Page 17 of Lord of Little Italy

"She's strong," Dom says quietly from beside me. He's checking his gun for the third time. "Stronger than both of us."

"I know." And I do know. The memory hits me suddenly - Isabella in the gym, grinning as took my legs out from under me.

She was quick, technically perfect. I had size and strength, but she nearly got me twice. Watching her move, that fire in her eyes...

That was the first time I knew I was in trouble.

"Tell me again," Dom's voice pulls me back. "About you and her."

I glance at the two guys in the front seat, but they're focused on the road, pretending not to hear. Behind us, three more SUVsfull of our men follow, a dark procession through Brooklyn's empty streets.

"Nothing happened at first," I start. "Not really. We worked together. Then..."

"Then?"

Another memory surfaces. Isabella in that black dress at our first "business dinner." The way the candlelight played across her face as she systematically destroyed my arguments about territory expansion. Brilliant and beautiful and completely untouchable.

I should have known then that I was lost.

"Then I realized she was the smartest person in every room. That she saw things neither of us caught. That she..." I trail off, remembering her bent over spreadsheets, finding patterns we'd missed for years.

"That she what?"

"That she made me want to be better."

Dom nods slowly. "And after?"

"After I pushed her away. Tried to pretend none of it mattered. Because you're my ally, and she's your sister, and I'm—"

"An idiot?"

Despite everything, I almost smile. "Yeah."

"You should have told me."

"I know."

"We'll discuss it later." His voice hardens. "After we get her back."

Tommy's voice crackles through the radio from the lead car. "Two blocks out. Security footage shows four men went in withher. They're armed - automatics, maybe Uzis. Cameras caught them taking her to the second floor."

My hands clench. "Time stamp?"

"Three hours ago. No movement since then."

Dom and I exchange looks. Could be they're hunkered down, waiting for ransom. Could be they've already moved her. Could be—

No. Don't think about could be.

"Four teams," Dom orders into his radio. "North, south, east, west. No one gets out."

"Smoke first," I add. "Then we breach. Remember - Isabella's inside. Watch your crossfire."

The warehouse appears ahead - a hulking concrete structure with broken windows high up. The kind of place that's supposed to be abandoned. The kind of place where people disappear.

Not her. Not tonight.

We park two blocks away, killing the lights. The night wraps around us as we exit the vehicles, forty men moving like shadows. These aren't street thugs or common criminals. These are soldiers, trained killers. The best of both families.

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