Isabella wasn't afraid of blood.
She was afraid of silence.
And right now, Antonio was too damn quiet.
They moved fast through the narrow corridors of the east wing, past portraits of dead men who built the Morello empire with bullets and bone. Every time a door creaked or a floor groaned, Isabella gripped the knife tighter. She'd stolen it from her father years ago. She'd imagined using it on him more times than she could count.
But tonight, it might save her from his men instead.
"You know," she said breathlessly, "this is not how most people celebrate a honeymoon."
Antonio glanced at her without slowing. "Most people don't marry the enemy."
"I'm starting to think I married the lesser evil."
"Careful," he muttered. "He likes women who fight back. It makes it more fun when he breaks them."
Isabella stopped in her tracks.
Antonio did too, surprised.
She stepped forward, blade pointed at his chest — just a little.
"Adrian doesn't scare me."
"He should." Antonio's eyes darkened. "Because he's the only man I know who kills slower when he likes someone."
She held his stare. Then lowered the knife.
"Where's the armory?"
They reached a wall at the end of the hall. Antonio tapped a sequence into the panel behind a painting. The wall slid open with a hiss.
Steel. Racks of weapons. Knives. Rifles. Smoke grenades. Kevlar vests. Even fake passports in labeled drawers.
Isabella stepped inside like she was stepping into a different version of herself.
"Suit up," Antonio said. "If you know how."
"I was trained by men who wanted me dead before I hit puberty. I think I'll manage."
She pulled a vest off the rack and strapped it on like second skin. She chose two knives — one for each thigh — and took a Glock off the wall.
Antonio raised an eyebrow. "You planning to kill your father?"
"No," Isabella said, loading the pistol. "I'm planning to survive him."
Suddenly, the lights flickered.
A loudspeaker crackled. Then Adrian's voice, deep and cold, filled the estate.
"To the coward hiding in my house — you have one minute to surrender. After that, I'm coming for you. Personally."
A pause.
"And if you touch my wife… I'll make you watch your own fingers burn before I let you bleed out."
Isabella stared up at the ceiling. Something fluttered in her chest. Not fear. Not affection.
Recognition.
He wasn't bluffing.
Antonio let out a low whistle. "Romantic."
"Terrifying," she corrected. But she wasn't sure which one she meant more.
Then the power went out.
Total darkness swallowed the armory.
Three seconds later — the emergency lights flickered on.
And a voice came from behind them.
"Funny thing about hidden rooms," said a man in the shadows, pointing a gun. "They always open both ways."
Isabella spun — but not fast enough.
The intruder grabbed her, yanked her against his chest, gun to her temple.
Antonio raised his weapon, swearing. "Let her go."
"You shoot, she dies."
"She dies, you die slower."
"Big words," the man sneered. "But this isn't about her. It's about the package she delivered. The Don's access codes."
Antonio's eyes narrowed. "What the hell are you talking about?"
The man laughed. "You think she's just a bride? Check her phone. Go on. Let's see what Daddy dearest really gave her as a wedding gift."
Isabella's breath caught.
Because she knew exactly what he'd find.
Antonio moved slowly, pulling the phone from her vest pocket. Unlocked it. Scrolled.
Stopped.
"What is this?" he muttered.
Isabella didn't speak.
She couldn't.
Because if she said one word, she'd have to explain the file labeled Vault Phoenix — a Morello server key disguised as wedding photos.
And she didn't know why her father planted it on her.
She only knew what Adrian would think.
Betrayal.
Suddenly, a bullet tore through the air — and the man behind her dropped.
Adrian stood at the doorway, gun smoking.
He looked at Isabella.
At the phone in Antonio's hand.
Then at the blood on her cheek.
He didn't speak.
He just raised his gun again.
And pointed it at her.