Chapter 55: I need proof of life.
Isla’s POV
Sofia’s burner phone rang only once before someone picked up.
A voice—male, smooth as oil—spoke in a low whisper, “You’re late.”
Sofia stiffened. “Plans changed.”
“You think we don’t know?” the voice replied. “Your club is burning. Romano fought like a rabid dog. Impressive, but messy.”
My blood turned to ice.
Angelo.
“He’s alive?” My voice cracked out before I could swallow it.
The line went silent for two heartbeats.
Then the man sighed. “For now.”
My knees buckled, but I grabbed the hood of the SUV to steady myself. My pulse roared. Sofia shot me a warning glance, then turned her back slightly to keep the conversation controlled.
“You want Romano?” she said, voice clipped. “I can deliver something better.”
A pause.
The tension in the air thickened like fog.
“Better?” the man echoed.
Amusement dripped from the word.
Sofia’s gaze cut to me.
Hard. Calculating.
A silent apology in her eyes.
My heart dropped.
Oh no.
“His woman,” Sofia said.
“And the child.”
Rage detonated behind my ribs.
“You bitch—” I lunged for her, but she moved faster, slamming me against the SUV with an arm across my chest. Her grip wasn’t cruel—but it was final.
“Shut up,” she hissed. “Play along.”
I froze.
Breath locked.
She wasn’t betraying us.
She was baiting him.
On the line, the man’s chuckle vibrated like the hum of a blade.
“Now we’re speaking the same language.”
“And Romano?” Sofia pressed.
“We’ll keep him breathing,” he said. “For now. Alive men are more useful.”
“Where is he?” she asked.
The silence that followed felt like a lit fuse.
“Bring me the woman,” he said. “Then we talk.”
Sofia’s jaw clenched. “I need proof of life.”
The man sighed as though bored. SNAP. A photo came through.
Sofia turned her phone toward me without saying a word.
My breath left my body in a violent rush.
It was Angelo.
Bound to a chair.
Face bloodied, one eye swelling shut.
A split lip.
Tied wrists.
Jaw clenched in defiance.
Alive.
Hurting.
Alive.
I pressed a hand to my mouth, a sob tearing free.
Sofia quickly ended the call.
My vision blurred. “Why the hell would you—”
“Because that photo?” she said. “Means they haven’t moved him yet. Means we still have time.”
Outside, the shadows shifted again—closer this time. Boots scraped across gravel.
Not Outsiders.
Not our men.
Someone moving with a predator’s patience.
Sofia unholstered her gun in a smooth, silent motion. “We’re not alone.”
I pulled my Glock tighter to my chest, chest rising and falling in quick bursts. My mind flickered between panic and planning.
Luca safe in the estate.
Angelo bleeding somewhere underground.
Us in a godforsaken yard with ghosts circling.
A whisper slivered through the night.
“Isla.”
A male voice.
Low. Familiar.
My blood froze.
Marco stepped into the sliver of moonlight—face streaked with soot, shirt torn, one sleeve soaked in blood. His eyes were wild, desperate.
“Thank God,” I breathed. “Did you—”
“No.” His voice cracked. “I lost him. They took him.”
My heart stopped.
“What do you mean lost him?!”
Marco staggered closer. “Explosions—smoke—half the team wiped out—They dragged him through a service corridor. I tried—I swear I tried—but they had trucks—armored—”
Sofia stiffened. “Trucks?”
Marco nodded, throat bobbing. “A convoy. Headed north. Unmarked.”
The world tilted.
Angelo.
Dragged away like cargo.
North.
Toward what?
Toward The Nest?
“We have to go,” I said, my voice trembling with a fury that felt like fire and ice colliding inside me. “Now.”
Marco wiped his brow with the back of his hand. “We don’t even know where—”
“I do,” Sofia cut in. “I know one of their depots. If they’re transporting a high-value hostage, they’ll regroup there.”
Marco’s gaze snapped to her. “And we’re trusting her now?”
“No,” I said, lifting my chin.
“And yes.”
Marco blinked. “That’s not—”
“I’m not asking.”
My voice had teeth. “We’re saving Angelo. Any objections can wait until he’s breathing beside me.”
Neither answered.
They didn’t have to.
Sofia nodded once. “There’s a second route through the industrial district. We take back roads, avoid known surveillance points.”
Marco wiped blood from his cheek. “I’ll ride shotgun.”
“No,” Sofia said sharply. “You’re bleeding out. Sit back. Don’t argue.”
Marco scowled but obeyed, sliding into the backseat.
Sofia turned to me. “You drive. You’re steady under pressure.”
My hands shook—but I shoved the fear down.
Deep.
Buried under something harder.
Resolve.
Rage.
Love sharpened into a weapon.
I slid behind the wheel.
Sofia slammed the door, map already pulled up on a second burner.
Marco strapped himself in, wincing. “If he’s hurt—”
“He’s alive,” I cut in. “He’s waiting.”
I started the engine, the SUV rumbling awake like a beast eager for blood.
Sofia pointed ahead. “Go. Straight into the dark.”
I pressed the gas.
And with my heart divided between the son I left behind and the man being tortured in the night—
I drove us into war.
Not as prey.
But as a mother.
A lover.
A storm.
A predator.