ISABELLA
The ride home was silent. Not the peaceful kind. The kind that presses against your ribs and makes it hard to breathe. Luca sat beside me in the backseat, jaw clenched, eyes fixed on the road ahead like he could strangle Lamberti through sheer force of will. Vito drove, knuckles white on the wheel. The guards followed in a second car, headlights slicing through the night.
My arm throbbed beneath the bandages. Daniel’s stitches pulled with every bump in the road. The pain was sharp, but it kept me awake. Focused. Angry. Pain meant I was still alive.
We pulled through the gates of the Salvatore estate, and the guards swarmed instantly, weapons drawn, scanning the perimeter. The moment the car stopped, Luca was out, opening my door before I could reach for the handle.
“Careful,”
