Chapter 6 - The Final CommandIsabella screamed—a high, piercing sound that finally shattered the eerie silence of the Brooklyn brownstone.
She thrashed against the floor, trying to push the hundred-and-forty-pound beast away, but Max pinned her arms instantly. His massive jaws hovered inches from her throat, his hot breath washing over her pale skin.
"Kill me," Isabella panted, tears finally spilling over her dark lashes, mixing with the dust and sweat on her face. "Go ahead, Alessandro. Order him to do it. Finish what you started in Milan twenty-five years ago."
I lay flat on my back, my chest burning, my vision tunneling into a tiny circle of light. I looked up at the woman who had wormed her way into my heart, who had weaponized my love against me, who had stolen my children and poisoned my blood.
I could give the command. One word, and Max would snap her neck like a dry twig. It would be justice. Mob justice. Clean, final, absolute.
"No," I choked out, the word barely a whisper.
Isabella blinked, surprised. "What?"
"No," I repeated, forcing myself to push up onto my elbows. The poison raged through my veins, but pure malice kept me conscious. "Killing you is too easy, Isabella. Death is an escape."
I dragged myself closer to her, using the wall for support until I was kneeling beside her. Max kept his weight firmly on her chest, his amber eyes watching me for further instructions.
"Your brother in Zurich," I said, my voice cold as Arctic ice. "His name is Marco Conti, right? Runs a small shipping import firm out of Switzerland."
Isabella's face drained of what little color it had left. "Leave him out of this. He had nothing to do with—"
"He's holding my children," I interrupted, coughing up a drop of blood onto the floorboards. "Which means within the hour, my cleanup crew—the ones Marcus didn't know about—will be boarding a private jet to Zurich. They won't just retrieve my son and daughter. They'll dismantle Marco's entire life, brick by bloody brick, just like you tried to do to mine."
"You're a monster," she wept, her composure completely shattered.
"I told you the first night we met at that charity gala," I whispered, leaning in close to her ear. "I'm the boogeyman of Little Italy. You just forgot to check under the bed before you tried to sleep."
I looked down at Max.
"Watch her," I commanded.
Max didn't move a muscle.
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I pulled my burner phone from my pocket with shaking fingers, dialed a single speed-dial number, and pressed it to my ear.
"Vincenzo," I gasped as the line connected. "Get the medic team to the brownstone. Now. And scramble the jet to Zurich. Code Red."
