Chapter 10: The Cure

"Do it," Victoria taunted, her voice slicing through the smoke-filled air. "Pull the trigger, Enzo. But the second your heart stops beating, so does your sister's."

I was on my knees on the freezing asphalt, my ribs screaming in agony, my hands slick with blood. I watched the gun in Enzo’s hand tremble.

He was a statue of pure, unadulterated rage. His dark eyes were locked on Victoria, his finger resting on the trigger. But his jaw was clenched tight, a muscle jumping in his cheek. The war inside him was written all over his face. The Godfather wanted to execute the traitor in front of him, but the brother couldn't risk Isabella’s life.

"Enzo, don't listen to her," I gasped, coughing as the cold air hit my bruised lungs. "She's bluffing."

"Am I?" Victoria laughed, wiggling the small black remote in her hand. "Isabella is standing right on top of her mother's grave. It's so tragic, really. A family reunion in pieces."

Enzo let out a low, guttural sound—a wounded animal cornered in a trap. His hand shook violently. The physical toll of the crash, the blood loss, and the overwhelming stress were pushing his body past the breaking point. The agonizing withdrawal was returning, his mind fracturing under the pressure.

I saw the exact moment he lost his focus. A sharp, blinding spasm of pain hit him. He stumbled back, his free hand flying to his head, his grip on the gun faltering.

Victoria didn't waste a second. She spun around and sprinted toward the black town car idling at the end of the street.

Enzo roared, firing a wild shot that shattered the rear windshield of her car, but he was already collapsing. The gun slipped from his fingers, clattering against the asphalt. He hit the ground hard, his body convulsing, his breathing ragged and frantic.

"Enzo!"

I ignored the searing pain in my side and dragged myself across the pavement. I reached him just as his eyes rolled back. I grabbed his face with both hands, pressing my palms flat against his cold, sweat-slicked cheeks.

The effect was instantaneous.

The violent shaking stopped. The horrific, choked sounds in his throat ceased. His eyes snapped open, wild and unseeing for a terrifying second, before they locked onto mine. The darkness receded, replaced by a terrifying, desperate clarity.

"I've got you," I whispered, my thumbs stroking the sharp lines of his cheekbones. Tears were falling down my face, mixing with the blood on his skin. "I'm right here. She's gone, Enzo. She's gone."

He didn't speak. He just stared at me like I was the only oxygen in the room. He slowly lifted his heavy arms, wrapping them around my waist, and pulled me into his chest. He buried his face in the crook of my neck, his entire massive frame shuddering with a suppressed sob.

I held him, ignoring the sound of Victoria's car speeding away in the distance. In that moment, the ruthless Godfather was gone. He was just a broken man, terrified of losing the one person who kept the monsters in his head at bay.

"We have to call Isabella," I whispered against his hair. "Enzo, we have to warn her."

He stiffened. He pulled back, his eyes hardening as the Godfather resurfaced. He reached into his pocket, his bloody fingers fumbling with his phone. He dialed a number and put it on speaker.

It rang once. Twice. Three times.

"Pick up, Izzy," Enzo growled, his voice cracking. "Pick up."

The line clicked, but it wasn't Isabella's voice that answered. It was Victoria's.

"She's a little tied up at the moment, Enzo," Victoria purred. "Did you really think I would let you call her? We're heading to the cemetery now. I thought you might want to say goodbye before she blows up."

The line went dead.

Enzo stared at the phone, the silence stretching into something suffocating. Then, his eyes met mine. The sheer, unadulterated terror in his eyes was enough to shatter my heart.

"Sarah..." he breathed, his voice broken. "I can't... I can't lose her."

I grabbed his hand, pulling him to his feet. My body was screaming in protest, my vision swimming, but I locked my knees.

"You won't," I said, my voice fierce, leaving no room for argument. "Where is the cemetery?"

"Five minutes away," he rasped.

I looked at the crashed SUV. Marcus was just starting to groan, pulling himself out of the driver's seat. Dante was still unconscious in the back.

"Marcus!" I yelled.

Marcus stumbled out, clutching his bleeding forehead. "Miss... Sarah. The Godfather..."

"Leave him," I ordered, pointing at Dante. "We have to go. Right now."

I dragged Enzo toward the motorcycle he had ridden. I swung my leg over, sliding forward, and looked back at him.

"Get on," I said.

Enzo didn't hesitate. He climbed on behind me, his arms wrapping around my waist, his chest pressed flush against my back. He buried his face in my hair, his grip so tight it bruised my ribs.

"Hold on," I said, twisting the throttle.

The bike roared to life, tearing down the street. The wind whipped at my face, the engine screaming beneath us. I drove like a woman possessed, weaving through traffic, running red lights, my entire focus on getting to that cemetery before Victoria did.

"Left," Enzo yelled over the wind, his voice right by my ear. "Take the left gate!"

I swerved hard, the tires skidding on the gravel as we tore through the iron gates of the cemetery. The headstones flashed by in a blur of grey and white.

And then, I saw it.

The black town car, parked haphazardly near a large mausoleum. And standing beside an open grave, her blonde hair whipping in the wind, was Victoria.

In front of her, bound and gagged, was Isabella.

And in Victoria's hand, the timer on the detonator had just ticked down to ten seconds.