Family doesn't leave family behind.

Family doesn't leave family behind.
Isla’s POV

The night air hit us like a slap as we burst out of the warehouse's side exit, the door slamming shut behind us with a finality that echoed in my bones. My lungs burned, each breath a ragged gasp laced with the metallic tang of blood and gunpowder. Angelo leaned heavily on my shoulder, his arm draped around me, his weight a reminder of how close we'd come to losing him. His shirt was torn, soaked in sweat and crimson stains that could have been his or our enemies'. Every step he took elicited a low grunt of pain, but he pushed forward, his jaw set in that unyielding determination I loved—and feared.

"Isla... Luca?" he rasped, his voice rough, barely above a whisper, as if speaking took too much from the reserves he had left. His dark eyes, one swollen nearly shut, searched mine in the dim moonlight, desperate for reassurance amid the chaos.

"He's safe," I whispered back, my free hand pressing against his chest, feeling the erratic thump of his heart. It matched mine—frantic, alive. "At the estate. With Vito and the guards. We got out because of you. Because you held on."

He nodded weakly, a ghost of a smile flickering across his split lips. "Good. That's... all that matters." But his body trembled, and I knew the toll—the torture, the drugs Sofia had warned about. His skin was clammy, feverish, and his steps faltered more than once. "The Woman... she said things. Tried to break me. Told me you'd trade Luca for me. That you'd choose."

"I'd never," I hissed, fury igniting anew in my chest. The Woman in White—her serene face, her poison words—haunted the edges of my vision. She'd stood there in the cell, untouched by the violence, her white dress pristine amid the blood, smiling like a predator toying with prey. "Too late," she'd purred, her voice silk over venom, as guards swarmed. But we'd fought—God, how we'd fought. Sofia with lethal precision, knives flashing; Marco taking a bullet to the shoulder but firing back like a demon; me, shielding Angelo as I emptied my clip into the shadows.

Sofia emerged from the warehouse last, dragging a limping Marco with her. Blood trickled from a gash on her forehead, matting her hair, but her eyes were sharp, scanning the perimeter. "Move! They're regrouping—reinforcements inbound. We have two minutes, tops."

Marco groaned, clutching his shoulder where the bullet had grazed, dark blood seeping between his fingers. "Boss... you look like hell."

Angelo chuckled weakly, the sound turning into a cough that wracked his frame. "Feel like it too. But alive. Thanks to you all." He straightened as best he could, his free hand clasping Marco's arm in a brief, brotherly grip. "You took a hit for me."

"Would do it again," Marco muttered, his voice thick with pain and loyalty. "Family doesn't leave family behind."

We stumbled toward the SUV, hidden in the shadows of the trees. My mind raced—flashbacks of the fight playing like a nightmare reel. The alarm blaring, red lights pulsing like a heartbeat of doom. Guards pouring in from hidden doors, their faces masked, weapons raised. Sofia had shouted warnings—"Left flank! Cover!"—as she dropped two with precise shots. Marco had barreled through, rifle barking, but one got close, too close, his knife slashing at Angelo's bonds while aiming a pistol at me. I'd fired without thinking, the recoil jolting my arm, the guard crumpling with a gurgle.

But Angelo—my God, Angelo. Even drugged, even broken, he'd surged up when the bonds snapped, tackling the nearest attacker with raw fury. "For you," he'd gasped, his fists connecting with bone-crunching force. "For Luca." His voice had been a lifeline, pulling me through the haze of smoke and screams.

Now, as we reached the SUV, sirens wailed in the distance—not cops, but something worse. The Outsiders' cleanup crew? Or more of their faceless enforcers? Sofia yanked open the door, shoving Marco into the back. "Isla, drive. Angelo, with me—I'll patch what I can on the way."

I slid behind the wheel, hands shaking as I turned the key. The engine roared to life, a beast awakening. Angelo collapsed into the passenger seat, his head lolling back, breaths shallow. I reached over, squeezing his hand—cold, clammy, but his fingers intertwined with mine, a silent promise.

"Stay with me," I whispered, tears blurring my vision as I peeled out, gravel spraying like shrapnel. "We're not done yet."

He squeezed back, weak but there. "Never... leaving you, amore. Not in this life."

Sofia worked frantically in the back, ripping open a first-aid kit we'd stashed. "Marco, shirt off—let me see that wound." Her voice was clinical, but urgency bled through. "Bullet's through-and-through. Clean, but you're losing blood. Hold this—pressure."

Marco hissed as she pressed gauze to the hole, his face paling. "Just a scratch. Worry about the boss. What'd they do to him?"

