Isabella's POV
"Think, Isabella. Think!" Alexander shook me.
My mind was blank. Empty. Frozen by fear.
More gunshots echoed through the hospital. People were screaming. Running. The emergency lights cast everything in red, making it look like we were already drowning in blood.
"I don't remember!" I grabbed Sofia's bed rail. "I don't remember what happened to the box!"
"You have to remember. Right now. Or people die."
Four minutes.
I closed my eyes and forced myself back to that night. Five years ago. The Diamond nightclub.
I'd been serving drinks in the VIP section. The man in the photo—I still couldn't remember his name—had called me over. He'd been nervous. Sweating. Looking over his shoulder constantly.
"He gave me something," I said slowly. "A black box. Small. About the size of a phone. He said to keep it safe. Said people were coming for it and I was the only one he could trust."
"Why you?"
"I don't know! I asked him that. He said..." I pressed my hands to my head, trying to pull the memory out. "He said because I was invisible. Because people like him never notice people like me."
Three minutes.
The intercom crackled again. "Two patients down. Keep stalling, Isabella. See what happens."
"Oh God." I felt sick. "They're really doing it. They're killing people because of me."
"Focus!" Alexander snapped. "What happened after he gave you the box?"
"I put it in my apron pocket. Then the fire alarm went off. Everyone started running. There was smoke everywhere." The memories were coming faster now. "I tried to leave through the back, but the door was blocked. Someone grabbed me—a woman, like I told Dante. She pulled me toward the kitchen."
"What did she look like?"
"I don't know! It was dark and smoky and I was scared!" Tears streamed down my face. "She said something about the box. About hiding it. About—"
A memory exploded in my mind, so clear it was like it happened yesterday.
The woman's face. Older, maybe fifty. A scar on her left cheek. She'd grabbed the box from my pocket and shoved something else into my hand.
"A key," I whispered. "She gave me a key. She said the box was too dangerous to carry. That she'd hide it somewhere safe and I'd need the key to get it back."
Two minutes.
"Where's the key now?" Alexander demanded.
"I don't—wait." Another memory. "My storage unit. I have a storage unit with all my old stuff from before Sofia was born. Things I couldn't fit in our tiny apartment. The key might be there."
"Where's the storage unit?"
"Fifth Street. EZ Storage. Unit 247."
Alexander pulled out his phone and made a call. "I need a team at EZ Storage on Fifth Street. Unit 247. Break in if you have to. Find a key. Small, probably brass. Move now."
He hung up and looked at me. "My men will be there in three minutes."
"That's not fast enough!" The intercom had gone silent. Which somehow felt worse than the threats. "They said five minutes. We're already—"
The lights came back on.
Everything was suddenly too bright. Too real.
Dr. Patel rushed into the room, his face white. "We have a situation. Armed men have taken over the first floor. They're holding the emergency room hostage. At least fifty people."
"How many dead?" Alexander asked coldly.
"Two so far. Both security guards." Dr. Patel looked at me. "They're asking for you by name, Isabella. They want you to come down. Alone."
"No." Alexander stepped between us. "That's not happening."
"Then they'll kill more people!" Dr. Patel's voice cracked. "They've already shot a nurse. She's bleeding out on the floor and they won't let us help her unless Isabella comes down."
I felt like I was drowning. Like the walls were closing in.
This was all my fault. People were dying because of something I didn't even remember doing.
"I have to go," I said.
"Isabella, no—"
"Yes!" I pushed past Alexander. "I'm not letting innocent people die because of me. I'll go down there. I'll tell them about the storage unit. Maybe they'll leave if they think they can get what they want."
"They'll kill you the second they have that information."
"Then at least Sofia will be safe." I looked back at my daughter. Still unconscious. Still so small. "Promise me you'll take care of her. Promise me."
"I'm not letting you do this."
"You don't have a choice." I walked toward the door.
Dante appeared in the hallway, his gun drawn. Blood splattered his suit. His men flanked him, all armed.
"Going somewhere?" he asked.
"Downstairs. To stop more people from dying."
"Admirable. Stupid, but admirable." He lowered his gun. "But you won't make it past the second floor. They have the stairwells covered. The elevators locked down. This is a professional operation."
"Then what do we do?" I asked desperately.
Dante's eyes flickered to Alexander, then back to me. For a moment, something like respect crossed his face.
"We give them what they want."
"The box?" Alexander said. "We don't have it."
"No. But we have something better." Dante pulled out his phone and showed us a video. "This is live footage from your storage unit. My men got there two minutes ago."
