Chapter 186 ONE-HUNDRED AND EIGHTY-SIX

Chapter 186 ONE-HUNDRED AND EIGHTY-SIX


Alessandro pulled against the restraints, but it only made his wrists feel even more sore. His head throbbed from the blow he received the previous day, blood dried at his temple, but his eyes held no emotions—only cold and murderous.

He stilled for a moment when he heard a gunshot.

Relaxing into his confined state, a smile managed to find it's way to his lips.

They were here.

The only reason why he came to Russia, let himself get tied up in a basement was for  Isabelle. He needed to prove to her that he was willing to go to any length to show her how much pain he was willing to bear for her, even if it made his opponent think he was weak.

He wasn't weak. He didn't train all day and night to be a weak man.

But for his wife, he'll get tied up. Only for her.

He heard movements and when the door swung open.

It wasn't Marco or any of his men.

It wasn't a Bratva soldier either.

It was his wife—Isabelle.

Her chest rose and fell rapidly, fear and determination both blending on her face. From where he was, he could tell she was terrified. A stray curl stuck to her cheek, her lips were parted as if she couldn't breathe properly.

“A-Alessandro,” she whispered.

She was still crying. For a second, it felt like the world stopped and there was no one else but the two of them. He stared at her like she was a hallucination carved out of everything he wanted, yet everything he couldn't have. 

This was torture.

Only she had showed him what true torture feels like.

“Isabelle,” he rasped. “You shouldn't be here.”

“Neither should you.”

Did she think she’ll die today? Is that why she sounded terrified?

“Nothing’s going to happen to you,” he assured her.

“I know. You're here with me.”

That response made his heart feel all warm and cozy.

She rushed to him, hands shaking as she fought with the chains. “I'm getting you out. Now.”

“Isabelle—”

“Don't,” she snapped, not letting him finish. “If anything happens to you… no, I shouldn't even think about it.”

She brought out the key. “I got the keys, which means you're leaving. Moreover, we're getting divorced, are we not? It'll be the last time we do something nice for each other.”

He couldn't deny it, he hated the way she spoke about the divorce like it was all that really mattered. Like she really could live without him while ever since he agreed to it, he had only been pondering on how he would live without her. Something that seemed nearly impossible.

Then, he remembered her words from earlier, how she looked while speaking and he quickly pushed the selfish thoughts aside.

He was a monster. There was no way any woman could possibly love him.

Ava said it. Isabelle did too.

It meant there was no reason to expect anything different.

When the chains were unlocked, his thoughts flew back to the present. The moment his hands were free, Alessandro stood up. He was a bit unsteady. He was stuck to a chair for days, that was reason enough to not feel steady.

Alessandro caught her by her wrist, pulling her in so close she could feel his breath against her ear.

“I'll sign the papers only on one condition” he murmured and he felt her body stiffen at those words.

“I’m not leaving without you. You come with me, and I'll sign them.”

She pulled away, looking him in the eye. “Okay.”

“Let's go,” he urged as they headed towards the exit.

Isabelle shrinked into him whenever she heard a gunshot nearby. The moment they stepped into the hallway, they were greeted by dead bodies and bleeding ones. 

Alessandro grabbed a rifle from one of the dead soldiers. His injuries didn't slow him down. Rage fueled him now and Isabelle felt the fury radiating off him like heat.

“Stay behind me,” he ordered.

She nodded slowly, but her hands held the pistol she stole tightly.

They were still walking when they heard a familiar voice from behind.

“Anyone else having déjà vu?”

Alessandro and Isabelle turned, their eyes meeting with Marco's.

“Good to see you too,” Alessandro mumbled, although a faint smile pulled up on his face.

Marco cocked his head to the side. “Let’s go out back. It's more secured.”

Alessandro held out his hand for her and she placed hers in his, and he encircled his hand over hers. 

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes.”

“Never let go… please.”

“I won't,” she answered.

With that they followed the pathway Marco came in from.

“Alessandro’s with me,” Marco muttered into the comms. “Hold them off for a while. We're heading out back.”

A bratva soldier walked right into them but before he could draw out his weapon, Alessandro raised his and shot him in the forehead.

A whimper crawled up Isabelle's throat, but she held it down. There was no way she would get used to seeing blood.

“I hate when they're pathetic,” he murmured.

As soon as they stepped out, Alessandro sighted Luciano.

They didn't speak, they only gave each other stern nods of acknowledgement.

Meanwhile, a Bratva sharpshooter on the upper balcony aimed down.

“Shit! Isabelle…” Luciano called out.

Alessandro and Marco turned at the same time.

“Isabelle—” Alessandro shouted, reaching for her.

She looked back, trying to understand what the commotion was about.

Alessandro was late.

The gunshot erupted in the air, bullet piercing straight into her. Her body jerked back.

Alessandro caught her before she hit the ground, his voice shaky, something raw tearing through him.

“No. No, Isabelle. Look at me.” His fingers pressed against the wound at her side, blood warm against his hands. “Stay with me. Do you hear me? Stay with me!”

Her eyes fluttered, a tear rolling down her cheeks. “I don't want to die, Aless—”

“You're not going to die. Shit! Open your eyes! Leave them open,” he ordered, lifting her into his arms. “Don’t you fucking dare,” he snarled.

“You don't get to leave me. Not now. Not ever.”

Marco and Luciano covered them, firing bullets into the air. Alessandro carried her admist the rising chaos, his gaze shifting to her at intervals and then he noticed her eyes were closed.

“Isabelle… please. Open your eyes.”

☪—-----------☪

Two gurneys rolled through the hospital doors at the same time. One bearing Alessandro, who was pale but conscious, blood lost from reopened injuries and the doctors advised that he needed an X-ray done immediately.

When they found him, he had Isabelle in his arms when he fell to his knees just at the entrance door.

The other gurney carried Isabelle, her face so pale and she was unconscious, losing a lot of blood.

Doctors shouted orders. Nurses rushed in, and machines beeped in frantic rhythm.

The moment they were about to be separated, Alessandro's hands found hers.

He squeezed it with everything he had left.

“Hold on,” he told her, voice ragged. “We're not done, you and I.”

She didn't move neither did she react to his words.

Then they took her away to another room and the doors closed, leaving him with new set of nurses and doctors. He felt weak, almost dizzy, but his gaze remained on the ceiling. His breathing was irregular, and his hands were covered in her blood.

And again, since his mother's murder,

Alessandro Moretti was terrified.