Ricco's hands came up, away from his body, held out to show they were empty.
"What the fuck do you think you are doing, Isabella?" Her father's voice exploded across the room, and for the first time, she heard something underneath the control. Shock. Anger. And maybe...just maybe....respect.
Isabella turned her head to look at him, keeping the gun trained on Ricco's head.
Her father stared at her, really looked at her....and she saw it. That flicker across his face. Recognition. Understanding. She was a Russo. His daughter. And he'd trained her too well for her own good.
"It's either you let me go," Isabella said, her voice never wavering, "or I blow off his head right now. Your choice, Father. But you can't keep me here."
Her father was completely still.