On the screen, I saw two men in black suits breaking open a storage unit. My storage unit. They were pulling out boxes, dumping clothes, searching through everything.
"How did you—" I started.
"I've had people following you for days, Isabella. Since the moment you walked into The Velvet Rose." Dante's smile was cold. "I knew you'd lead me to the box eventually. I just didn't expect it to be under these circumstances."
On the screen, one of Dante's men held up something small and brass.
A key.
"Got it," Dante said into his phone. "Bring it to the hospital. Back entrance. Five minutes."
He hung up and looked at me. "Now we wait."
"Wait?" I wanted to scream. "People are dying!"
"And more will die if we rush this." Dante was too calm. Too controlled. "The men downstairs don't just want the box. They want whoever has it. They want leverage. Control." He looked at Alexander. "They want to know which family has the evidence. Romano? Moretti? Someone else?"
"So what's your plan?" Alexander asked through gritted teeth.
"Simple. We make them think Isabella is more valuable alive than dead." Dante turned to me. "Can you act scared?"
"I am scared!"
"Good. Then this should be convincing." He grabbed my good arm and pulled me toward the elevator. "We're going downstairs. Together. And we're going to negotiate."
"With what?"
"With the truth." Dante's grip tightened. "Sort of."
The elevator doors opened. He shoved me inside. Alexander followed, his hand on his own gun.
As the doors closed, Dante looked at me. "Do you trust me?"
"No."
"Smart girl. But right now, I'm the only chance you have of getting out of this alive." The elevator started moving down. "So when we get down there, you do exactly what I say. Understand?"
I nodded, too terrified to speak.
The elevator stopped on the first floor.
The doors opened.
Fifteen armed men stood in the lobby. All pointing guns at us.
In the center stood a woman I recognized. The woman from the fire. The one with the scar on her left cheek.
She smiled when she saw me.
"Hello, Isabella. It's been a long time." She walked closer, stepping over a body on the floor. The nurse Dr. Patel had mentioned. Still bleeding. Still dying. "I've been looking for you for five years. And now, finally, we can finish what we started."
"I don't know you," I whispered.
"No. But you knew my son." She pulled out a photo and held it up.
It was the man from the nightclub. The one who'd given me the box.
"His name was Marcus. And the Romano family killed him the night of that fire." Her eyes filled with hate. "They killed him because he was going to expose their crimes. Because he had evidence that would destroy them all."
She raised her gun and pointed it at Alexander.
"So before I take that box, before I finish what my son started, I'm going to kill every Romano I can find." Her finger moved to the trigger. "Starting with you."
"No!" I threw myself in front of Alexander.
The woman's eyes widened in surprise.
"You'd protect him? After everything the Romanos did to you?"
"I'm not protecting him. I'm protecting my daughter. She needs a father. Even if he's a terrible one."
The woman lowered her gun slightly. "You have a child?"
"Yes. She's five years old. She's upstairs right now, dying from a heart condition. And if you kill Alexander, she loses her only chance at survival." Tears ran down my face. "Please. I'll give you the box. I'll give you whatever you want. Just don't do this."
The woman stared at me for a long moment.
Then she smiled again. But this smile was worse. Colder.
"You have a daughter," she repeated softly. "Five years old. Upstairs."
My blood turned to ice.
"No. Please, no—"
"Marcus had a daughter too. She was seven when the Romanos killed him. She cried for her daddy every night for a year." The woman's eyes were dead. Empty. "So yes, Isabella. I know exactly what it's like to lose a father. And now, so will your daughter."
She turned to her men. "Forget Romano. Go upstairs. Third floor. Room 314. Kill the child."
Three men broke away from the group and ran for the stairs.
I screamed and tried to run after them, but Dante held me back.
"Let me go! Let me go! That's my baby!"
"Sending you up there won't help her," Dante said in my ear. "But I can."
He looked at his phone. Pressed something.
And every light in the hospital went out again.
In the darkness, gunfire erupted.
I heard men shouting. Bodies falling. Dante pulled me down to the floor as bullets flew overhead.
"Stay down," he ordered.
The emergency lights came back on.
Half the armed men were dead on the floor. Dante's people—where had they come from?—stood over them with smoking guns.
But the woman with the scar was gone.
And so were the three men she'd sent after Sofia.
"No!" I scrambled to my feet and ran for the stairs.
I took them two at a time, my wounded shoulder screaming in protest. Behind me, I heard Alexander and Dante following.
