Chapter 8 - The Price of Redemption
The threat arrived three weeks later. It came in the form of a black SUV that didn't belong to the quiet Maine coast.
Isabella was at the grocery store when she saw them—three men, sharp-eyed, moving with the precision of trained assassins. They were scanning the aisles, looking for someone.
She realized with a jolt of terror that they weren't looking for her. They were looking for him.
She ducked into an aisle, pulling out her phone to call him, but the signal was blocked. She sprinted to the back, her heart hammering against her ribs. She couldn't let him die. Not here. Not after everything.
She found him loading supplies into his truck. “Lorenzo, get out of here! They’re here! Three of them, armed!”
He didn't panic. He moved with a terrifying, practiced efficiency. He shoved her into the truck, his expression turning cold and focused. “Stay down,” he commanded.
The shootout in the parking lot was short, brutal, and deafening. Lorenzo didn't fight like a mobster anymore; he fought like a man protecting his sanctuary. He took two of them down before the third managed to wound him in the shoulder.
Isabella climbed out of the truck, grabbed the gun from the fallen assassin, and walked toward the last man standing. She didn't hesitate. She didn't tremble. She pulled the trigger.
The silence that followed was absolute.
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Lorenzo sat on the asphalt, his arm soaked in blood. He looked up at her, his expression a mixture of shock and profound, terrifying love. “You shouldn't have seen that,” he whispered.
“I’m a DeSantis, aren't I?” she said, her voice shaking as she knelt beside him.
