His heartbeat pounded against his ribs as he turned the corner, boots crunching against the pavement. A cold dread coiled in his stomach before he even saw her.
Isabella.
She stood at the entrance of their small apartment, clutching her swollen belly. Her face was pale, her breath shaky. But what made Jake's blood freeze was the trio of men surrounding her, their faces shadowed, their hands resting on the holsters of their weapons.
His pulse roared in his ears. He had seen these men before — Mafia enforcers, hunting him down after he eliminated one of their own. He thought he had shaken them off. He thought Isabella was safe.
"Mr. Sanchez," one of them drawled, tilting his head. "We've been looking for you."
Jake stood frozen, an unseen observer trapped in the past. He wasn't in his body — he was watching, reliving, forced to see every detail unfold without the power to change it.
