Chapter 130

Mena.

"If I call my boss and give him the code, it means the operation has failed, and my life is in imminent danger, beyond the possibility of assistance," Isaac claimed.

This was what we wanted, right?

He was talking about ending everything, but why did it make me feel even more sorry for him?

"Since I signed a contract, I’ll be nothing more than just a number in this operation, and they don’t have much on you, so you’ll be safe for a long time. It’ll remain registered as failed for a minimum of ten years," he said.

"And why would you do that?" Alessio questioned.

“Because I won’t let you cut off all my limbs for something you deserve to know,” a sad smile crept across his face. “And I don’t want to spend my last moments trying to convince you about how sorry I am things had to be this way.”

Even in his final moments, Isaac was prepared to protect Alessio. I hadn’t been there from the start, but if that wasn’t proof enough that their friendship meant something to him—I didn’t know what to believe anymore.

"I only want to talk to my little girl, I want to hear her voice one more time—and then I’ll make the call. You have my word," Isaac concluded with a pleading gaze.

Alessio stood still, processing everything. Isaac was at peace with his choices, had accepted his defeat, and just wanted to say goodbye to his daughter. There was no harm in that.

Gian exploded, "No!"

He broke free from Pilar’s hold and marched toward Isaac with a fury I hadn’t seen in anyone before, not even in Alessio. “I didn’t get to say goodbye to my uncle, you don’t get to say goodbye to your daughter. It doesn’t work like that.”

Gian snatched the scissors from the ground, the look in his eyes wild, desperate, and filled with nothing but dark intentions. He then pointed the scissors at Isaac, “You will call your boss right now and tell him the operation is off.”

Seeing no one interfere, I took matters into my own hands and stepped in front of him for a second time. This time I held the end of the scissors, carefully guiding it downward.

“No, he will not,” I looked into his cold gaze. “He will say goodbye to his wife and daughter,” my eyes met Isaac’s. “I have her number, I’ll call her for you.”

I heard Alessio let out the same deep sigh he had done earlier when Gian and I were going back and forth. He rubbed his forehead as if he was trying to get rid of a headache.

That headache being his brother because I knew it couldn’t be me.

"Who are you? You can’t tell me what to do," Gian snapped, his voice rising.

"I can, actually," I spoke back. "He will say goodbye to his daughter, then he’ll call his boss."

"No," Gian shot back.

"Yes."

"No," he repeated.

"Yes," I spoke, ready to keep at this all day if necessary.

“Alessio!” we spoke at the same time, turning to him in unison. We were both searching for backup. Gian from his brother, and I from the man who said he would always have my back.

"You need to keep her in check or I might do it for you," Gian threatened.

I was taken aback by his harsh words. He had turned against me so easily, and it was all because I didn’t agree with him. I thought he had changed, but I was wrong. The man standing in front of me was not the same man I had come to respect during our trip to Towson.

“Like you’ve been trying to keep me in check with Dad?” Alessio spat. Whatever was going on between them, it was much deeper than all of this. “Gian. I don’t want you to forget what I told you at the hospital. It’s time for you to remember or I’ll make you remember.”

Gian clenched his jaw.

I remembered it as well. Dante told me he had punched Gian in the eye and threatened to shove his good hand down his throat if he ever disrespected me again.

By now, Gian had racked up at least three strikes.

The two locked eyes, but once Alessio glanced at me, his expression softened.

"Let's vote on it," he addressed the group. "Pilar? Since you’re here anyway."

Pilar looked between Gian and me, nervously. "No. You can’t reward him for the bare minimum," she decided quickly, standing by Gian.

I wasn't mad at her. I understood why she sided with Gian, and it didn't hurt me. She was supporting her partner, and I respected that—I would’ve done the same.

Alessio turned to Dante. "How about you?"

Dante met my eyes briefly before answering

. "Sorry, Mena, but he’s responsible for Uncle’s death and Gian’s hand. Gian’s right, we didn’t get to say goodbye to Uncle."

I could also understand his pain. I hadn’t spoken much to Stefano, but he was their uncle. I was afraid I would never understand.

"Donni?" Alessio called next. Donni, who usually had a golden tan, and a lot to say, now looked pale and distant, as if he wished he were anywhere but here.

"Does it matter what I think?" Donni muttered.

"Yes—it does," Alessio frowned. “Does Isaac deserve to talk to his daughter?”

Donni shook his head slowly, clearly struggling with the decision. "No...he doesn’t," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

I was so certain he would understand where I was coming from—but then I realized this was against everything these people stood for.

Isaac made a mistake, and now they wanted him to pay for it.

He had already dodged the torture they had planned for him, and perhaps not letting him speak to his daughter would soften that decision.

"So, that's four no’s and one yes," Gian announced, carrying an arrogant grin.

Alessio and I exchanged a look, his eyes showing me a silent apology. He then glanced at Isaac, who avoided his gaze, staring at the ground instead.

I tried.

I really did.

“No more than two minutes,” Alessio breathed. “And then you’ll call your boss and call off the operation.”

Isaac looked up in surprise. “Thank you.”

"Is this a fucking joke? You’re a joke, Aless," Gian exploded, his face red with anger. "Please tell me you forgot how to count and want me to do it for you. Your girl is in the minority—"

"Fuck off!" Alessio yelled out so loud that everyone flinched. Even Isaac, who was tied to the chair. “That’s enough, Gian. Done,” he scolded him the same way one would scold a child, and rightfully so.

Enough was enough.