CHAPTER 2: STRANGE CALL ISABELLA

ISABELLA

“Ugh,” I groaned, dragging a hand down my face as we stepped out of the exam hall. “Now my brain decides to wake up? Seriously?”

Liliana twirled toward me, arms flung wide like we’d just walked out of prison. “What now, Isa?”

“Question two,” I muttered. “I just remembered the answer.”

She gasped dramatically. “No! The horror. The betrayal. The loss of two full points. We must grieve immediately. With cake.”

Before I could argue, she grabbed my arm and yanked me toward the lot. “Come on. No spiraling. Exams are over. Time to feed your soul.”

The sun hit my skin as we stepped outside, and for the first time in weeks, I exhaled without flinching. Liliana’s car windows were down, bass pulsing through the speakers like a heartbeat that hadn’t flatlined yet.

> This was what peace was supposed to feel like.

Light. Free. Normal.

The bakery smelled like heaven the second we stepped in vanilla and strawberries wrapped in caramel promises. I paused at the door just to breathe it in.

Liliana didn’t.

“Strawberry shortcake!” I called.

She spun with a wicked grin. “Only if you’re paying. I treated last time.”

I groaned, digging into my wallet. “Could you not announce that to the entire planet?”

She flipped her braids. “You’re welcome.”

I slid into a booth by the window, phone already in my hand.

No missed calls. No texts.

Nothing from Vincent.

He always called after exams. Even during missions. Even when we fought.

Even when I didn’t want to hear from him he always showed up.

So why hadn’t he now?

Liliana dropped two plates in front of me, eyes narrowing. “You’ve been staring at that phone like it owes you rent. Secret boyfriend?”

I forced a smile. “Just waiting on Vincent.”

She shrugged, unfazed. “Probably off somewhere flying helicopters and threatening foreign officials. Typical mob prince behavior.”

She made finger guns at the window. “Bang. Bang.”

I didn’t laugh.

> Because when a mafia family goes silent...

Something is always wrong.

“So,” she said, changing the subject. “What’s next for the great Isabella Russo? Secret art gallery? Dramatic paint-splattered recluse vibes?”

I pushed a strawberry around my plate. “I want to open a studio.”

She blinked. “Like… a real one?”

“With walls full of color. Workshops. Kids. A place people can breathe.”

Her face twisted in disbelief. “Your dad makes war deals in six languages, and you want to teach watercolors?”

“I want out,” I whispered. “Out of the blood. The shadows. The rules.”

Liliana’s sarcasm vanished. But she didn’t press.

Her phone buzzed. She checked it, chuckled, texted back.

Mine buzzed next.

I looked down.

Incoming Call: Nanny.

My blood turned cold.

Nanny hated phones. Claimed they fried your brain and cursed your spirit. She never called—not unless it was serious.

I answered. “Hello?”

Then

Gunshots.

Loud. Close. Not in the background. Right there.

My spine locked.

“…Nanny?”

Heavy breathing.

Then her voice shaking. Broken.

“Miss Isabella, you have to run. He found us.”

“What? Who what do you mean?”

“It’s Damian. Damian Vercetti. He killed Vincent. And your father. They’re gone. You have to run before”

Gunfire. A scream.

A crash.

Then silence.

My voice cracked. “Nanny?! NANNY?!”

The call dropped.

I froze.

Phone still pressed to my ear. World tilted sideways.

Vincent. Dad.

Gone?

Liliana said something, but I couldn’t hear her over the sound of my heart breaking.

No.

Not them.

Not Damian.

> He was family.

Vincent’s best friend.

The man who used to sit in our kitchen and steal the last slice of cake.

But I knew how these things worked. I knew the rule.

When the heads fall

the heir becomes the target.

“Isa?” Liliana leaned forward. “You’re scaring me.”

I looked up, voice barely there. “They’re dead.”

“What?”

“My dad. Vincent. Damian… he killed them.”

The color drained from her face. “Damian? Damian Vercetti?”

I nodded. “And if Nanny’s right… he’s coming for me.”

A new notification lit my screen.

One voice message.

From Dad.

I tapped it.

“Isa… my baby girl… If you’re hearing this, I’m gone. I’m so sorry. I never wanted this for you. Run. Leave New York. Leave the country. Damian Vercetti will come for you. Don’t let him find you. Please.”

The message ended.

The phone slipped from my fingers.

Thud.

Liliana dropped beside me, hands gripping my arms. “Isa. Hey. Look at me. We need to move. Now.”

I didn’t remember standing. Or walking. Or getting in the car.

But I was in the passenger seat.

And Liliana was driving like hell was chasing us.

“Where to?” she asked.

“My passport. Emergency cash. Bag. Back at the hostel.”

She nodded once. “Got it.”

The car sped forward.

But my mind stayed behind.

Back in that kitchen.

Back in that last laugh.

Back when I thought I was safe.

If Damian had turned on us…

This wasn’t just betrayal.

This was war.

And I was next.

************

AUTHOR’S NOTE

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