Chapter 30

Isabella

Vance tosses his shirt to me, and I slip it on. I feel around for my panties, but I can't find them. Fuck. Guess I'm facing my newfound enemy without wearing any underwear.

I rack the pistol and hold it at my side. My chin rises in defiance. I don't want to be without Vance again, even if it means killing someone in my family. Or killing my own father.

I made the choice to run off with him, and it's one of the few decisions I've made on my own. I won't give that decision back to anyone else, including the man who raised me.

Footsteps plod from somewhere in the house. An ominous thunder rings out with every step. A bead of sweat drops down the back of my neck and buries itself in the shirt. Vance puts me behind him as he walks along the wall and inches toward the door. He's shirtless, wearing nothing more than his boxers, and he looks deliciously terrifying.

Vance stops and turns toward me before he reaches the door. His hot palm caresses my cheek. Instead of comforting me, it sends a bolt of panic up my spine because it feels like goodbye.

"I love you, Isabella. If something happens to me, just know that I would do anything for you, including dying. I'd lay my life down in front of you so you can step over this steaming pile of shit we're in without getting it on your feet." He swallows. "And I'm sorry I couldn't say it sooner."

I set my jaw, refusing to accept his words like this. "Don't say it because you're certain we won't make it out of this together."

"I just need you to know." He pulls me into him and gives me a hard kiss on the mouth. It's like nothing I've ever felt. Is this what the kiss of death feels like? A final type of passion that can't be mimicked or recreated without the near certainty of death?

But this kiss isn't goodbye. I won't accept that.

"I love you, Vance, but say it to me after tonight. When you aren't facing the prospect of dying, please." I let a tight smile cross my face. It's meant to be comforting, but I've never been very good at that.

I put my hand on his chest and urge him forward. A low sigh leaves his lips before he turns toward the door, grips the handle, and rips it open.

I follow him down the dark hallway. Emptiness welcomes us on our path and pulls us toward the footsteps, which stop as soon as the sound of ours joins them. Whoever waits in the darkness knows we're here now. Now it's just a matter of coming face to face—the ominous moment when eyes meet eyes, barrels meet barrels, and everyone knows the intentions of the other.

A man grabs Vance, and they begin a battle of strength right in the small home's living room. I step forward and raise the pistol to help him, but another set of large hands wrap around my waist and pull me into a hard chest.

A familiar chest.

The scent of cigar smoke wraps around me like the arms pinning me in place, and I can no longer breathe.

My father.

His hand snakes around my wrist and wrenches the pistol from my grasp. "Isabella, I'm so disappointed in you," he says, squeezing harder.

At the sound of my whimper, Vance grinds out a primordial shout. "You better not hurt her, old man!"

With furrowed brows, my father's attention moves toward the ensuing struggle. If he only brought one soldier to deal with Vance, he should be more nervous than this.

"Let me go," I say as I struggle against my father's grip.

Grunts and groans rise from the living room floor as Vance and his assailant roll around in a heap of flailing arms and legs. A gunshot punctuates the sounds pouring from the fray, and my breath catches. I have no way of knowing who fired the gun or who's been shot. Darkness shrouds the melee. It could be either one of them. It could be both of them. The not knowing is enough to drive me insane.

My heart sinks deep into my belly, and I'd shit it out right now if I could. What would I do if I lost him? How could I live if that I love you was the last one before his death?

"Vance!" I yell.

My father throws a hand over my mouth and backs me toward the door. He's confident Vance is the injured party and sees no way his soldier would lose. It's incomprehensible to him, but the alternative is incomprehensible to me.

He drags me further toward the door, and I kick and fight with everything in me. He whips open the door, and cool night air hits me as he pulls me toward the car. His hand releases my mouth, and my screams immediately follow.

"You sold me off to a monster!" I shout.

"You were supposed to do two jobs as my only daughter. Get married. Create an empire."

"Fuck your empire!" I send my elbow backward, and it collides with his side.

With a breathless grunt, he releases me for a second, and I make a run for it. His fingers wrap around my arm and haul me backward before I can put more than a few feet between us. Something sharp pierces the sensitive skin of my neck, and a burning sensation sends flaming fingers across my nerve endings.

My father pants, his chest heaving as he tries to support my relaxing muscles. My eyelids attempt to close, but I keep them open by sheer determination. My limbs feel disconnected from me. I lean back into my father's broad chest to keep from toppling over as the ground seems to heel like a sailboat beneath my feet.

"What did you do to me?" I ask, my words slurring.

"It's something to protect myself from you. You turned on us. Deserted your family. Chose a piece of shit like him over us."

Each heavy breath takes more effort than the last, but I draw enough air to ask the question rushing up my throat. "Are you going to kill me?"

A creepy, low laugh shakes his chest against my back. "No, Isabella." His fingers brush my hair away from my face. "It's not my place to take your life. You didn't kill my son."

"You're giving me to the Vendettis? Your own daughter?" Each word takes such effort, but I've never been one to shut my mouth, no matter the circumstances.

My father squeezes my throat. "You were dead to me once you severed our deal and ran off the way you did." Instead of releasing his grip, he tightens his hold around me. Black shadows cloud the corners of my vision, but I can only think of one thing as everything begins to blur.

"Vance," I whisper.

"He can't save you," my father hisses.

As if the fibrous connection between my brain and body has been severed, my consciousness starts to fade. My eyes close and stay that way, too heavy to open again. I can no longer hear the wind piercing the forest canopy. I can no longer smell the scent of my fear mixed with earth and moss. My brain focuses on oxygenating my most vital organs and abandons my senses entirely.

I'm sliding into a black abyss.

His grip loosens, and I'm moving away from him. I force my eyes open but see nothing in front of me. Powerful arms turn me and press me against a broad, muscled chest.

Blinking away the haze, my gaze lands on my father as he wobbles on his feet and presses his hand to his neck. He falls back against the car, and his wide eyes burn through me.

I turn my head and look up at my savior. I knew who it was as soon as my body was safely tucked against him, but I couldn't believe it until I saw him with my own eyes. Blood drips from a long gash on his face, but he's alive. And he saved me.

"Vance," I whisper. My eyes fall to his hand. An empty syringe pokes from his fist. My father's soldier must have had one for Vance, but it's clear who got to it first. "Are you going to kill him too?" I ask as I peer into his face.

I hate to admit it, but I don't wish death upon my father. I just want him to leave me alone. If he thinks I'm dead to him, let me be dead.

Vance holds me closer, surrounding me in his warmth and safety as he looks into my eyes and says, "I have some words for your father before I decide."