Third floor. Down the hall. Room 314.
The door was open.
Inside, I heard Sofia crying.
"Mama! Mama, help!"
I burst through the door.
One of the armed men had Sofia in his arms. He was pulling her tubes out. Disconnecting her from the machines that kept her alive.
"Put her down!" I screamed.
He turned, and I saw his face.
Young. Maybe twenty-five. Scared.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I don't want to do this, but she'll kill my family if I don't—"
A gunshot.
The man fell.
Sofia tumbled from his arms.
I caught her, cradling her against my chest as she sobbed.
Alexander stood in the doorway, his gun raised. Smoke curled from the barrel.
He'd shot the man. Killed him without hesitation.
To save our daughter.
"Is she okay?" he asked, his voice shaking.
I checked Sofia over. She was crying, terrified, but alive. Alive.
"She's okay. She's—"
A hand grabbed my hair and yanked me backward.
The woman with the scar pressed a gun to my temple.
"Give me the key," she hissed. "Give it to me now, or I paint the walls with your brain."
"I don't have it! Dante's men—"
"I know where it is." Dante appeared in the doorway. He held up the small brass key. "Right here."
The woman's grip on my hair tightened. "Give it to me."
"Let her go first."
"I don't think so. You bring that key to me. Slowly. Or the girl watches her mother die."
Dante walked forward, the key in his outstretched hand.
The woman released my hair and reached for the key.
In that split second, Dante moved.
He grabbed the woman's gun hand. Twisted. The gun fell to the floor.
But the woman was fast. She pulled a knife from her belt and slashed at Dante's throat.
He dodged, but not quite fast enough.
Blood sprayed from a cut across his jaw.
The woman lunged at me and Sofia.
Alexander fired.
The bullet caught the woman in the shoulder. She spun, stumbled, but didn't fall.
"This isn't over," she gasped, clutching her wound. "The box won't save you. It won't save any of you. More people will come. More powerful people. And they won't stop until everyone who knows the truth is dead."
She ran from the room, leaving a trail of blood behind her.
I held Sofia close, both of us shaking.
"Is it over?" I whispered. "Please tell me it's over."
Dante pressed a hand to his bleeding jaw. "No. It's just beginning."
He tossed the key to Alexander.
"The box is hidden in a safety deposit box at First National Bank. That key will open it." Dante's eyes were cold. "But before we open it, we need to know something, Isabella."
"What?"
"Why did Marcus choose you that night? Out of all the people in that club, why give the box to a random waitress?" He stepped closer. "Unless you weren't random. Unless you knew him. Unless—"
"I didn't know him! I'd never seen him before!"
"Then why—" Dante stopped. His eyes widened as he looked at Sofia. Really looked at her.
"How old did you say she was?"
"Five."
"And when exactly is her birthday?"
My stomach dropped. "Why does that matter?"
"Answer the question."
"September 14th."
Dante pulled out his phone. Did some quick math. His face went pale.
"The fire was December 20th, five years ago. If Sofia was born September 14th..." He looked up at me. "You were already pregnant that night. About three months pregnant."
"So?"
"So Marcus died that night. But before he died, he told someone the box went to 'his future.' We thought he meant his cause. His mission." Dante's voice dropped. "But what if he meant his actual future? His child?"
The room started spinning.
"No. That's insane. I don't—"
"Isabella." Dante grabbed my shoulders, forcing me to look at him. "Who is Sofia's father? And don't lie to me. Because if Marcus is her father, then everything changes."
I looked at Alexander. He was staring at Sofia with horror on his face.
"She's mine," he said. "Sofia is my daughter."
"Are you sure?" Dante asked. "Because Marcus had the same blood type. Same coloring. Same—"
"She's MINE!" Alexander's voice was raw with desperation.
But Dante wasn't looking at him anymore. He was looking at Sofia. At her dark hair. Her eyes.
And I realized, with sick certainty, what he was thinking.
What if I'd been wrong all these years?
What if the man who gave me that box—Marcus—hadn't been a stranger?
What if, five years ago, before Alexander, there had been someone else?
Someone I'd forgotten about.
Someone whose death had made me forget.
"We need a DNA test," Dante said quietly. "Right now."
"No," I said. But my voice was weak. Uncertain.
Because suddenly, I wasn't sure anymore.
And if Sofia wasn't Alexander's daughter...
If she was Marcus's daughter...
Then we didn't just have a box full of secrets.
We had the heir to those secrets sleeping in my arms.
And everyone in the criminal underworld would want her dead.