Page 14 of Lord of Little Italy

"What?" The word comes out like I've been punched. Like someone's reached into my chest and squeezed.

"Outside Lavo. Black SUV. Multiple men." Dom's voice is controlled, deadly. The voice of a man about to start a war. "Elena was with her. She's okay, but they grabbed Isabella."

The glass in my hand shatters. I don't feel the cuts. Don't feel anything except a rushing in my ears and a rage so pure it threatens to consume me.

"When?"

"Twenty minutes ago. Get to my place. Now."

I'm already moving, taking the back stairs two at a time. Blood drips from my hand, leaving a trail I'll have to explain later. "I'll have my guys—"

"Bring them all. Every shooter you've got. This isn't a negotiation, Tony. This is war."

The line goes dead.

Blood drips from my hand as I dial my capos. Joe answers first, sleep heavy in his voice until he hears my tone. The orders are short, brutal: Every man. Every weapon. Dom's penthouse. Now.

"Boss, what's happening?"

"Someone took Isabella Esposito."

A sharp intake of breath. Joe knows what this means. Everyone knows what this means. You don't touch family. Ever.

More calls. More orders. By the time I reach my car, fifty men are mobilizing. Armed. Ready. Hungry for blood.

The drive to Queens is a blur of red lights and horns. I blow through intersections, weave through traffic like a madman. A cop car starts to follow, then backs off when they see who I am. Smart move. Tonight, I'd go through them without blinking.

My mind races faster than the car. Who has her? The Colombians? They've been pushing boundaries lately, testing our alliance. The Vitales? They lost territory last month when we pushed them out of Little Italy. I doubt they know of Isabella involvement. The Irish? Some new player looking to make a name?

Whoever it is, they're dead. They just don't know it yet.

But underneath the rage, there's terror. Pure, crushing terror. I know what some men in this world are capable of.

And if they hurt her...

My hands tighten on the steering wheel until the leather creaks. Blood from my cut hand stains the expensive Italian leather. I don't care.

I should have told Dom. Should have claimed her properly, put the full weight of both families behind protecting her. Instead, I played the honorable friend, the careful ally. Put business before what really mattered.

Coward.

"I'll find you," I whisper to the empty car. "I swear to God, Isabella, I'll find you. And then I'll never let you go again."

Dom's building comes into view. Cars are already lined up outside - his crew arriving for war.

The elevator feels like a cage. I check my phone - no messages, no leads, nothing. Just the memory of her last text: "Coward."

She was right. Fuck, she was right.

The penthouse is chaos when I arrive. Men in suits with guns barely concealed, speaking in urgent whispers. Maps spread across tables. Phones ringing. The tension in the air. Dom stands at the center of it all, barking orders into two phones at once.

He looks up when I enter. Something flickers in his eyes - recognition? suspicion? - but there's no time for questions.

"What do we know?" I demand, shouldering through the crowd.

"Black SUV, no plates. Four to five men, all masked. They knew what they were doing - took out the street cameras beforehand. Cut the power to half the block."

"Professional job," I growl. "Not some random grab."

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