Chapter 170
Alexander and Isabella crashed through the dense undergrowth, their breaths ragged. The mafia’s reinforcements were gaining on them faster than expected.
“Down!” Alexander’s voice was sharp as a sudden gust of wind sent Isabella’s dark hair flying.
He sensed it too—the electric prickle of danger in the air.
Without hesitation, he yanked her against him.
They hit the forest floor hard, rolling behind a massive oak just as bullets shredded the bark above them.
The hunters were closing in.
Moonlight barely pierced the thick canopy, casting eerie silver streaks across the uneven terrain. Shadows twisted between gnarled branches, offering fleeting cover.
The thugs moved cautiously now, their steps deliberate, rifles raised.
“Fan out,” a red-haired man commanded, voice like ice. “Damon and Rugal are already dead because of them. They won’t get far.”
Isabella held her breath, pressed against Alexander’s solid frame.
Footsteps crunched over dry leaves—closer, closer.
The salt-kissed breeze carried the scent of the sea.
“The coast is near,” she whispered, lips barely moving. “There’s a boat. If we reach it, we can hold out until the police arrive.”
But from their hiding spot, they saw the path to the shore was already blocked.
The mafia was thorough. Time was running out.
“I’ll distract them,” Alexander said, tone brooking no argument. “Take out the guards at the shore. I’ll buy you time.”
He gripped her wrist. “Wait here first.”
Isabella’s jaw tightened, but she wasn’t one for pointless debate.
“And no reckless heroics,” she muttered. “None of that ‘die together’ nonsense.”
Survival meant risks. They both knew it.
With a sharp nod, she melted into the trees, swift as a shadow.
Alexander watched her disappear, not with fear, but fierce pride. He trusted her—Isabella always delivered.
Their bond was forged in fire, unshakable.
Slowly, he stood.
A deliberate cough shattered the forest’s silence.
“Over here!” His voice carried, calm and clear.
Instantly, boots pounded toward him from all directions.
Hands raised, his expression remained unreadable, eyes steady.
He was betting everything on her.
Meanwhile, by the shore, a stocky redhead paced, flicking cigarette ash into the dirt.
“Damon and Rugal were always useless,” he sneered, tugging his leather jacket tighter. “Letting a woman slip past them. Pathetic.”
His companion adjusted his rifle. “Now we’re stuck cleaning up their mess. You think she’ll even make it this far?”
As if summoned, leaves rustled behind them.
“Who’s there?” The redhead whirled, nerves frayed.
Only silence answered.
He turned away—then froze.
A figure emerged from the trees, bathed in pale moonlight.
A woman.
Her hair flowed like ink in the wind, her stiletto heels stained with blood. Her dress swayed like a specter’s shroud.
“There she—”
The words died as she struck.
One fluid motion. A twist. A snap.
He crumpled before the others could blink.
Cold. Precise. Lethal.
Guns swung toward her.
“Don’t move!”
