“Stand back, Isabella,” I said. “Go back inside.”
“No. I want to fight back, with you.”
“This is not the right time to argue; just do as I say. Go take cover, escape if you can. Yuri and I will stand and face them. You have your gun, I trust that you can protect yourself.”
“I can,” she said. I kissed her head and told her to go.
Right after she ran back in, I saw the rage in Caruso's eyes. He had reinforcements, and they only grew larger by the minute.
“Tit for tat, Caruso,” I said. And then the shootout began to get intense.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Isabella’s POV
Outside was an explosive exchange of bullets. Quite a few dead bodies lay in front of me, and I tried to find my way around them. The furniture was ripped to shreds. The bullets made holes in the walls, and the floor was full of shattered glass.
“You're going to be fine,” I said in a stressed exhale. “You can do this. Isabella, you can do this.”
I closed my eyes, trying to gain balance while my head spun with the chaos. Every sound I heard was a reminder of the wild rampage. “I can't do this,” my mind began to utter, and I felt the need to escape. This wasn't me. I wasn't the type of lady who'd leave anyone behind. This was the moment I became tough, not weak. What the hell was I thinking?
First, I chickened out because I couldn't get myself to kill Marco, and now I'm taking sides with Mikhail, who's risking all he has, including his life, to protect me. Yet, here I am trying to escape. So fucking unreasonable.
“Fuck this.” The words flew out of my mouth before I reached for my pistol by the side of my trousers. I'm the reason there's carnage at Caruso's safe house. It would only be right to fight alongside the people who trusted me enough to care for my safety.
I opened the door and walked out. One of Caruso's men got shot in his left eye by one of Mikhail's soldiers. The car behind the man exploded, and black soot rose up with the orange flames.
I looked around, scanning to see if I would get a clear sight of Mikhail or Yuri, but all I saw was black smoke in the atmosphere.
I placed my pistol back in my pocket and walked back into the building, intending to find my way up the staircase in search of them. But when I did, I felt someone holding my hand right before I placed it on the wooden rail.
I tried to yank my hand away, but I couldn't. The man had a large moustache and a buzz fade on his head. His stomach protruded, and he had a tattoo of a snake on his left neck.
“Let me go!” I yelled. Somehow, my stupid mind made me think that the man with the white vest was merciful enough to let me run free. He pulled me backwards, and I fell to the ground. His hands held onto the collar of my coat, and I hit his chin with my fist. The man's head didn't move, almost as though he didn't feel any pain. His grip on me tightened the more I tried to get away. My neck hung in the crook of his elbow while he dragged me further into the house. I knew where he was taking me. The same escape door that I used to sneak my way in.
“Relax. Just a little more and you'll be safe.” His Italian accent came out strong, and I wasn't willing to exhibit weakness. I had to protect myself, even if it meant shedding blood.
So I reached for the pistol and cocked it. The first shot I fired was on his right thigh. He lost his balance and let go of me. The second shot went through his throat. His eyes bulged while he fell to the floor, bleeding. He looked as though he wanted to speak, maybe cry for help or sympathy. But I couldn't care less.
My eyes caught a shadow beside me. Two Italian men walked out of the kitchen and stood without a firearm. As soon as our eyes met, they ran towards me. I stretched my hand out and shot the guy in the front. My arms went back in recoil, yet I saw the second guy reach for something behind his back. I shot him immediately, and the bullet passed through his head. My pulse pounded in my veins. My heart skipped a beat, and my vision began to blur.
I ran outside and gasped for air while holding onto the rail. I heard the shouting of names. My hands were covered in blood.
Mikhail stood at the center of the battle, engaged in what seemed to be a hand-to-hand combat with Caruso.
“Great,” I said in a low intonation. “Just great.”
I wondered what in the world he was thinking to set himself in the middle of a shootout. For Mikhail to do this meant he knew how to find his way out of this. So, I lay low and made sure there weren't any Italians creeping up behind me.
The fight got intense, and the exchange of bullets slowed to a stop. Caruso had a good right hook when he hit Mikhail in his solar plexus. Mikhail bowed low, and he hit him in the face.It was rough for me to watch. I began to panic. My heart beat raced and my eyes teared up in what seemed to be defeat. He hit Mikhail on his knees until he fell to the ground, right before he grabbed a handful of his hair and raised him up again.
“I knew you were fucking weak,” Caruso's voice tore through both parties. “Loving Isabella made you weak. And this is where your journey ends, Mikhail.”
And just like that, Mikhail found his way between Caruso's legs, tripping him to the ground. Caruso stood up, smiling proudly, and Mikhail caught him off guard when he threw a punch at his left rib. Caruso fell on one knee, and Mikhail went forcefully with a jab to his face. He shouted in pain, every punch taking Caruso down further.
“She's. Not. My. Weakness!” He yelled while he punched him in time with each word he spoke. “She's. My. Strength!”
He kept punching Caruso until I saw blood fly out of his face. I observed how his nose sank in, and the more Mikhail kept going, the more the blood. It was the most horrific sight I had seen in my life.
