Chapter Eleven
Isabella’s POV
The night broke apart in seconds, but my heart didn't race. It was steady and cold. This wasn't fear because I'd lived through worse nights. Nights filled with the smell of blood and smoke.
Another bullet hit the wall, and Mikhail cursed under his breath, reaching for the gun on the table, but I was already moving.
"Isabella–"
But it was too late. I pushed off, rolled to the side, and reached under my pillow. My fingers closed around the cool metal. Giovanni's pistol. The one I swore I'd never use again, the one I kept for nights just like this.
Mikhail froze when he saw it. "What the hell–"
I didn't answer, I just crouched low by the wall and aimed at the shadows through the broken window. One, two, three shots. The shot was clean and controlled. The gun kicked back lightly in my hand.
Someone outside screamed, and the silence that followed was heavy, just the wind rushing through the broken glass and Mikhail's breathing behind me. He was staring, and I could feel it. His shock was louder than the bullets.
"You... you know how to shoot," he said quietly, disbelief mixed with something else, something close to fear.
I kept my gun raised and my eyes scanning the window. "It's not that hard, Mikhail. You just point and don't miss."
He moved closer, his voice lower now. "Where did you get that?"
I gave a half smile. "A keepsake."
"From who?"
"Someone who taught me how to survive."
He didn't like that answer, and his jaw clenched, but he said nothing. He just stood there, eyes dark, trying to figure out what kind of woman he'd really married.
The door burst open again, and Yuri and two Bratva men stormed in, shouting. They saw me first, gun still in hand, then turned to Mikhail for orders.
"Outside," Mikhail said. "Find whoever's left."
The men ran. The sound of footsteps faded, leaving only the echo of chaos behind. I stood slowly, brushing glass off my dress. Mikhail was still watching me in silence.
"You can breathe now," I said softly, putting the pistol on the table.
He didn't move, didn't even blink. "What are you?" he finally muttered.
That made me smile. "Your wife, apparently."
He didn't smile back. His gaze was sharp, cold, but underneath that calm was something I hadn't seen before… doubt.
He took a step closer, and his voice was rough. "You could've told me."
He looked at it like it was a weapon that had just chosen sides. But it hadn't yet. I turned away first, walking past him, with my heart steady. Behind me, he was still standing there, breathing hard, and trying to understand the woman who just saved him, and scared him at the same time.
The smell of gunpowder still hung in the air, smoke curled through the broken window, catching the city lights and painting everything in shades of grey and red.
Boots thundered across the marble floors as Bratva soldiers stormed in, led by Yuri. "Boss!" he shouted, scanning the room, gun raised. "You okay?"
Mikhail didn't answer; he was still staring at me. His men spread out fast, checking corners, kicking over shattered furniture, searching for bodies. One of the intruders was still twitching on the floor, bleeding out near the balcony. Yuri shot him once without hesitation, and silence followed.
The fight was over, but the war between us had just started. I stood by the wall, the gun still warm in my hand. My breathing was steady, but inside, a flicker of satisfaction burned quietly. I hadn't just defended myself, I'd shown him something he couldn't unsee.
Mikhail's gaze never left me. He looked like a man who'd just woken up in a house he thought he built, only to realize the foundation wasn't his.
