Page 116 of Isaia

I never knew seeing him could hurt so much, a pain so bittersweet.

Behind him, a dozen men follow, faces obscured by black masks, carrying guns.

The air shifts, thick and electric, crackling with danger as they rush to circle the guests. Panic seizes the room, and people scramble, terrified. Some guests begin to rise from their seats, but a sharp gesture from one of Isaia’s men freezes them in place.

“Sit. Down,” the man growls, his voice lethal.

“Del Rossa, what the fuck are you doing here?” Anthony grits out, but I don’t look at him. I can’t tear my gaze away from Isaia, standing there like a dark angel sent to claim my soul.

Isaia doesn’t look at Anthony either, his eyes remaining on me. “I would’ve come sooner, but this fucker had you guarded like you were the crown jewels.”

“Isaia,” I breathe again, like this is all a dream, like I’m about to wake up in some dark, ugly corner of reality and he’ll be gone.

He smirks, and it does something to me. “You thought you could marry someone else, troublemaker?”

I plant my palm over my mouth, trying to stifle the sob that threatens to rise from my chest.

Anthony steps forward, his hand still gripping mine, and I feel the tension radiate through his body. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Del Rossa?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” His gaze is on me. “I’m here to take what’s mine.”

“You need to leave. Now.”

“And you need to take your fucking hands off her,” Isaia warns, glowering at Anthony’s hand holding mine.

Anthony tightens his grip, yanking me closer to his side. “You’re too late, Del Rossa. It’s done. She’s my wife, and I’ll do everything to protect her from the likes of you.”

Isaia laughs, a low, dangerous sound that sends a shiver down my spine. “Your wife? That’s adorable, Paladino. Really. But let’s not pretend this shit-show means anything.”

“It’s a fucking wedding, you motherfucker. So I suggest you turn around and leave before I fucking make you.”

Isaia’s smirk vanishes, replaced by a darkness that sends a chill through me. “You talk a lot of shit for someone standing in a church I could turn into a graveyard with a snap of my fingers.”

Anthony releases my hand and steps fully in front of me, his shoulders squared, protective. “I’m going to give you one chance to walk away, Del Rossa.”

“One chance?” Isaia lifts a brow. “How very fucking noble of you.”

“Don’t fucking push me,” Anthony warns, and I notice his hand twitching toward the gun holstered at his side, and fear wraps around my lungs, my pulse racing so fast I can hardly think.

“Enough!” Michele’s voice booms as he storms toward us, his face red with fury. “What the fuck is going on here?”

“Just the man I was looking for,” Isaia snarls.

“You fucking piece of shit, you better leave before I?—”

Isaia draws his gun fast and pulls the trigger, the gunshot cracking through the air with deathly finality.

There's a collective gasp as the room inhales the shock, a split second of silence before screams ring out, and terror slams into me, almost toppling me over as I watch Michele stumble backward, crimson blossoming through his white shirt.

“Michele!” My mom’s scream rips through the church.

“Mom,” I whimper, hating the fear I see in her eyes, the pain when she looks at Michele’s body. Her legs give way, a guest catching her just before she falls, letting her slowly sink onto the floor.

“Mom!” I’m shaking as I glance between her and Michele’s lifeless body, the pool of blood spreading around him.

This isn’t happening.

Anthony’s voice cuts through the chaos like a blade, sharp and commanding, as he barks into his sleeve, “Get her out of here! Get my wife the fuck out of here now!”

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