Chapter 6 - The Blood Alliance
Victor stared at the silver falcon swaying in the firelight.
His breathing stopped entirely. His eyes widened, fixing on the stylized bird, then lifted slowly to meet mine.
"Isabella," he breathed.
The sound of my real name coming from his mouth after eighteen years sent a violent shiver down my spine. It sounded strange, foreign, yet deeply, painfully right.
"Tessa is the name the state gave me," I said softly, my voice trembling. "Isabella Moretti is the name my father gave me before he died."
Victor’s hand shifted from my cheek to the nape of my neck, his fingers tangling into my dark hair, holding me steady as if he were afraid I would vanish like a phantom into the smoke.
"You're alive," he whispered, a cracked, emotional sound that didn't belong to the Don of Philadelphia. "My God... you survived."
"A guard dumped me at a fire station," I explained, tears finally spilling over my eyelashes and running down my cheeks. "I didn't remember anything for years. Just the fire, the screaming, and the silver bird around my neck. I spent my whole life hiding, believing your family was hunting for the last Moretti."
"I would have protected you," Victor said fiercely, his thumb wiping away a tear from my jawline. "If I had known you were alive, I would have burned this entire city to the ground before I let anyone hurt you."
The sincerity in his voice cut through eighteen years of fear and doubt. I leaned into his touch, resting my forehead against his muscular chest, feeling the hard, steady rhythm of his heart beneath my cheek.
For the first time in my life, I felt completely, undeniably safe.
"Victor," I whispered against his skin. "The warehouse fire... it's Julian."
Victor went completely rigid. He pulled back slightly, his hands gripping my shoulders. "Julian? Your older brother?"
"He was twelve when our family was killed," I said, looking up into his dark eyes. "He must have survived the sweep. He thinks you're your father, Victor. He thinks the Sabatinis are still hunting our bloodline. He's trying to burn down your family out of revenge, just like I wanted to do before I came to this house."
Victor’s jaw set into a hard, stone line. "If Julian is using military thermite, he's hit three of my shipping hubs in forty-eight hours. My underbosses are calling for blood. Rocco is assembling a twenty-man strike team to search the South Philly docks tonight."
My heart dropped into an abyss of pure terror. "Victor, no! Rocco will kill him!"
"Rocco doesn't know who he is," Victor said sharply. "To Rocco, he's just an unknown insurgent trying to start a mob war."
"You have to stop them," I begged, grabbing Victor's arms, my fingers sinking into his biceps. "Please, Victor. He's my brother. He's the only blood family I have left in this world!"
Victor looked down at my frantic, terrified face. He saw the desperate fear of the six-year-old girl in the burning library, and the stubborn resolve of the woman standing before him today.
He reached for a black silk shirt resting on the chair, threw it over his head—not caring that the fabric brushed his scarred back—and began buttoning it up with rapid, practiced precision.
"Get your jacket, Isabella," Victor commanded, his voice returning to the iron-hard tone of a commander heading into battle.
May you like
I blinked. "What?"
"You're coming with me," Victor said, grabbing his gun from the nightstand and sliding it into his shoulder holster. "If we're going to stop your brother before Rocco puts a bullet through his heart, you're the only person in this city who can convince him not to pull the trigger on us."
