Page 149 of Mafia Daddy's Christmas Bride
From somewhere, Salvatore grabs a knife, stabbing wildly. I catch his wrist, but the tip slices my forearm.
"You're going to watch me bleed out your wife," he hisses, spittle flying from his lips. "Then I'll take care of your precious daughter."
A red mist fills my head. I headbutt him, feeling and hearing his nose break under the impact.
As he staggers, I drive my knee into his groin. He doubles over, and I grab a fistful of his hair, slamming his face into the concrete floor.
Once. Twice. Three times.
Blood pools beneath him, but he's still conscious, still fighting. I flip him over, wrapping my hands around his throat.
"This is for Isabella's mother," I growl, squeezing.
His fingers claw at my hands, his legs thrashing.
"For my wife," I continue, pressing harder, using my thumbs against his windpipe.
His face turns purple, eyes bulging.
"And this," I whisper, leaning close to his ear, "is for threatening my daughter."
I grip his head, giving it a savage twist. The crack of his neck breaking echoes through the room, and his body goes limp beneath me.
I release him, breathing hard, blood dripping from my arm onto his lifeless face.
I rush to Isabella's side. Her face is pale, bruised. The sight of her unconscious sends a terror through me. Not again. I can't lose another wife.
"Isabella," I whisper, gathering her limp body into my arms. Her head lolls against my shoulder. "Isabella, wake up."
No response. Her skin feels clammy under my touch.
I press my fingers to her neck, finding a pulse, weak but steady.
She's alive, but whatever Salvatore gave her has knocked her out cold.
"Isabella, please," I murmur, brushing hair from her face. "Come back to me."
Marco appears in the doorway, gun still in hand. His eyes take in the scene, Salvatore's broken body on the floor, me cradling Isabella.
“We should go. We’re clear, but who knows who could be coming?” he says. "I'll call our doctor to meet us at your place on the way.”
I nod, unable to speak past the lump in my throat. I stand, lifting Isabella. She weighs almost nothing.
"The others?" I ask, finding my voice.
"Taken care of," Marco replies simply. "Let's go."
Outside, the night air is cold against my face. Marco opens the car door, and I slide into the backseat with Isabella still in my arms. I won't let her go. Can't let her go.
As Marco drives, I hold her close, whispering words I should have told her already. I press my lips to her forehead.
"You're going to be okay," I tell her, hoping it's not a lie. "You have to be okay."
Marco's eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror.
"I can't lose another wife."
"You won't." Marco has never failed me, but I know this is one promise he might not be able to keep.
