The strike was set for midnight.
I spent the hours leading up to it watching Dante transform. Gone was the man who'd held me tenderly the night before, who'd whispered words of love against my skin. In his place stood the don, cold and calculating, a general preparing for war.
"You'll stay in the safe room," he told me for the third time, checking his weapons with methodical precision. "Rosa knows the protocols. If anything goes wrong, if anyone breaches the perimeter, you get in there and you don't come out until Marcus gives the all-clear."
"I could help," I said, knowing it was futile but needing to try anyway. "I can shoot. You know I can."
"No." His grey eyes met mine, and for a moment, the don cracked, revealing the man beneath. "I can't focus out there if I'm worried about you. Please, Isabella. Let me do this knowing you're safe."
I crossed to him, straightening his jacket even though it didn't need straightening. "You come back to me. Promise me."
