Chapter 15: Blood, Fire and Secrets

Isabella’s POV

The day wasn’t over, not even close.

We thought the chaos had ended after they took my mom. We thought we were safe. But we were wrong.

The screech of tires cut through the silence like a scream, and before I could even process it, black SUVs appeared again, the same kind that took my mother.

“They’re back,” Enzo muttered under his breath, his voice low and dangerous. His knuckles whitened around the steering wheel. “Hold on.”

I barely had time to react before he slammed the car into reverse, spinning it around with such force that my seatbelt locked tight against my chest.

The gunshots came next.

It was sharp, loud, and real.

They weren’t trying to scare us this time. They wanted us dead.

Enzo hit the gas, but one of the cars blocked the road ahead. The next few seconds felt like a blur, men in black pouring out with weapons, shouting in Italian.

“Stay inside!” Enzo barked, throwing open his door.

“Enzo, no—!” I screamed, but he was already out.

Three men came at him fast, but Enzo was faster. The way he moved was precise and brutal, it was like watching a scene out of a movie, only this wasn’t fiction. It was blood, bone, and fear all crashing together.

He dodged the first swing, grabbed the man’s arm, and twisted until I heard a sickening crack. The man dropped his weapon, screaming. The second lunged with a knife, but Enzo spun, kicking the blade from his hand before slamming his elbow into his face.

Blood splattered the hood of the car.

I was frozen. My heart was pounding so hard it hurt. I’d only seen fighting like this in movies or read about it in my novels, but this was real. Too real.

The third man swung a metal rod, and Enzo blocked it, but the impact sent him staggering. The second hit caught him on the side of his head. He grunted, stumbled, but didn’t stop.

“Enzo!” I screamed, tears blurring my vision.

He was bleeding now, a deep cut on his head, crimson running down the side of his face. But even hurt, he didn’t back down. He took the last man out with a brutal punch, grabbed me by the wrist, and shoved me into the passenger seat.

“Buckle up!” he shouted.

Before I could even process, he was back behind the wheel, slamming his foot down. The tires screeched against the asphalt as we sped off, the night swallowing us whole.

Blood was dripping down his temple, soaking the collar of his shirt. His breathing was ragged, but his eyes stayed on the road.

“Enzo… you’re hurt! We have to go to a hospital!” I yelled, voice breaking. “You’re losing too much blood!”

He didn’t answer. His jaw clenched, his eyes fixed ahead, like he didn’t even hear me.

“Enzo, please!” I tried again, my voice rising. “Turn around! We need a doctor!”

“I can’t risk that, Bella,” he said finally, his tone cold, strained.

“Risk what? It’s just a hospital! You need help!”

He slammed his hand against the steering wheel, startling me. “You don’t understand!”

“Then make me understand!” I screamed back. “I’m sick of everyone saying that to me! Just tell me what’s going on!”

His silence was louder than any answer.

He took a sharp turn not toward the city, but back toward the mansion. My chest tightened with anger and fear. “Why are we going back there? Enzo, they’ll find us!”

“I can’t go to a hospital,” he muttered, his voice low. “They’ll trace us there. They’ll finish what they started.”

“Who? Who are they?”

He didn’t answer again. Just gritted his teeth and kept driving.

When we finally reached the mansion, the once-beautiful estate felt like a graveyard. Quiet. Dark. Too still.

Enzo was barely standing when he got out of the car. His shirt was soaked in blood, his steps uneven. I rushed to his side, grabbing his arm before he could fall.

“Enzo… ”

“I’m fine,” he said weakly.

“You’re not fine!” I snapped, tears pooling in my eyes. “You’re bleeding everywhere, my mom’s been kidnapped, Giovanni’s missing, and you—” My voice cracked. “You’re dying on me, Enzo!”

He looked down at me, his eyes darker than I’d ever seen them. For a second, I thought I saw guilt flash there or maybe it was something else.

I guided him inside, half-carrying him through the grand foyer. His weight was heavy against me, his breathing harsh.

“Sit,” I ordered, helping him down onto the couch. My hands trembled as I looked for something, anything to stop the bleeding.

He reached for my hand, gripping it weakly. “You shouldn’t care so much,” he whispered.

“How can you say that?” I shot back, tears streaming down my face. “You just fought three men, Enzo! You could’ve died!”

He gave a broken laugh, it was soft and bitter. “I’ve had worse.”

That made me cry harder. “I don’t care! You’re still bleeding, you idiot!”

He looked up at me then, really looked — his eyes raw, tired, almost vulnerable. “You shouldn’t cry for me, Bella,” he said quietly. “Not for me.”

My throat tightened. “Then tell me what’s going on. Please. I need to know what we’re running from. Who took my mother? Why are they after us?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he reached up, his bloodied hand cupping my cheek. His touch was warm, too warm. I could smell the iron on his skin.

“I wish I could tell you,” he whispered, voice barely audible.

“Enzo—”

He leaned closer, his breath hot against my lips. “Just trust me,” he said softly.

And before I could stop him before I could even think his lips met mine.

It wasn’t gentle. It was desperate, trembling, filled with pain, and everything neither of us could say.

I froze, torn between anger and something deeper, something that scared me more than anything else the fact that I didn’t want to pull away.