Angelo's eyes fluttered, pain etching deeper lines on his face. "Injections... truth serum mixed with something worse. Hallucinations. Made me see... things. You dead, Isla. Luca taken." His voice cracked, raw vulnerability slipping through the cracks of his armor. "I almost broke. Told them nothing, but... God, it hurt."

I swerved around a pothole, the SUV jolting, my heart twisting at his words. "You held on. That's what matters." But inside, rage simmered—how dare they touch him, break him? The man who'd shielded me from his world's darkness, who'd whispered "I love you" like a vow in the quiet hours.

Sofia glanced up from bandaging Marco. "The Woman—she's their interrogator. Trained in psy-ops. She gets in your head, plants seeds. Did she say anything specific?"

Angelo nodded grimly. "Said the Nest wants Luca for their 'program.' Breed him into their elite. Said... you're next, Isla. To bear more 'assets.'"

Bile rose again, hot and furious. "Over my dead body." The words came out as a growl, my foot slamming the accelerator. The speedometer climbed—80, 90—trees blurring into shadows. Luca, my baby, their target? The thought fueled a maternal fury I'd never known, sharp as a blade, ready to carve through anyone who threatened him.

Marco leaned forward, wincing. "We hit the estate, regroup. Vito's got men— we call in favors. The Morettis, even. End this."

"No," Angelo said, his voice gaining strength, though laced with pain. "The Morettis are fractured—Domenico's betrayal proved that. We go underground. My safehouse in the hills. Off-grid. Heal, plan."

Sofia tied off Marco's bandage with a knot. "He's right. The estate's compromised—they knew too much. Trackers, moles. We assume nothing's safe."

I nodded, but doubt gnawed. "And Luca? We can't leave him there."

Angelo's hand tightened on mine. "We won't. Call Vito en route—have him move Luca to the secondary location. The cabin by the lake. Only we know it."

Sofia pulled out a burner phone, dialing quickly. "Vito? It's Sofia. Code red—extract the package to lakeside. Now. No tails." She paused, listening. "Yes, she's with me. Boss too—alive, but hurt." Another pause, her face hardening. "What? Say that again."

My heart dropped at her tone. "What is it?"

She hung up, face pale. "Vito says the estate's under watch. Shadows circling. He can get Luca out, but it's risky. And... there's chatter. The Outsiders sent a message. 24 hours to deliver Luca, or they release proof—Angelo's operations, exposed to the feds. Everything crumbles."

Drama crashed over me like a wave. "They wouldn't—"

"They would," Angelo growled. "Bastards play dirty. No honor."

Marco cursed. "We fight back. Hit their depots, cut their funds."

But Sofia shook her head. "It's bigger. The Nest isn't just a syndicate—it's a web. Politicians, corporations. We need intel. I have a contact—old flame in their ranks. Risky, but he owes me."

Angelo's eyes narrowed. "No. Too dangerous. We handle it ourselves."

"Like you handled the club?" Sofia snapped, her voice rising for the first time. "You almost died back there! Stubbornness will kill us all."

Tension crackled in the SUV, thick and electric. I glanced at Angelo, his profile etched in pain and pride. "She's right. We can't do this alone. Luca's life—our life—depends on it."

He sighed, defeated but not broken. "Fine. But if he betrays us..."

"He won't," Sofia said softly. "He loved me once. That's leverage."

The road wound into the hills, the city lights fading behind us. We reached the safehouse—a secluded cabin hidden in pines, fortified with steel doors and surveillance. Inside, the air was musty, but safe. I helped Angelo to the couch, his body heavy against mine.

"Sit," I ordered, fetching water and meds. As I cleaned his wounds—gashes from whips, burns from whatever hellish tools they'd used—tears welled. "What did they do to you?"

He cupped my face, thumb wiping a tear. "Nothing that matters now. You're here." His voice dropped, intimate. "I saw you in the hallucinations—strong, fighting. It kept me going."

I leaned in, our foreheads touching, breaths mingling. "I love you," I whispered, the words a balm. "We'll end this. For us. For Luca."

He kissed me gently, a spark amid the storm—tender, promising more when the pain faded. "Love you too, Isla. My fighter."

But drama lurked. As Sofia contacted her source, Marco scouting outside, a phone buzzed—mine. Unknown number.

I answered, heart pounding. The Woman's voice purred through: "Isla, dear. Running won't save him. Or the boy. Bring Luca to the docks at dawn, or watch Angelo die slowly. Videos incoming."

The line died. A video pinged—Angelo in the cell, screaming my name under torture.

I dropped the phone, sobs wracking me. Angelo pulled me close. "We'll fight."