Night Ride

Night Ride
Dante's POV

Before my father could get any closer, I threw myself in front of Isabella.

"Put the gun down," I said in a steady tone. "She's under our protection."

My dad chuckled. As a child, I had learned to fear this sound because it was cold and empty.

"Defense? "You're defending the daughter of the man who has spent twenty years attempting to ruin our family?" Don Alessandro gave a headshake. "I thought I raised you better than this."

Luca said, "Father, we can explain," and took a slow step forward. "Vincent Cross had information—"

"I know exactly what Vincent Cross had." Isabella was always in my father's gaze. "The question is, does she?"

Behind me, Isabella was shaking. Her fear was radiating to me like a fire. However, her voice was surprisingly powerful when she spoke.

"I have no knowledge. I recently learned that your family was even connected to my father."

"Liar." Once more, my father flashed that terrifying smile. "Everything was told to you by Vincent. He simply concealed it so well that you are still unaware of it."

"That's enough." I took out my own firearm and aimed it at my dad. "We're heading out. Isabella will accompany us.

The instant was frozen. The father was the target of four sons brandishing weapons. A man who brought us up, educated us, and shaped who we are.

I thought he might shoot for a heartbeat.

Then he brought his gun down.

"Fine," he replied. "Take her. But, boys, keep in mind what I taught you. Water is not as thick as blood. And those who pose a threat to our blood must be held accountable."

He retreated into the darkness and vanished.

For a long time, nobody moved. Luca then took hold of my arm.

"Get her into the vehicle. Right now. We'll talk about this later.

Isabella was half-carried by me to the waiting car. She could hardly walk because she was trembling so much. After shoving her into the back seat, I got in.

"Drive," I told our driver. "Fast."

The vehicle accelerated into the darkness. I watched my brothers get into different cars through the tinted windows. We had intended to travel together, but in light of the recent events, it made more sense to spread out. My father couldn't catch us all at once if he chose to follow.

Isabella sat as far away from me as she could, pressed up against the distant door. Her eyes were wild with fear, and her arms were tightly wrapped around herself.

"Hey," I murmured. "Now we're secure. He is no longer there.

"Safe?" She laughed, but it sounded more like a cry. "I just received a death threat from your father. You also pulled a gun on him. "How is any of this secure?"

I didn't have a suitable response.

The vehicle raced through deserted streets. At night, the city appeared different—darker and riskier. As if it were revealing its actual face.

"I'm sorry," I said at last. "I didn't know he would show up like that."

"The video," Isabella muttered. "Your father killed your mother, according to my father. Is that accurate?

I felt like I was hit in the stomach by the question. I had always assumed that my mother's illness was the cause of her death. I still thought that a few hours ago.

I was unsure of what to believe at this point.

"I don't know," I said. "When I was six, my mother passed away. I hardly recall her at all.

"What do you remember?"

I closed my eyes, searching for long-forgotten memories. "She was kind. Kind. Before going to bed, she used to sing to us. songs that are unique to each of us.

"Like my father's lullaby," Isabella muttered.

"Yeah." I opened my eyes and gave her a look. "I recall that she had a floral scent. Her hands were also the softest. She would hold my face and tell me that I would achieve great things in the future.

Isabella's face softened a little. "She sounds wonderful."

"She was." My voice broke. "It seemed as though the sun had set when she passed away. My dad grew harder and colder. He told us that the world would try to break us, so he encouraged us to be strong.

"Did it work?"

I reflected on everything I had done in my father's honor. the individuals I would harm. The violence I had inflicted.

"I don't know," I honestly replied. "I'm strong, but I'm not sure that's a good thing."

Isabella remained silent for a while. She then extended her arm to touch my hand. Only momentarily, barely.

"Thank you for protecting me," she said. "Back there with your father."

"I'd do it again." I looked her in the eye. "You are innocent, regardless of what my father did or did not do. You shouldn't be penalized for your father's decisions.

"Even though my father might be trying to destroy your family?"

"Even then."

The vehicle continued to travel through the night. Our tension changed into something else. The start of trust, but not quite.

It buzzed on my phone. Luca's message.

Marco's car is being followed by Father's men. We must further divide up. While you wait for my signal, take Isabella to a secure location.

I displayed the message to the driver. He turned away from our intended path after nodding.

"Change of plans," I informed Isabella. "We're taking a detour."

"Where are we going?"

"Somewhere my father doesn't know about." I gave myself permission to smile a little. "I have a few secrets of my own."

We wound through neighborhoods I knew my father had never bothered to learn about as we drove for an additional twenty minutes. At last, we arrived at a modest Queens apartment complex.

I said to Isabella, "Stay close," as we exited the vehicle.

We ascended to the third floor inside. I opened a door and entered a modest, uncomplicated apartment. I bought my personal hiding place with money my father was unaware I had.

"It's not much," I replied. "But it's safe."

Isabella moved slowly through the space, observing everything. Something had changed in her eyes when she looked back at me.

"Why do you have a secret apartment?"

"Because even in my family, sometimes you need somewhere to be alone."

She seemed to understand and nodded.

Once more, my phone buzzed. It was an unidentified number this time.

Hi, Dante. I am aware of your location. I've always been aware of your small retreat. In an hour, meet me at the former 47th Street warehouse. Come by yourself, or Isabella's father will actually perish this time. And take the girl with you. A family get-together is in order.

There was a picture attached.

Vincent Cross, still alive but strapped to a chair.

And my mother was standing behind him with a knife to his throat.

My mother passed away.

She looked just like she did twenty years ago.