Isabella woke with a jolt, her chest heaving as cold sweat clung to her skin. Her heart raced, hammering against her ribs with an intensity that made it hard to breathe. Dante's face consumed her thoughts—his smirk, his touch, his warmth. Now, all she could feel was a cold void where he should have been. Something was wrong. She swung her legs over the bed, ignoring the dizziness, and ran downstairs, her bare feet hitting the cold floor.
Voices floated through the air from the living room. Isabella paused in the doorway, unseen, her chest tightening as she took in the scene before her. Her mother, Lucia, stood with her arms crossed, her usual soft demeanor replaced by a steel-like presence. Matteo paced back and forth, his grim expression a clear sign that the situation had worsened. Clara, ever the supportive friend, sat on the couch, her face pale with worry.
"He's been missing for 12 hours, Matteo" Lucia said sharply, her voice low but firm. "If you don't have a lead soon, I'll call him."
Matteo sighed, running a hand through his hair. "We're trying, Lucia, but whoever took him planned this perfectly. They've covered their tracks well, and we can't—"
"I don't care about excuses" Lucia interrupted, her tone unwavering. "This is my daughter's husband. If he says yes, Dante will be found."
Before Matteo could respond, Clara gasped softly. Everyone turned to see Isabella standing in the doorway. But this wasn't the soft-spoken angel they knew. Her petite frame seemed taller, her shoulders squared, and her honey-brown eyes burned with determination. The gentle light that usually surrounded her was gone, replaced by a chilling calm that felt eerily familiar. It was Dante's shadow, his wife standing as a reflection of his strength.
"Call him" Isabella said, her voice steady and commanding. "Whoever you're talking about, call him now."
Lucia blinked in surprise but quickly nodded, reaching for her phone.
"And Matteo" Isabella continued, turning her gaze to the man who had worked tirelessly to protect her. "Gather the men. All of them. We're going to find my husband."
Matteo hesitated for only a second before nodding. "As you wish."
Lucia stepped aside, holding her phone to her ear as she made the call. Isabella could hear a deep voice answer on the other end, one she vaguely recognized but couldn't place.
"It's me" Lucia said, her voice softening in a way Isabella had never heard before. "It's time. Dante needs you."
The response was immediate and decisive. "One hour" the man said before the line went dead.
Lucia turned to Isabella, her expression unreadable. "He said yes. Mikhail will help."
Isabella didn't flinch. "Good. That's all I need."
Matteo left to prepare the men, and Clara stood beside Isabella, her usual teasing nature gone. Instead, she placed a hand on Isabella's shoulder. "Are you sure you're ready for this?"
Isabella's lips twitched into a cold smile, one that Dante himself would have admired. "I was born ready. Let's bring him home."
Lucia's eyes gleamed with a mix of pride and sorrow as she watched her daughter step into the role of the woman Dante had always seen in her—a force to be reckoned with.
Matteo returned to the living room, his face a mask of determination, only to freeze when he saw Isabella standing by the door, dressed and ready to leave. Her hair was tied back, her expression as resolute as steel. Her small frame belied the fire within her, and Matteo knew immediately what she intended.
"No" Matteo said sharply, his voice echoing through the room. "You're not coming."
Isabella turned to him, her gaze unwavering. "I'm not staying behind while Dante is out there, Matteo. I'm going, whether you like it or not."
Matteo's frustration flared as he stepped closer, his hands clenched at his sides. "This isn't up for debate, Isabella. You staying here is what Dante would want. He'd want you safe, not running headfirst into danger."
Her voice rose, unshakable in its resolve. "And do you think he'd want me to sit here and do nothing while he's out there? He's my husband, Matteo. I'm not a helpless child. I have every right to fight for him just as much as you do."
"You don't understand!" Matteo snapped, his voice breaking with emotion. "I can't lose another sister!"
The room fell silent, his words hanging heavily in the air. Isabella's stern expression softened as she realized the weight of his statement. Matteo's sister—someone he'd loved and lost. His pain was palpable, a wound that had never fully healed.
"I'm sorry, Matteo" Isabella said quietly, her voice laced with guilt. "But I can't stay. It's either this, or I go alone. Which would you prefer?"
