“I said I’m not leaving.”Fuckleaving.
Dante’s hand lands on my shoulder. I should shrug it off. Should be moving into that corridor, finding her, dragging her out of the fire myself. But my feet are rooted to the floor and my chest is caving in and all I can think isnot again.
I already lost her in this building tonight. I got her back.
The seconds stretch into hours. Nico has Sofia, guiding her toward the extraction point where Giada’s waiting. Marco’s coordinating the final sweep. Everyone is where they should be. Doing what they should be doing. And I’m standing here like astatue made of ice, staring into smoke. Praying for the second time since Mama died.
Not again. I wasn’t there when Mama died. I can’t lose someone else while I’m standing right here.
Movement. In the corridor. A shape materializing through the haze.
I’m moving. Three strides and she’s there. Soot on her face. Eyes streaming. Coughing so hard her whole body shakes. But in her hand, clutched tight against her chest.
The rosary. Dirty. The chain broken in two places. But intact. Safe.
“Isabella.” Her name tears out of me. Ripped loose.
She takes my hand. Turns it palm up. Pours them into my palm, her fingers trembling against mine, her eyes steady despite the tears tracking through the soot on her cheeks.
“Your mother’s.”
My hands stop. Heat seeps through my fingers. My breathing evens.
I kiss her. Not careful. Not controlled. Desperate and tasting of smoke and salt. Her lips are cracked, her face streaked with soot, and I don’t care. I cup her cheeks, holding her tight like she’ll vanish if I don’t. She gasps against my mouth and then she’s kissing me back, fingers gripping the front of my vest, pulling me closer.
You’re alive. You’re here. I’m never letting go.
When we break apart, we’re both breathing hard. Her forehead rests against mine. I pull her against me and hold on. She presses into me. Her fists knot in the back of my vest. She’s shaking, or I’m shaking, and I don’t know how long we stand there in the corridor with the building groaning around us and the smoke getting thicker and the world falling apart.
I don’t care. She came back. She’s here.
Dante’s hand on my arm. “We need to go. Now.”
I don’t let go of her. But I move. We move together, her hand in mine, hers clutched in my other fist. Out of the corridor. Out of the building. Into the chaos of the extraction point.
The night air hits my lungs like a slap. Cold. Clean. Alive. Behind us, the Benedetti compound burns.
Sofia is loaded into an SUV, Giada already inside, already reaching for her. She goes willingly, following Isabella’s eyes to the vehicle, trusting that wherever her sister says to go is safe.
Nico is near the extraction vehicles. One of the rescued girls, the feral one from the residential wing, has her fists knotted in his tactical vest. Clinging. He stands frozen. Arms held slightly out. Looking down at the top of her head like he has no idea what to do with the weight of someone else’s terror. He doesn’t pull away.
She’s buried against him. Her shoulders shake. Nico’s hand hovers over her back for a long moment. Then, slowly, it settles. Barely touching. Just there. His expression is strange. Complicated in ways I can’t read right now.
Until the girl lifts her head and sees Sofia. They find each other across the chaos. Two broken girls. Two different kinds of trauma. Something passes between them that has nothing to do with me.
Later. Everything else is later.
“Renzo.” Dante. I turn. “We have Stefano. Nico’s men caught him trying to run.”
The world goes very quiet.
Stefano.Cazzo.The man who kept Sofia. Who had her since she was fifteen. Who touched her and broke her and turned a fifteen-year-old girl into the hollow shell we found in that basement room.
The coldness settles back in. Familiar. Welcome. My hands know what to do with information like this.
But before I can move, Isabella catches my arm. I turn to her. She’s already watching. Seeing the shift, maybe. Understanding what’s about to happen.
“Go.” One word. Permission.
