Isabella Rossi never planned to return to New York, but when you're the heir to a mafia empire, plans are just... let's say, polite suggestions.
Within hours of her return, she comes face-to-face with the one man she swore she'd never encounter aga...
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Antonio Anger
The words hit harder than any punch ever could.
"You were always mine."
The arrogance in Vargas's bloodied smile—like this was some kind of twisted game—set every nerve in me on fire. I saw Isabella's hand tighten on the pistol, her jaw clenching so hard I thought it might snap.
But she hesitated. Just for a second.
And that second was too long for me.
"Fuck this," I snarled, fury crashing over me. I lunged forward and shoved her aside, knocking the gun from her grip. I charged forward, mind blank but for one thing: Vargas's face and that goddamn smirk.
"Antonio, don't!" Isabella's voice broke through, sharp and pleading.
But I didn't listen. All I could see was Vargas, his eyes mocking me, like he had any right to look at her—at us—like that. I slammed him against the wall, my forearm crushing his throat, and his laughter faded to a choked gasp.
"You think you own her?" I hissed, my voice low and venomous.
Vargas managed a choked laugh, even as I pressed harder. "You still don't get it," he rasped. "She's—"
I silenced him with a fist to the face. The crunch of bone was satisfying, but not enough. I hit him again and again, until the smugness melted from his face, replaced by blood and broken teeth.
"Antonio, stop!" Isabella's voice cracked this time, somewhere between anger and fear. She grabbed my arm, but I shrugged her off, lost in the fury burning through my veins.
He had no right—no fucking right—to even look at her, let alone say her name like she belonged to him. He'd already taken so much from her, and the idea that he could still think he had some kind of power over her made my blood boil.
I grabbed the knife Vargas had dropped, spinning it in my hand as if the weight of it could ground me. But it didn't. Nothing would—not until he stopped breathing.
"You want her so bad?" I whispered, pressing the blade against his throat. "How about I carve her name off your soul, right here, right now?"
"Killing me won't change a thing," he spat, coughing blood. "I own parts of her you'll never—"
I slammed the hilt of the knife into his mouth, silencing him with a sickening crunch. Teeth shattered beneath the impact, and his head snapped back, slamming against the steel wall, blood dribbling down his chin, and he let out a painful laugh, each cough splattering more blood onto the ground.
"Shut. Your. Mouth." I growled, voice shaking with fury.
He coughed, spitting out blood and fragments of teeth, laughing through the pain. . "You'll never save her from what she is, Montegna," he choked out, eyes glinting with defiance. "You think this ends with me?"
