CH-22

CH-22

Isabella POV:

Aria doesn’t blink.

The headlights catch on her hair, turning it to molten gold, but her face is ice—cold, unreadable. Around her, Selene’s soldiers fan out like shadows cast in steel, rifles poised and ready. Yet Aria doesn’t need them. Her presence alone is a weapon sharper than any bullet.
And in her hand—my mother’s locket—swings from a silver chain, catching every flicker of light, glinting like a cruel promise.

“You dropped something,” Aria calls out, her voice silky but razor-edged, slicing through the still night air like a whispered threat.

My stomach knots so tight I think I’ll be sick. That locket… I haven’t seen it since the fire swallowed the house and my mother with it. I thought it was lost forever, a relic of a life I barely remember—until now.

Dante curses under his breath, pulling me back behind the crumbling brick wall. “She’s baiting you,” he growls, eyes burning with warning.

“Good,” I whisper, my gaze locked on Aria like a flame daring me to burn. “Because I’m done hiding.”

Before Dante can stop me, I step out into the open, the cold night air slapping my skin like a warning. Every step is a battle—between fear and fury, between the past and what’s left of my future.

Aria tilts her head slightly, an almost imperceptible smirk curling her lips—a predator savoring the moment before the kill. “So you do bleed, De Luca, after all,” she sneers. “For a moment, I thought you’d stay curled up in the shadows, letting men fight your battles for you.”

I tighten my grip on my pistol, voice sharp. “I don’t need men to fight for me—especially not for something that’s already mine.”

She lifts the locket higher, dangling it like a prize between us. “This?” Her voice is almost playful. “No, sister. This belongs to the heir.”

“Stop calling me that,” I growl, heat flaring in my chest. “You’re not my sister.”

Aria laughs—a cold, cruel sound that crawls under my skin like ice water. “You don’t have to accept me, Isabella. Our blood says enough. You just don’t want to face the truth—that mother chose me. Not you.”

Her words hit like knives, carving doubt and rage into my heart. But I refuse to show weakness. “If she chose you, why did she hide you?”

“Because she knew I was the only one strong enough to survive Selene’s training,” Aria answers, eyes blazing. “You had your parties, your polished little throne. I carved my place out of blood and fire.”

Dante moves closer behind me, his presence like a steel anchor. “This isn’t you, Aria,” he says quietly but firmly. “Selene’s using you.”

Aria’s gaze snaps to him, dark fire flaring in her eyes. “Don’t talk like you know me, assassin. You failed your contract once. Will you fail again?”

I whip my head toward Dante. “What does she mean?”

He tightens his jaw. “Not now.”

“Answer me!” I demand, voice rising.

But before he can speak, a soldier steps forward, weapon trained on Marco—still bound and kneeling in the dirt nearby.

Aria’s voice cuts sharp and cold. “Put down your weapon, Isabella, or Marco dies.”

My heart hammers in my chest as I level my gun at her. “Then you’ll die first.”

Her smile is slow, venomous—a spider’s deadly promise. “Oh, sister… you think you can kill me? We share the same blood, the same fire. Pull that trigger, and you’ll see which one of us mother truly loved.”

The locket swings like a pendulum in her hand, the silver catching the moonlight, mocking me.

Behind me, Dante’s voice is a low growl. “She’s trying to break your focus. Don’t give her what she wants.”

“I want the truth,” I hiss back.

“And you’ll get it,” Dante promises. “But not here. Not like this.”

Suddenly—a gunshot cracks the night, sharp and echoing.

For a heartbeat, I think it’s me who pulled the trigger. But no—the soldier aiming at Marco crumples, clutching his shoulder where a bullet tore through.

Chaos explodes around us.
“Sniper!” someone shouts.

I dive for cover as Dante drags me back behind the brick wall. The shouting grows frantic, commands barked in Russian.

“Who the hell—” I begin.

“Not us,” Dante snarls, scanning rooftops with narrowed eyes. “This isn’t our shooter.”

Through the haze of smoke and flashing gunfire, I catch sight of Aria. She moves with lethal grace—not retreating, but stalking. Her eyes lock on me, unflinching in the swirling chaos. She’s no scared girl—she’s a predator unleashed.

“Isabella!” Marco’s voice cuts through, ragged and urgent. “It’s a trap—”

Another gunshot silences him, the bullet striking the ground just inches from his knees.

“Move,” Dante snarls, yanking me by the arm. “We have to fall back—now!”

“I’m not leaving Marco!” I yell, struggling against his grip.

“You will,” Dante snaps, cold as steel. “Or I’ll carry you out myself.”

Before I can fight back, my eyes catch a dark figure on the rooftop opposite us—the sniper forcing everyone’s hand.

And then I see his face.

Veritas.

My breath catches like a knife twisting in my ribs.

He’s not aiming for Aria.
He’s aiming for me.

“Dante—” I whisper, panic rising.

“I see him,” Dante growls, raising his rifle.

But Veritas doesn’t fire. Instead, his weapon lowers, and he slowly raises his other hand—holding out a bloodstained envelope.

For me.

A crack of gunfire echoes again.

But it’s not Veritas who shoots.

It’s Aria.

The bullet slams into Dante’s side, and he collapses, blood blooming across his shirt like a dark stain spreading through the night.

“Next time,” Aria says coldly, her voice carrying across the clearing like a death sentence, “I won’t miss.”