Page 421 of Rosetti Family New York
She moans around me at the filthy words, and the vibration makes my vision blur.
"I'm close," I warn her, tugging at her hair. "Bella, I'm going to come."
She looks up at me, green eyes swimming with tears and defiance, and deliberately takes me deeper. Her throat works around me, and that's it. I'm done.
My orgasm rips through me with violent intensity, every muscle in my body going tight as I empty myself down her throat. She takes it all, swallows everything, her eyes never leaving mine even as tears stream down her face.
When it's over, I'm shaking. Completely destroyed. She sits back on her heels, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, and for a moment we just stare at each other.
"Isabella." I reach for her, but she's already standing.
"I'll be ready in an hour," she says quietly, her voice steady despite the tear tracks on her cheeks.
Then she's gone, leaving me slumped against the wall with my pants around my ankles and the terrible knowledge that I just watched the woman I love try to fuck away her pain.
And I couldn't stop her. Didn't want to stop her.
Christ, what kind of man does that make me?
An hour later, I find her by the SUVs. She's wearing all black: jeans, fitted jacket, boots that could kill a man. Her hair is pulled back in a sleek ponytail, and there's something different about her posture. Straighter. More confident.
More dangerous.
I approach slowly, like she's a wild animal that might bolt. "You okay?"
She turns to look at me, and her eyes are clear. Focused. The woman who fell apart in my arms earlier is gone, replaced by someone harder. Someone ready for war.
"I'm perfect," she says.
The lie comes so easily, so smoothly, that for a second I almost believe it. But I've seen behind her walls now. I know what it costs her to stand this straight, to look this composed.
"Whatever happens tonight," I say, catching her hand, "I've got you. I always have."
She squeezes my fingers once, briefly. "I know."
But as we load into the SUV, heading toward what might be the last night of our lives, I can't shake the feeling that I'm losing her. That somewhere between the truth about her parents and the lies about her uncle, the woman I love is disappearing piece by piece.
And I don't know how to save her from herself.
The warehouse waits in the darkness ahead. Chase Callahan waits. And somewhere in the space between vengeance and justice, I'm about to find out what Isabella Callahan is really made of.
The war begins at midnight.
24
Isabella
Storm water pounds against the SUV's bulletproof windows with mechanical persistence. Each drop sounds like a countdown, like the sky itself is marking time until everything I've known dissolves completely.
I press my spine against the leather seat, willing myself to disappear into it. The gun Matteo gave me sits heavy against my hip, hidden beneath the leather jacket that smells like him. My hands are folded carefully in my lap, steady as glass. If I don't move, if I don't breathe too deeply, maybe I can hold myself together long enough to finish this.
The city streams past in watercolor smudges of neon and shadow. Manhattan at two in the morning looks like a beautiful corpse, all bright lights and empty streets. Perfect and lifeless. Like me.
I catch Matteo's eyes in the rearview mirror again. He's been watching me through the entire drive, those amber eyes dark with worry and something that might be regret. I look away before he can read too much in my face. Before he can see how fractured I am beneath this careful composure.
Dom's voice cuts through the engine's low rumble. "Thermal shows twenty-six bodies in the compound. Chase is in the main warehouse, third floor. We hit hard, we hit fast, we don't give them time to think."
"Isabella stays with the perimeter team," Leo adds from the passenger seat, his voice carrying absolute authority. "This isn't a negotiation."
