Page 48 of Isaia

I light another cigarette, the ember glowing in the dark as I keep my eyes fixed on her house. My mind is a storm of rage, possession, and questions that won’t stop clawing at me.

Her house is quiet now, and so is the street. Peaceful. But I can’t get myself to walk away. I can still see the black SUV in my mind, the slow crack of the door, the driver’s calculated movements, and the passenger’s fucking eyes scanning for his moment to strike.

It does something to me, the thought of anyone taking her, hurting her, simply fucking touching her. It has the taste of death creeping at the back of my tongue, violence curling through my veins, begging to burst.

The faint sound of an engine hums in the distance, pulling me from my thoughts. My body goes taut, every muscle coiled as my eyes snap to the direction of the sound. A car pulls up slowly, headlights dimmed, the sleek silhouette crawling to a stop at the edge of the street.

I narrow my eyes, instinct taking over as I step deeper into the shadows. My hand brushes the handle of the knife tucked at my hip, and my pulse pounds with the steady thrum of adrenaline. This isn’t someone who’s lost. This is someone who’s waiting. Watching.

The driver kills the engine, switching off the lights, the faint glow of the dashboard illuminating his face just enough for me to catch the edge of a jawline. I can’t make out much else, but the tension in the air sharpens. Something’s not right.

I move silently, stalking toward the car. Each step is calculated, my focus narrowing to the vehicle, the faint shadow of the driver, the slight twitch of movement from inside.

When I’m close enough, I slip around the back of the car, circling wide. The driver doesn’t see me coming. He’s too focused on Everly’s house, his gaze fixed on her darkened windows. The fucker’s waiting for something—or someone.

The door creaks slightly; he’s about to get out when I make my move. Before he can react, I grab him by the collar, hauling him out of the car with a force that sends him stumbling. His hand shoots toward his waistband, but I’m faster. My fist slams into his gut, knocking the breath out of him, and he crumples with a strangled gasp.

My gaze sweeps the surroundings, scanning for movement, for any shadow that doesn’t belong. The street is still, the air heavy with the kind of silence that feels like it’s holding its breath.

Assured we’re alone, I tighten my grip on the bastard’s collar and drag him deeper into the trees. Branches snag at my sleeves, leaves crunch under my boots, but his protests are muffled and useless, his feet scrambling for purchase as I haul him forward like dead weight.

Once we’re far enough, cloaked in darkness and out of sight, I shove him hard against a tree. His grunts turn into panicked wheezes, but I’m not in the mood for mercy. My forearm slams against his throat, pinning him there, and I lean in, close enough to see the whites of his wide, frantic eyes.

“What the fuck do you want with her?”

“Fuck you,” he spits, and I press harder, cutting off more of his air supply.

“You’ve got one shot to tell me the truth.” My free hand moves to my knife, drawing it, the metallic scrape echoing in the stillness around us. The blade catches a sliver of moonlight as I hold it up,just enough for him to see his fate in the glinting steel. “Who sent you?”

He glares at me, defiance flickering for a second before I shove him harder against the tree, his head smacking the bark. He wheezes, clawing at my arm, but I press harder. “Talk, motherfucker. Or I swear to God, I’ll cut out your tongue and shove it down your throat before I kill you.”

His lips pull in a thin line, and I snarl and cut half his ear off. Before he manages a scream, I shove my arm against his mouth, muffling his pain-filled wail into a choked whimper. It's sick, the satisfaction that sears through me as his blood warms my skin.

He thrashes against me, his movements frantic as his blood spills down the side of his face, warm and slick. His stifled cries vibrate against my arm, but I don’t loosen my grip. The scent of iron fills the air, sharp and metallic, mingling with the adrenaline pumping through my veins, a thrill slithering down my spine.

“I warned you.” My words come out calm, almost eerily so. “Now you’re going to tell me everything or the next thing you lose will be a hell of a lot worse.”

His teary eyes are wide, darting between the blade and my face, breathing rapidly and finally realizing there’s no mercy here, no bargaining, no escape. I shift my arm, letting him speak, but the knife stays poised, glinting dangerously close to what’s left of his ear.

“It was Rinaldi! He hired me—hired us!”

“Us?” Warning flares. “How many?”

“Two—two more,” he stammers, his words tumbling out in a rush. “They’re waiting.”

“Waiting for what?” I press the blade lightly against his throat, just enough to make him flinch. “What’s the fucking plan?”

“Jesus, fuck!” he blurts, quivering with what I’d guess is a toxic mix of pain and adrenaline. “I’m supposed to grab her, take her to them, and they’ll get her to the airport.”

“Why the airport?”

“That’s where he’s waiting for her.”

“Who?”

“Rinaldi.” He squirms, eyes pinched closed. “Michele Rinaldi.”

I take a slow breath, my anger coiling tighter with every word. “And what happens when she gets to him?”

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