Chapter 73: Angelo is tearing the city apart looking for you.

Isla’s POV

The tunnel swallowed us whole.

Darkness closed in the second I slid the panel shut behind me, the sound of metal grinding softly into place echoing like a coffin lid sealing the dead. The final scrape rang through the narrow passage and then—nothing. No alarms. No voices.

Just silence.

The kind that pressed against my ears until my heartbeat sounded too loud, too reckless, like it might betray us.

The air changed instantly.

It was colder down here, thick with damp rot and history. Stone sweat clung to the walls. The smell was ancient—mold, mineral, something faintly metallic beneath it all, like blood that had soaked too deep into the earth to ever fully fade.

Luca whimpered against my chest.

The sound ripped through me.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t dramatic.

It was weak.

Fragile.

The kind of sound that came from a body fighting harder than it should have to.

“It’s okay,” I whispered automatically, even though the lie tasted bitter on my tongue. “Mama’s here. I won’t let them take you. I swear it.”

My words trembled. My hands did not.

I refused to let them.

The floor sloped downward, uneven and treacherous. My knees scraped stone as I crawled, my muscles screaming in protest. One arm cradled both babies tight to my chest, anchoring them to the rhythm of my breathing. The other reached blindly ahead, fingers brushing cracked brick, slick moss, crumbling mortar that flaked under my touch.

My shoulder caught against the wall.

Pain flared.

I didn’t make a sound.

Somewhere far behind us—too far to help, too close to forget—the safe room door finished opening.

I felt it.

Not heard it.

Felt it.

Like the world exhaled and decided we were no longer protected.

I didn’t look back.

I couldn’t.

Because if I did, I would freeze.

And freezing meant dying.

Luca’s body jerked suddenly in my arms.

A sharp spasm.

Then another.

“Shh—shh—no, no, please,” I whispered frantically, pressing my mouth to his temple. His skin burned my lips. Fever-hot. Unnatural. His breath fluttered against my collarbone—too fast, then stuttering, then dragging as if he couldn’t remember the rhythm anymore.

“Stay with me,” I begged. “Please, baby. Just stay.”

Enzo began to cry.

High-pitched.

Panicked.

His tiny fists beat against my chest, instinctively reaching for his brother, sensing something wrong even without understanding it.

“Hey,” I whispered shakily. “Hey, Enzo, sweetheart, it’s okay. Mama’s got you. Mama’s right here.”

But my heart was splintering.

Because I didn’t know if that was enough.

The tunnel stretched endlessly ahead, bending slightly left. The emergency strips embedded low along the wall flickered weakly, casting long warped shadows that crawled like living things.

Then—

Yellow.

Faint strokes of paint appeared ahead.

Old.

Cracked.

But visible.

The markings Silvio had promised.

Hope surged painfully in my chest, sharp enough to hurt.

I crawled faster.

Behind me—

A sound.

Not footsteps.

Not voices.

A hum.

Low.

Mechanical.

Steady.

Growing closer.

My breath hitched violently.

No men.

No hesitation.

No mercy.

Machines.

Automated sentinels that didn’t feel fear or doubt or guilt. That wouldn’t hesitate at the sight of infants. That wouldn’t stop when I screamed.

They followed commands.

And someone had commanded us dead.

My pulse thundered so loudly I was sure it would give us away.

“Please,” I breathed silently. To God. To fate. To Angelo. To every ghost who’d ever loved him enough to watch over his children. “Please don’t let him break.”

Luca let out a thin, broken cry.

And then—

Something shifted.

The air pulsed.

Once.

Not wind.

Not sound.

A pressure change—deep, internal—like the world had briefly inhaled.

The lights flickered.

I froze mid-crawl, terror locking my muscles.

“Luca…?” I whispered.

His eyes fluttered open.

Not unfocused.

Not glazed.

Alert.

Too alert.

They locked onto nothing in front of him, pupils blown wide like he was staring through the world instead of at it.

A vibration rippled through the tunnel walls.

Dust lifted from the stones in a slow, spiraling halo.

Enzo’s cries cut off abruptly—his mouth still open, eyes wide, but no sound coming out. Like the noise had been pulled straight from his lungs.

“No,” I whispered hoarsely, dread clawing up my spine. “No, baby—don’t—don’t do anything—”

Luca’s tiny fingers clenched in my shirt.

Hard.

Stronger than they should have been.

And behind us—

The hum stopped.

Instantly.

Like someone had yanked the plug out of the universe.

The lights dimmed… then surged back brighter than before.

I twisted, heart slamming against my ribs.

The tunnel was empty.

No drone.

No glow.

No movement.

Just silence.

Thick.

Heavy.

Wrong.

I looked back down at Luca.

His lashes trembled once.

Twice.

Then his eyes closed.

Fully.

His body went limp against me—not lifeless, not terrifying—

Just drained.

Like something inside him had burned too hot and collapsed under its own weight.

I broke.

A silent sob tore out of me as I pressed my face into his curls, holding him tighter, rocking slightly as my body crawled forward on instinct alone.

“You’re not a weapon,” I whispered fiercely into his hair. “You hear me? You’re not theirs. You’re mine. You’re my son. That’s all you’ll ever be.”

My voice cracked apart.

The tunnel finally opened into a wide stone chamber.

The catacombs.

Ancient and solemn.

Carved beneath the monastery centuries ago, long before guns or syndicates or genetic nightmares existed. Stone arches stretched overhead, some collapsed, others still standing like tired sentinels. Broken statues lined the walls—saints with missing faces, angels with shattered wings, hands frozen mid-prayer.

Water dripped steadily somewhere in the dark.

Each drop echoed like a ticking clock.

I staggered forward and collapsed behind a fallen pillar, sliding down until my back hit cold stone.

My legs gave out.

My arms tightened automatically around the twins.

Only then—only when I knew we were hidden—did my body start to shake uncontrollably.

I pressed my forehead to theirs.

Breathing.

Counting.

Alive.

For one moment—

Just one—

There was peace.

Then my phone vibrated.

Once.

The sound was deafening.

I nearly screamed.

My hand fumbled violently as I pulled it free, my thumb hovering uselessly over the screen.

Unknown Number.

My stomach dropped.

A message appeared.

> You ran well, Isla.

Cold washed through me.

Not fear.

Recognition.

Another message followed instantly.

> Angelo is tearing the city apart looking for you.

My chest tightened painfully.

I could see it—Angelo in motion, eyes black with rage, blood on his knuckles, walls breaking under his fists. The city paying the price for taking us from him.

A third message blinked onto the screen.

> When he finds you… the real game begins.

My breathing turned shallow.

And then—

The final line appeared.

> Because Maria is awake.

The world stopped.

Maria.

The name echoed like a gunshot inside my skull.

Not dead.

Not buried.

Not erased.

Awake.

I stared at the screen until my vision blurred.

Somewhere above ground, alliances were collapsing.

Wars were igniting.

And beneath centuries-old stone, holding two children whose blood terrified monsters—

I finally understood.

This wasn’t about territory.

This wasn’t about power.

This wasn’t even about revenge.

This was about legacy.

About bloodlines that should have died quietly—and didn’t.

And Angelo Romano…

…was about to burn heaven and hell to keep them alive.