The Godfather’s Forsaken Rose Chapter 23
At the time, Dominic was chairing an important board meeting about the family’s strategy for the next decade.
When his deputy leaned down and reported the news in a low voice, Dominic rose so suddenly from the head of the table that his face went white.
He did not explain.
Under the shocked eyes of every board member, he dropped the document in his hand, turned, and rushed out of the room.
“Prepare the jet. Now. Fastest route to Nice. No, to the nearest airport that can still take a landing.”
He shouted into the phone as he strode toward the elevator, his voice panicked in a way no one had ever heard from him.
“Contact every local rescue agency. Hire the best rescue team. Whatever it costs. I’m going myself.”
Family strategy, business empires, power games. All of it became meaningless the moment he heard Isabella might be in danger.
Only one thought remained.
Find her.
He had to find her.
Nothing could happen to her.
Absolutely nothing.
A few hours later, Dominic’s private Gulfstream took a dangerous window in the storm and forced a landing at a small airport closest to the disaster zone.
The weather was brutal. Dark clouds pressed low over the sky, wind and rain tearing through everything.
Dominic did not pause.
He transferred to a waiting helicopter and flew toward the missing area.
The helicopter could not land directly. It hovered over the safest ground they could find.
Ignoring the crew’s objections, Dominic was the first to slide down the rope into the mud. With him came an experienced mountain rescue team he had paid heavily to assemble.
“Mr. Morello, the road ahead is too dangerous,” the team leader shouted over the rain. “Mudslides are still active. We can’t go in.”
“Lead the way.”
Dominic’s eyes were red. His voice was hoarse.
His custom coat was soaked through with rain and mud, clinging to his body. He looked ruined, but the determination in his eyes frightened everyone.
Driven by instinct and desperate belief, he moved forward step by step.
Floodwater rose to his calves, cold enough to numb bone. Gravel tumbled from the hillside. Wind nearly knocked them down.
While dodging a small slide, a falling rock came toward the backpack carrying key rescue equipment. Without thinking, Dominic threw his body into it and knocked the pack aside.
The edge of the rock tore a deep cut into his left arm.
Blood poured out at once, staining the muddy water red.
“Mr. Morello!”
The team rushed to bandage him.
“I’m fine. Move.”
Dominic’s face was pale. Rain and cold sweat ran together down his forehead. He wrapped torn cloth around the wound, gritted his teeth, and pressed on.
The pain sharpened him.
He had to hurry.
Faster.
After more than ten hours without sleep, after a search that nearly cost them their lives, they finally found me in a ruined primary school classroom on a patch of higher ground surrounded by floodwater.
I was there with several teachers, comforting dozens of frightened children.
My hair was messy, my face pale, my clothes stained with mud. But my eyes were calm. I was even telling the children stories in a soft voice, trying to ease their fear.
When Dominic appeared at the classroom door, covered in mud and blood like a man who had crawled out of hell, everyone froze.
I lifted my head.
The moment I saw him, my pupils contracted, and shock spread across my face.
I clearly had not expected to see him there.
Least of all like this.
Our eyes met.