Chapter 12

(Tony's POV)

The fire crackled weakly in the center of the camp, casting flickering shadows over the group. My body screamed in protest as I shifted against the tree trunk, the bandages around my chest damp with sweat and blood. The world was spinning slightly, and the pain was enough to make me dizzy, but I refused to close my eyes. Not now.

"You've led us straight into hell, Vince." My voice came out rough, rasping like a dull blade.

Vince, who had been pacing near the edge of the clearing, froze. His broad shoulders tensed, his head tilting slightly as if he hadn't heard me correctly. Slowly, he turned, his dark eyes narrowing in the dim light.

"What did you just say?" His voice was low, steady, but there was an edge to it that warned me I was stepping onto dangerous ground.

"You heard me," I said, forcing myself to sit up straighter despite the sharp pain that shot through my ribs. "Every move we've made since we left that cabin has been a disaster. Traps, explosions, ambushes-how do we know you're not the one leading us into this mess?"

The clearing went silent, the weight of my accusation hanging heavy in the air.

"Tony, that's enough," Isabella said softly, her blue eyes wide with concern. She knelt beside me, her small hand resting lightly on my arm. But I shrugged her off, my anger boiling over.

"No, it's not enough," I snapped. "We're out here bleeding, dying, and for what? For him to play hero? For him to drag us into Elena's trap?"

"Careful," Vince said, his voice colder now. He stepped closer, his towering frame casting a shadow over me. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't I?" I shot back. "How many times are we going to walk into their traps before we realize someone's tipping them off? Someone who knows exactly where we're going and when."

Enzo, who had been leaning against a nearby tree with his arms crossed, straightened. His sharp eyes flicked between Vince and me, his jaw tightening. "You're accusing Vince of being a mole?"

"I'm saying it's possible," I said, glaring up at him. "Can you prove it's not?"

Vince's laugh was bitter, sharp like the crack of a whip. "That's rich, coming from you. You think I'd risk my own life to sell us out? You think I'd-"

"Enough!" Enzo's voice cut through the rising tension, his tone like steel. He stepped between us, his presence commanding, and looked down at me. "Tony, you're out of line. Vince has done everything he can to keep us alive."

"Has he?" I muttered, but the fire in my chest was already dimming, replaced by exhaustion.

Vince shook his head, his lips curling into a bitter smile. "I don't need this," he said, stepping back. "I don't need any of you to trust me. Trust doesn't keep people alive-action does."

He turned on his heel, his boots crunching against the dirt as he disappeared into the shadows of the forest.

"Vince!" Isabella called after him, but he didn't stop.

I leaned back against the tree, my breath heavy. The firelight flickered across Isabella's pale face, her worry etched deep. For the first time, I wasn't sure if we'd make it out of this alive.

\---

(Isabella's POV)

The night stretched on endlessly, the forest quiet except for the distant hum of crickets. I sat by the fire, staring into the flickering flames as my mind raced. Vince hadn't returned.

"Stop fidgeting," Enzo's deep voice rumbled beside me.

I glanced at him, sitting with his back against a fallen log. His dark hair was disheveled, and his face was lined with exhaustion, but his eyes remained sharp and alert.

"I'm not fidgeting," I said, though I knew I was lying. My hands had been wringing the edge of my scarf for the past ten minutes.

He raised an eyebrow but said nothing, letting the silence settle between us. It was a rare thing, being alone with Enzo. Usually, he was too busy planning, arguing with Vince, or watching over Tony.

"You think Vince is okay?" I finally asked, breaking the quiet.

He hesitated, his lips pressing into a thin line. "He'll be fine. Vince knows how to handle himself."

I nodded, though his words didn't ease the knot of worry in my chest. My gaze dropped to the fire again, the flames dancing in shades of orange and gold.

"Enzo," I began softly, my voice barely above a whisper, "do you ever wonder if if we'll make it out of this? If any of us will?"

His expression softened, and for a moment, the hardened soldier faded away, replaced by something gentler, something almost vulnerable. "I do," he admitted. "Every damn day. But wondering won't help. We keep moving forward, no matter what."

I swallowed hard, my throat tight. "I'm scared," I confessed.

He leaned closer, his warm hand covering mine. His touch was firm but reassuring, grounding me in a way I hadn't expected. "You're stronger than you think, Isabella. Don't let fear control you."

Before I could respond, a sharp crack echoed through the forest. A gunshot.

We both froze, the moment shattering like glass.

"Vince," Enzo muttered, his voice tense.

Without another word, he grabbed his weapon and stood, his tall frame silhouetted against the firelight. I followed, my heart pounding as the darkness swallowed us whole.

\---

(Enzo's POV)

The decrepit farmhouse loomed before us, its wooden beams sagging under the weight of years. The windows were dark, the air around it heavy with the scent of damp earth and decay.

"This is it," Vince said, his voice low. He stood ahead of us, his face shadowed by the moonlight.

I kept my gun raised as we approached, every nerve on edge. The Morettis could be anywhere, waiting for us to slip.

The door creaked open, revealing a man in his sixties with grizzled hair and a shotgun slung over his shoulder. His eyes narrowed as he took us in, his gaze lingering on Vince.

"Carlo," Vince said, stepping forward. "We need your help."

Carlo's lip curled in disdain. "You've got some nerve showing up here, Vince. After everything."

"We don't have time for this," Vince snapped. "We're being hunted. Do you want blood on your doorstep?"

Carlo's eyes flicked to the rest of us before he stepped aside, letting us in. The inside was just as rundown as the exterior-peeling wallpaper, broken furniture, and a faint smell of mildew.

"You've got one night," Carlo said gruffly. "Then you're gone."

As we settled in, Carlo leaned against the wall, his eyes sharp. "The Morettis are planning something big. If they pull it off, the Romanos won't just lose-they'll be wiped out."

The weight of his words settled over us like a storm cloud. Whatever came next, it was going to change everything.