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Silence. Then, a cold breath leaves his nose.
“That’s how I knew,” he says, quieter now. “That you’d fallen in love with her. Because the only way my daughter would love a man like you…is if you made it possible for her to trust you. And you were so blinded by it that you couldn’t see there was a mole in your own house. You’re weaker than your father was, Roman. At least he saw through my act way before I killed him. You thought you were one step ahead, even though I led you on.”
Leo.
Sergei.
The two men I’d trust to protect Isabella are here with me. There’s only Polina—and I don’t know if she’s held a gun before.
My hands are tied.God—I have him right here, yet I feel so helpless.
“Walk away, Volkov,” he taunts. “Walk away like the weak man you are. It’s pathetic, really. How you came so close to killing me, but you have to walk away with your tail tucked between your legs because of a woman. You should’ve never taken her.”
A month ago, I might’ve agreed with him. But Isabella has come to mean more to me than anything else. And walking away now—as painful as it might be—doesn’t mean Marco gets to keep his pitiful life forever.
“I’ll find you,” I say calmly. “I will find you, no matter how far you run. And you’d better run, Marco.”
The slice of fear that flashes through his eyes is enough to show me just how weak he still is. My gun drops as my hand falls to my side. I gesture to Leo, who refuses for a second, then turns and leaves the room.
I hesitate, and my fingers tremble, itching to finish the job before I turn.
“Good boy,” Marco says. “For obeying, I’ll tell you one thing you never knew. I was there when your father died. I saw the moment he realized he’d underestimated me. I savored?—”
My gun goes off before he can finish his sentence, and his eyes widen in shock moments before his body hits the ground.
Leo rushes into the room again. “What did you do?”
There’s no time to ask questions. “Get the car,” I order, already racing past him and out of the building. “Call Polina!” I yell at Sergei.
Please.Please let her be alive.
I kick down the door,my heart pounding like a war drum, my voice ripping through the silence as I race inside. “Isabella!” The bodies sprawled by the entrance—my men—are lifeless, and cold dread claws at my chest.
“Bella!” I scream again, voice ragged, raw with panic.
My skin prickles with icy fear, and my throat tightens until it feels like I’m choking on my heartbeat. “Proshu…” I choke out, voice breaking. Desperation pours from every word as I slam up the stairs, every step fueled by terror. “Please, Isabella.”
“Roman?” Her soft voice cuts through the chaos like a lifeline, and I nearly stumble to a halt, spinning around.
There she stands—wild-eyed, hair untamed like a storm, tears glistening in her gaze.
“Isabella.” My voice is hoarse but fierce, a growl of relief and rage mixed.
I crash into her, pulling her close with trembling hands, desperate not to let go.
“You’re alive.” The words break free in a shaky whisper, repeated like a prayer. “You’re alive.” I cradle her face, eyes burning as I search hers for any sign of pain or loss.
“God—I thought I lost you.” My throat seizes, thick with tears I refuse to shed. Every breath is a battle, ragged and shallow.
“My father is dead?” she whispers, her hand trembling as it cups my cheek.
I nod, voice barely a whisper. “Yes.”
A shaky, almost bitter laugh escapes her lips. “They got into the house. But I finally got to put the skill he tortured me to learn to good use. Joke’s on him—being locked in a gun range before I turned thirteen actually worked out for me.”
My fingers find hers, and I lift her hand to my lips, pressing a desperate kiss. “He kidnapped you,” I say, voice thick with guilt and fury. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you.”
Isabella shakes her head, her smile fierce and honest, reaching her eyes. “You dealt with him. I couldn’t. That’s what matters.”