Crimson vows

Isabella Moretti's heart pounded so loudly she wondered if the entire city could hear it. The taxi's headlights cut through the late‑night mist as it rumbled from the highway onto the waterfront boulevard. Rain-slicked pavement reflected neon signs for clubs, casinos, and late‑night diners-each flicker a reminder of the dangerous world she had abandoned. Salty ocean air mixed with exhaust fumes and the distant wail of a siren. The city felt alive and predatory all at once, as if it had waited five years just for her return.

She dropped a crisp bill into the driver's hand, avoiding his gaze. The driver nodded once, then peeled away. Isabella stepped onto the curb, her boots clicking against the wet concrete. She pressed her black clutch-slim, unassuming-closer to her side. Within it lay everything she needed to reenter Marco Vitale's world: her burner phone, a small pistol, and the single playing card that had brought her back.

Five years ago, she had fled under the cover of darkness, her unborn child hidden beneath layers of clothing, her heart breaking with every mile. She thought running would keep them safe. But safety had proven to be an illusion. Tonight, that illusion shattered with the words scrawled across a blood‑red border: "Midnight-or bleed."

Memories of Marco-his cold blue eyes, the hard line of his jaw, the way he protected people he cared for-flickered through her mind. Fear and longing warred in her chest. She drew a steadying breath, reminding herself why she was here. Her son's life depended on it.

Pulling her phone from the clutch, she unlocked the encrypted contact list. Scrolling, she found Enzo-the only one she trusted to keep her secret. She tapped his name and held the phone to her ear.

"Enzo?" Her voice trembled on the first syllable.

"Isabella." His answer came after a heartbeat that echoed like an accusation. "I thought you were dead-or didn't exist anymore."

She squared her shoulders and let the rain bead on her hair. "I'm here. I need intel-now. It's urgent."

A low click. "Make it fast."

"Meet me at The Red Lantern. Ten minutes."

He hesitated, then agreed. Isabella pocketed the phone and turned toward the bar-a scarred, graffiti‑tagged building two blocks down. Before she reached it, a sleek black sedan slid parallel to her on the street. Dark windows. No tail lights. Her pulse hammered harder, but she kept walking. If it was one of Marco's scouts, she needed to show confidence.

The Red Lantern's neon sign sputtered above the entrance. A single red bulb flickered, casting long shadows on the cracked sidewalk. Isabella pushed through the door into a haze of cigarette smoke and whiskey. The scent of stale beer clung to every surface. A battered jukebox in the corner crooned a blues track that seemed to mourn her arrival.

Enzo sat in the back booth, hunched over a chipped table. His broad frame nearly filled the seat; his head bowed as if weighed down by too many secrets. When she approached, he looked up-dark eyes flashing with recognition, anger, and something softer she hadn't seen in years.

"You made it," he said, voice low enough to keep the entire bar from listening.

"I had to." She slid into the booth opposite him. "They have my son."

He leaned forward, scrutiny sharpening his features. "What happened?"

Isabella took a trembling breath and then pulled the playing card from her clutch, placing it on the table. The card's crimson border was stained with smudged fingerprints. In the center, scrawled in childish black ink, were the words: "Midnight. Or bleed."

Enzo's jaw tightened as he traced the edge of the card. "Giovanna Serrano's handwriting." He set the card aside, rubbing one knuckle against the wood. "She wants you-or Marco. I can't tell which she craves more."

"She wants leverage," Isabella said. "If Marco comes, they'll kill the boy in front of him." Her voice caught. She pressed her palms flat, fighting emotion. "If I come alone... I don't know what she'll do."

Enzo's eyes hardened. "He'll kill them all, blood‑spattered or not."

She closed her eyes for a moment, the memory of Marco's fury-when she disappeared-flashing in her mind. He had struck a man in the docks with enough force to shatter bone. That same rage, she knew, could be her salvation or her undoing. "I need locations. Names. Anything."

He glanced toward the bar's entrance. Two men at the counter nursed beers but stared at their phones-likely watching them. Enzo slid a finger across the edge of the booth's seat cushion. "Shipment yard on Dock 12. Warehouse 3. They use it as a staging post." He unholstered a USB drive from his jacket and pushed it across to her. "Maps, guard rotations, encrypted radio frequencies. But it's old intel-she's moved the boy multiple times in the last seventy‑two hours."

Isabella pocketed the drive. "Then we need live eyes."

Enzo shook his head. "I've got men on it. Low profile. But you should know: Marco refuses half‑measures." He studied her face. "He'll move tonight. He won't wait for your intel."

She clenched her jaw. "I won't let him walk into an ambush. Not after what I did."

The words hit both of them with their weight. Enzo's gaze flickered with guilt. "I get it." He exhaled slowly, fingers tapping the tabletop. "I'll tighten the net. But you have to stay off the grid. If he hears he can't trust you... Hell, he might not look for you at all."

A bitter laugh escaped her. "Then he'll never forgive me."

He leaned forward again, voice barely above a whisper. "He's a monster when he's angry-but he's human. And he loves that boy. You were right to come back."

Isabella's throat constricted. Gratitude and fear warred in her chest. She forced a nod. "Tell your men to be ready at eleven. I'll be at Dock 12, Warehouse 3."

He slid from the booth, moving closer so no one else could hear. "Text me once you're in position. I'll feed you any updates." He paused, locking eyes with her. "Be careful, Bella."

She managed a small, grim smile. "I will."

Enzo melted back into the smoky glow of the bar. Isabella sat alone for a moment, the card and her racing thoughts the only company. Outside, rain had picked up, pattering against the windows. She could almost see her son's face-a round cheek pressed to his blanket, tiny fingers clutching soft fabric. Tears welled, but she blinked them away. No time for weakness.

Sliding from the booth, she exited into the chill night. The black sedan was gone. She touched the pistol at her waist-light, familiar. She checked her phone: 10:07 PM. Dock 12 wasn't far. She set off down the deserted street, heels echoing against brick walls plastered with peeling posters.

At the corner, she paused under a flickering lamppost. The scent of saltwater grew stronger, mingling with diesel fumes. The distant clang of cranes punctuated the night. Her plan was simple: get eyes on the warehouse, confirm her son's location, and-if all went well-signal Enzo to call Marco in. Then the real rescue would begin.

Every step deeper into the docklands felt like descending into a different world. The city's neon fantasies gave way to rusted shipping containers, flickering sodium lights, and the sharp tang of metal. A lone gull cried overhead, startling her. She hugged her clutch to her side, feeling the weight of the playing card inside.

She had fled this place once. She had tried to leave Marco behind, believing distance would protect them. But now she knew: there's no escape from the ones you love-especially when they hold your heart and your family's life in their hands.

With resolve steeling her spine, Isabella stepped off the sidewalk and onto the gravel path that led to Dock 12. The warehouse loomed ahead-dark silhouette against the black water. Midnight approached. And with it, her reckoning.