He's just a baby!
He's just a baby!
Isla’s POV
The red dot quivered on my chest like a predator's eye, unblinking and lethal, pinning me in place as surely as chains. My knees hit the rough concrete of the dock with a thud that jarred my bones, but I barely felt it—my world had shrunk to Luca's tear-streaked face, his chubby arms flailing toward me, his whimpers turning to desperate cries that sliced through my soul like shards of glass. "Momma! Momma!" His voice, so small and broken, echoed over the lapping waves, drowning out the distant hum of the city, the creak of shipping containers swaying in the breeze. He wriggled in Elena's grip, his little body twisting with the instinctive need to reach me, but she held him firm, her manicured nails digging into his onesie like claws.
"Good girl," Elena purred, her voice a velvet poison that slithered into my ears, her smile widening to reveal perfect white teeth that gleamed under the harsh noon sun. She shifted Luca to her hip as if he were a trophy, not my child, her free hand stroking his curly hair with mock tenderness. "See? Obedience suits you. So much fire in those eyes, Isla—it's almost a shame to extinguish it." Her guards—four of them, black-clad and faceless behind tactical masks—fanned out around us, rifles trained, their shadows stretching long and ominous across the pier. One stepped closer, zip ties dangling from his belt like promises of captivity.
"Let him go," I snarled, my voice low and trembling with rage, my hands balling into fists at my sides despite the vulnerability of my position. The wire taped to my skin under my shirt felt like a lifeline, Angelo's voice a ghost in my ear from the earlier test: "I'm with you, amore. One word, and we come." But I couldn't risk it yet—not with Luca so close, so fragile. "He's just a baby. Innocent. Take me instead. That's what you want, right? Leverage over Angelo? Use me."
Elena's laugh rang out again, sharp and echoing off the metal containers, sending a flock of seagulls scattering into the sky. "Oh, darling, you're already leverage. But the boy? He's the future. Harlan sees potential in that bloodline—your fire mixed with Romano's ruthlessness. We'll shape him, mold him into something magnificent. Away from your... sentimental weaknesses." She bounced Luca lightly, eliciting a fresh wail from him, his face reddening as tears streamed down his cheeks. The sight ignited a maternal fury in me, hot and consuming, my muscles coiling like a spring despite the sniper's threat. I wanted to lunge, to claw her eyes out, to snatch my son and run until my legs gave out.
"Please," I begged, hating the desperation in my voice but willing to swallow my pride for him. "He's scared. Let me hold him—just once. Then... then you can have me." My mind raced, calculating—Sofia had said the ambush point was two containers back, Marco on overwatch from a crane overhead. If I could buy time, get Luca clear...
Elena tilted her head, considering, her emerald eyes—cold as the ocean depths—flicking over me with amusement. "How touching. Maternal instinct at its finest." She nodded to the nearest guard. "Search her. No wires, no tricks. Then... perhaps a farewell cuddle."
The guard approached, his boots thudding heavily, gloved hands patting me down with clinical efficiency. My heart hammered as he neared the wire—please, miss it, please—but his fingers brushed the tape. His eyes widened behind the mask. "She's wired—"
Chaos exploded.
A shot cracked from above—Marco's sniper rifle, precise and deadly—taking out the guard mid-sentence, his body crumpling like a ragdoll. Elena's smile vanished, her face twisting into a snarl as she clutched Luca tighter, ducking behind a crate. "Ambush! Positions!"
Gunfire erupted from all sides, bullets ricocheting off metal with sparks and pings that deafened me. I surged to my feet, adrenaline flooding my veins like fire, drawing the knife from my boot in a fluid motion. "Luca!" I screamed, charging forward as guards fired wildly, one dropping with a gurgle from Sofia's silenced shot emerging from the shadows.
Angelo's voice roared over the comms, then in person as he burst from cover, pistol blazing. "Isla—down!" He tackled a guard aiming at me, their bodies slamming into the pier with bone-jarring force, fists and grunts filling the air. Sofia flanked Elena, her wound forgotten in the frenzy, knife flashing as she engaged another assailant.
I reached Elena just as she backed toward the water's edge, Luca screaming in her arms. "Give him to me!" I lunged, my knife slashing at her arm. She hissed, blood welling, but twisted away, her free hand drawing a pistol.
"You fool," she spat, aiming at my chest. "The boy was never leaving alive if you cheated."
The shot rang out—but not from her gun. Harlan Crowe's yacht, moored offshore, lit up with muzzle flashes, reinforcements swarming the docks. Elena staggered, a bullet grazing her shoulder from Marco's perch, dropping Luca in the melee.
He tumbled toward the edge, crying out.
"No!" I dove, heart stopping as I caught him inches from the water, pulling him into my arms. His warmth, his weight—alive, safe—flooded me with relief, tears mixing with his as I shielded him with my body.