Chapter 9 - The Ghost of Isabella
The room seemed to tilt on its axis, the walls closing in until I could barely drag air into my lungs.
"No, baby," I choked out, tears finally breaking free and tracking down my scarred cheeks as I reached out and gently pulled Lucia into my arms. She stiffened for a fraction of a second before collapsing against my chest, her tiny hands grabbing onto my shirt just like she used to do before our world was shattered. "No, Lucia. Uncle Nick lied. I would never, ever hurt Mommy. Mommy was my whole world."
Rosa covered her mouth with her hand, turning away as she wept silently for the horror those little girls had been forced to endure.
I held my eldest daughter tightly, burying my face in her soft hair, whispering promises I swore I would spend every remaining breath of my life fulfilling. I had hunted the cartel across three states, believing the war was over. But the true enemy had been sitting at my dinner table, drinking my bourbon, and plotting the systematic destruction of what was left of my soul.
After ten long minutes, Lucia’s breathing finally slowed, her small body growing heavy against me as exhaustion claimed her. She had fallen asleep in my arms, her tear-stained cheek pressed directly against my heart.
I gently lifted her, carried her to her bed, and tucked the blankets around her chin.
Then I stood up, walked out into the hallway, and found Chloe standing quietly by the doorway, her eyes dark with a mix of fear and deep, unshakable resolve.
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"Mr. Russo," Chloe said softly. "What do we do now?"
"We don't hide," I said, my voice cold, flat, and devoid of any human warmth. "We go hunting."
