Page 18 of Lord of Little Italy

"Boss," Joe approaches with tactical vests. "Cameras show they took her up the east stairwell. Second floor, third door on the right."

I strap on the vest mechanically, my mind racing. Second floor means limited escape routes. Good for containment, bad if we need to get her out fast.

"Remember," Dom addresses the assembled men. "Anyone tries to use her as a shield, anyone puts a hand on her..." He doesn't finish. Doesn't need to.

We split into teams quickly, efficiently. Joe takes north with ten men. Vincent gets south. East and west teams are mixed - my guys and Dom's working together for the first time ever.

Another memory hits me - Isabella laughing at something I said over coffee. The way her eyes lit up, how her hand brushed mine reaching for the sugar...

"Tony." Dom catches my arm. "When we get in there... she's going to be okay."

"She better be." My voice doesn't sound like my own. "Or I'm going to paint those walls with whoever touched her."

He studies me for a moment. "You really do love her."

"Yeah. I really do." The admission feels like freedom. Like finally putting down a weight I've been carrying for weeks.

"Good." He chambers a round. "Then let's go get my sister."

The next few minutes are a blur of hand signals and silent movement. Teams getting into position. Smoke grenades ready. Weapons checked one final time.

I close my eyes for a moment, remembering Isabella's smile. Her laugh. The way she moved in that black dress, the one that haunted my dreams for weeks. The fire in her eyes when we sparred, when she matched me as a equal.

Never again. No more pushing her away. No more hiding what I feel.

If she'll still have me after I was such a coward...

"In position," Tommy's voice whispers through my earpiece.

"Breach in three," Dom responds. "Two..."

I grip my weapon tighter, thinking of Isabella's last text to me: Coward.

Not anymore, princess. Not anymore.

"One..."

The night explodes with light and sound. Smoke grenades crash through windows. Doors burst open. Men move like wraiths through the chaos.

And I'm running, gun up, heart pounding, smoke swirling around me. Running toward Isabella. Toward everything I should have admitted weeks ago.

I'm done being a coward.

I'm coming, bella. I'm coming.

Hold on.

Through the smoke, I can hear shouts, the sound of breaking glass.

But none of it matters. Nothing matters except getting to that second floor, third door on the right.

Nothing matters except her.

Chapter 11

Isabella

My head throbs as consciousness returns. Amateur move, hitting me from behind. A professional would have used drugs - harder to fight through, easier to control the dosage. My arms are behind me, tied to what feels like a wooden chair. Not zip ties - rope. Another mistake.

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