Chapter 6 - Captive by Choice
Isabella looked at the outstretched hand.
It was a hand that had pulled triggers, signed death warrants, and crushed rivals. But it was also the hand that had put a warm coat on her shoulders, the hand that had held back an army for two weeks so she could have a taste of freedom, the hand that had guarded her in the dark without demanding a single thing in return.
The window at the front of the diner shattered into a million glittering shards.
A burst of automatic gunfire tore through the ceiling, raining plaster and fluorescent bulbs down into the dining room.
"Vitale!" a voice bellowed through a megaphone outside over the howling wind. "We know the little bird is inside! Come out with your hands up, or we burn the whole block!"
Isabella gasped, ducking down as glass sprayed over them.
Alessandro didn't flinch. In one lightning-fast motion, he drew his Sig Sauer, stepped in front of Isabella, completely shielding her body with his own, and looked down at her with calm, lethal eyes.
"Last chance, Isabella," he whispered amidst the rain and gunfire. "Do you want to run, or do you want to live?"
Isabella reached up. Her trembling fingers slid into his palm.
His grip was instant, crushing, and absolute. It was the grip of an anchor dropped into a raging sea. He hauled her to her feet, pulled her flush against his chest, and kicked open the heavy metal back door of the diner.
"Marco! Suppressive fire on the north perimeter!" Alessandro spoke into his collar radio, dragging Isabella through the driving sleet into the alleyway.
The night exploded into war.
From the rooftops and the cross streets, Alessandro’s concealed security teams returned fire with devastating efficiency. The sharp, rhythmic *thump-thump-thump* of suppressed rifles echoed against the brick buildings. Tracers cut through the rain. Isabella held on to Alessandro’s lapels, her face buried against his chest as he maneuvered her through the crossfire with terrifying precision.
He didn't run like a man fleeing; he moved like a general navigating a battlefield. When a Russo gunman rounded the corner of the alley, raising an assault rifle, Alessandro fired twice through his overcoat pocket. The man dropped instantly without Alessandro breaking stride.
At the end of the alley, a reinforced black SUV screeched to a halt, its heavy doors flying open.
Marco was in the driver’s seat. "Boss! Get in! They’ve got reinforcements coming down the highway!"
Alessandro shoved Isabella into the plush leather interior of the armored back seat, sliding in right behind her and slamming the bulletproof door shut just as a volley of rounds pinged harmlessly against the reinforced glass.
"Go," Alessandro ordered calmly.
The SUV surged forward, throwing Isabella against the seat. She looked out the tinted window as the small town of Blackwood faded into the rain, swallowed by the flashing lights of burning cars and the fading thunder of gunfire.
Her life as "Elena" was over.
She turned her head to look at the man beside her. Alessandro was breathing steadily, his coat spattered with rain and gun smoke. He clicked a fresh magazine into his sidearm, holstered it, and then turned his gaze to her.
"Are you hurt?" he asked, his voice softer than the leather beneath them.
"No," she breathed, her heart hammering wildly. She looked at her trembling hands, then at him. "Where are you taking me?"
May you like
"To my fortress in the Adirondacks," Alessandro replied, reaching out to gently tuck a strand of her newly sheared hair behind her ear. His fingers were warm against her frozen skin, sending an electric shiver through her spine. "A place where not even the devil himself can touch you. You wanted freedom, Isabella. I’m going to give it to you. But first, I’m going to teach you how to survive."
---
