Oh god.
The gunfire is getting louder and nearer.
My hands are shaking so badly I have to grip Enzo's shirt just to hold on to something solid. The table we're hiding under won't protect us for long. I can hear boots on marble, glass crunching, someone shouting orders in that accent that makes my blood freeze.
Irish. Crisp. Cold.
"Fan out. Fucking find the girl."
I know that voice, the voice from all my nightmares.
Declan.
My lungs seize up. I can't breathe. The smoke in the air mixes with a smell that isn't really there. Mold. Rust. Blood.
The basement.
I'm thirteen again and Declan O'Rourke is standing over me with that disgusting, leering smile, telling his father about all the things they could do to a Romano princess before they kill her. How much she'd be worth. How long she'd last.
"She's pretty, Da. Shame to waste her quick."
"Patience, boy. She's leverage, not a toy."
"Can't I have a little fun first?"
My stomach lurches. Bile rises hot and acidic in my throat.
"Isabella."
Enzo's soft whisper cuts through the noise in my head. Low and steady. He's still covering me with his body, one hand cradling the back of my head, the other wrapped around my waist.
"Listen to me, Isabella." His mouth is right next to my ear. "I need you to breathe. Can you do that?"
I shake my head. I can't. My chest is too tight and my heart is trying to claw its way out through my ribs and there's not enough air––
"Yes, you can." His hand moves to my face, turning me to look at him. His dark eyes lock on mine. "In through your nose. Out through your mouth. With me. Now, Princess."
He breathes in slowly. I watch his chest expand. Then out.
I try. My breath comes out shaky and too fast but I try again. In. Out. In. Out.
"Good girl." His thumb brushes my cheekbone. "Stay with me. I'm getting you out of here. You understand? I'm not letting them touch you."
The certainty in his voice breaks through the panic just enough. Enzo doesn't make promises he can't keep. If he says he's getting me out, he will. Even if it kills him.
That thought should comfort me. Instead, it makes everything worse because I've already watched him nearly die for me once and I can't do it again, I can't?—
No. Stop. Focus, Isabella.
I force myself to nod. Force my hands to stop shaking. Force my brain to shove all the memories back into their box and lock it tight.
I'm not thirteen. I'm twenty-two. I'm not helpless. I'm a Romano.
And the Romanos don't break.
More gunfire. Closer. I hear someone scream and then the scream cuts off abruptly.
"Move!" A harsh voice shouts. "She's here somewhere. Find her!"
