Page 117 of Isaia

Black-suited enforcers surge in from every doorway, a flood of bodies moving with deadly precision. Orders are shouted, weapons are drawn, and I’m frozen as all hell breaks loose around me.

“Call them off, Paladino!” Isaia bellows, his gun already trained on the nearest man.

Hands grab my arm, yanking me with brutal force, and I’m being dragged to the far end of the church.

“Isaia!” I scream, and another gunshot pierces the air—a deafening, visceral sound—and suddenly, the hand holding me goes limp. Warmth splatters across my cheek, and a lifeless body collapses at my feet with a sickening thud.

I freeze, my wide eyes snapping to Isaia. He’s standing there, gun raised, smoke curling lazily from the barrel.

His gaze locks onto mine, and it’s a storm of cold fury, his control terrifying in its precision. The noise around us feels distant, my own gasping breaths roaring in my ears.

Before I can process what’s happening, a man steps up behind Anthony, his leather jacket pulled taut as he presses his gun against the back of Anthony’s head.

“Call off your security,” he demands, unnervingly calm, almost emotionless.

“How fucking nice of you to finally join us, Maximo.” Isaia’s still aiming his gun at whoever dares to move.

“Shut the fuck up. Let’s just get her out of here.”

“No!” Anthony shouts. “You keep your fucking hands off her.”

Maximo snarls. “Call off your motherfucking security, or I’ll have my guys shoot every one of your guests until your precious church is painted in fucking red.”

“You’re not fucking taking my wife!”

Isaia’s gun is aimed at his forehead in a heartbeat. “Call her your wife one more time, and your dirty priest will be cleaning your brain matter off his precious fucking altar cloth. Now, tell your men to stand. The fuck. Down.”

He glares at Isaia, his teeth clenching so hard it's a wonder they don't shatter.

“Anthony,” I murmur. “Please. Just do as he says.” The last thing I want is for him to get hurt. I would never forgive myself if he did. The only reason we’re here is because of me. This wedding is happening because of me.

Fear slides around my spine. “Anthony, please.”

His eyes flick to me, a wild swirl of desperation and determination. I can see him weighing his options, but we both know he only has one.

“It’s okay,” I say. “I’ll be fine. Just…do as he says.”

There’s a moment of hesitation, a moment I’m sure panic will crack my bones before he finally says, “Stand down.” And they do, retreating immediately.

Isaia lowers his gun, his finger still on the trigger, and holds his hand to me. “Everly,” he murmurs.

But I can’t move.

The room is mired in a strange, dense silence, pierced at intervals by choking cries and sharp intakes of breath. It's as ifeach second has been painstakingly stretched out, elongated in terror and drenched in fear, and I’m staring at Michele’s dead body again, tears streaming down my mom’s face.

This isn’t real.

“Come on, troublemaker.” Isaia’s voice slices through the panic, and my gaze moves to his hand before looking into his eyes. “Don’t overthink this.”

I glance at Anthony, his jaw clenched, fists tight at his sides, and all I can do is whisper, “I’m sorry.”

I’m sorry I lied.

I’m sorry I made my burden yours.

I’m sorry…I’m just…fucking. Sorry.

“Everly?” My mom’s broken whisper cuts through me. “What’s happening?”

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