Matteo clenched his jaw, his eyes flicking to Clara and Lucia, who stood nearby, watching with bated breath. His shoulders slumped in defeat as he let out a heavy sigh. "You're as stubborn as he is" he muttered. "Fine. But you stay close, you listen to every word I say, and you don't take unnecessary risks. Understood?"
Isabella nodded, relief washing over her. "Understood."
Lucia stepped forward, her face pale but her voice steady. "Be careful, all of you. Dante needs you, but so does Isabella."
Clara reached for Isabella's hand, squeezing it tightly. "You better come back, or I swear I'll drag you out of hell myself." She turned to Matteo " You too or I'll have one night stands on your grave. Won't be able to kill them then. Will you?"
Isabella smiled faintly, her resolve shining brighter than her fear. "We'll all come back. Together."
With that, Matteo and Isabella left, the door shutting behind them with a finality that sent chills through the house. Lucia sank into a chair, clasping her hands together in silent prayer. Clara sat beside her, biting her lip as she whispered, "They'll be okay, right?"
Lucia exhaled deeply, her eyes gleaming with determination. "They have to be."
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The damp, cold air of the warehouse clung to Dante like a shroud. Blood dripped from the corner of his mouth, staining his shirt, which was already torn and soaked in crimson. He was tied to a steel chair, his wrists bound tightly with coarse rope, cutting into his skin. Bruises and cuts marred his powerful frame, but his eyes burned with a defiant fire that no amount of pain could extinguish.
Around him, Igor's men hovered hesitantly, their expressions a mixture of unease and terror. They had seen what Dante Vitale could do, even when barely conscious. Four of their comrades had fallen, their bodies now lying in grotesque heaps on the floor. He had fought like a feral beast despite the drugs pumping through his veins, his presence alone enough to make their knees tremble.
His right hand, however, was undeterred. The sadistic grin on his face widened as he approached Dante, gripping a blood-stained baton. With a sudden swing, the metal cracked against Dante's ribs, eliciting a low grunt from him. Still, Dante refused to break. His gaze bored into him, unyielding, a silent promise of vengeance in his dark eyes.
"You're strong, Vitale" Igor hissed, crouching to meet Dante's eye level. "But even the devil can bleed. Let's see how long you last."
He grabbed a fistful of Dante's hair, yanking his head back. One of Igor's men hesitantly handed him a knife. The gleaming blade caught the dim light, and Igor pressed it against Dante's neck, the cold steel biting into his skin. "Any last words before I send you to hell?"
But before he could act, chaos erupted.
A loud commotion sounded from outside, shouts of alarm rising into the air. One of the guards ran in, his face pale with panic. "Sir! The exits—they're blocked! And… the cars—they're all bombed!"
"What?!" He bellowed, releasing Dante's hair. He stormed toward the door, barking orders to his men. "Find out what's happening!"
Another explosion roared from outside, shaking the ground beneath their feet. The guards exchanged nervous glances, gripping their weapons tighter.
Then, with a deafening crash, the main doors to the warehouse burst open, the metal groaning as they were forced apart. Smoke billowed in, and through it stormed Dante's men, armed to the teeth and merciless. They moved like shadows, taking down Igor's guards with precision and efficiency.
At the center of the chaos, Isabella stood framed in the doorway, her petite figure illuminated by the harsh light streaming in from outside. Her eyes burned with a fire that made even the most hardened criminals falter, their golden flecks catching the light like sparks in the dark. The natural kindness in her face was gone, replaced by a ferocity that left no doubt she was Il Diavolo's wife—no..... his equal.
Strapped to her thighs were holstered weapons: a sleek black pistol on one side and a serrated combat knife on the other. The gleaming blade caught the dim warehouse light as she moved, a stark reminder of the ruthlessness she was capable of. Slung across her back was a semi-automatic shotgun, its polished steel reflecting her readiness for war.
Dante's head snapped up at the sound of her voice, raw and commanding, slicing through the chaos like a blade.
"Get the fuck away from my husband!"
Her words reverberated through the warehouse, silencing the room. Even The right hand of Igor froze, his grip on the knife faltering as he turned toward her. For a moment, all anyone could do was stare at her—the angel who had descended into hell to save the devil himself.