. And the moment was now.

My jaw clenched as the pieces fit together. This wasn’t about me. This wasn’t about the meeting.

This was about her.

Isabella.

They wanted what was mine.

Another shot rang out, whizzing past my ear and slamming into the wall behind me. I ducked low, gun raised, firing back without hesitation. One of the bastards dropped instantly, his body collapsing against the table.

I moved fast, weaving between chairs, my focus razor-sharp. Bullets flew, splintering wood, shattering glass, but my mind was steady, controlled. Years of training, years of blood, had made me into this—cold, efficient, deadly.

One of them shouted something in Russian, his voice hoarse over the noise. I didn’t need to understand the words. I already knew what they meant. The girl.

A burning rage surged through me, dark and consuming. My grip tightened on the gun until my knuckles whitened. They thought they could take her? Thought they could walk into my world and touch what belonged to me?

Not while I was still breathing.

Two men rushed me at once. I pivoted sharply, firing into the chest of the first before slamming my shoulder into the second, sending him crashing into a pillar. His knife clattered to the floor, and I drove my fist into his jaw so hard I felt bone crack beneath my knuckles.

“Leo!” one of my men shouted from across the room, pinned down behind an overturned table. I didn’t have time to respond. Another round of gunfire blasted through the room, sparks flying as bullets ricocheted off the chandelier above.

I dropped behind cover, my breathing controlled, my heartbeat steady in my ears. But in the back of my mind, through the gunfire and chaos, there was only one thought:

Isabella has to be out by now. Matteo better have her in the car.

I fired again, hitting a man in the shoulder. He screamed, collapsing to the floor. My men were spreading out now, returning fire, cutting down Russians one by one. But they just kept coming, pouring into the hall like a swarm.

One of them lunged forward, yelling in his thick accent, “We’ll take the girl, Salvatore!”

The words sent a sharp fury burning through my veins.

I rose from cover, gun aimed steady at his forehead. “Over my dead body.”

I pulled the trigger.

His body hit the ground before the echo of the gunshot even faded.

A door slammed open. Heavy footsteps echoed.

Matteo.

He came in fast, his gun already raised, eyes cutting through the smoke and panic until they locked on me. Without hesitation, he fired, dropping the man who had been flanking me from the side.

“Leo!” he barked, running toward me, his voice carrying over the chaos.

I didn’t waste words. Just gave him a sharp nod as I reloaded, the metallic click echoing like a promise. Side by side again—like we’d always been.

“Isabella?” I asked, my voice clipped.

“She’s in the car. Locked in.” Matteo’s jaw was tight, his voice fierce. “She’s safe.”

Good. That was the only thing I needed to hear. Now I could unleash hell without hesitation.

Another round of bullets sprayed our direction, splintering the wood near Matteo’s head. He ducked, rolled, and came up firing, precise, clean. Two more Russians fell. I covered his back, taking out another who tried to creep up behind him.

“They’re here for her,” I growled, ducking behind an overturned table as bullets peppered it.

Matteo slid beside me, his gun smoking. His expression hardened. “Then we don’t leave anyone standing.”

I smirked, dark and sharp, adrenaline coursing hot through my veins. “Couldn’t agree more.”

One rushed Matteo with a knife. I spun and fired, the bullet catching him clean between the eyes before he got close enough. Matteo didn’t even flinch, just gave a sharp grunt of thanks before gunning down another coming from the left.

“The girl! Find the girl!”

My blood boiled.

I stood, firing rapid shots into the bastards trying to advance, fury tearing through me.

In the blur of smoke and chaos, one Russian slipped through. Fast. A wiry bastard with sharp eyes, ducking low, weaving between falling men. He didn’t even raise his gun toward us—he bolted for the exit.

My stomach dropped.

“Isabella!” The name ripped out of my throat like a snarl. I fired, but the bastard was quick, disappearing behind the heavy oak doors before my bullet could catch him.

Matteo cursed viciously. “Merda!” He swung around, emptying his clip into two others trying to follow, but it was too late. That one was gone.

We exchanged a glance—sharp, loaded, filled with fury and fear.

“He’s going for the car,” Matteo growled, already reloading.

I knew it too. And the worst part? We couldn’t move. Not yet. More Russians kept pouring in, their bullets forcing us to stay pinned behind cover. If we broke off now, Isabella would be unprotected—and the men inside would tear us apart.

Every instinct in me screamed to run after her. To tear through that door and snap that bastard’s neck before he even laid eyes on her. But I couldn’t—not while Matteo and I were surrounded.

“f**k!” I slammed another magazine into my gun, rage shaking through me. My vision blurred red. “If he touches her…” My voice was low, dangerous, venom dripping with every word. “…I’ll carve his heart out with my bare hands.”