A/N: I know, I left a cliffie C: I've been putting a lot into this story and I hope everyone likes it! I finally have more inspiration for this, and hopefully more time to write and update. By the way, AOD stands for 'Angel of Death'.

Forgive

Well, that's a mighty big word

For such a small man

And I'm not sure I can

'Cause I don't even know now

Who I am

It's too soon for me to say

Forgive

Ooh, it's too soon for me to say

Forgive

Rebecca Lynn Howard — Forgive

Isabella ran downstairs into the hotel room where the freshest AOD body was. She silently cursed at herself for not catching him.

"Well, aren't you just a Little Merry Sunshine?" a uniform cracked a joke.

"I can hurt you", Isabella snapped. She was still berating herself over this. Her recklessness caused a hotel guest to lose her life. She bent down to look at the woman. She was petite, about five feet two inches, with dark brown hair. Blood pooled from the wound in her jugular. A stray smear was on the carpet, six feet from the body.

"Alright, Pacino, what do we have?" Mac Taylor asked. Isabella's gut twinged with guilt.

"Her name's Jenny Vernon, 27 years old. Works as a secretary out on 11th street", she replied. She felt a hand on her shoulder.

"Hey, this isn't your fault. Not unless you tracked him down, dragged him here, and threatened to shoot him if he didn't kill her", Mac said.

"I had his brother in custody, he almost cracked then he just shut down. He's still at large and he's taunting me. My hotel room is literally one floor up from this room. He was literally under my nose, and now he's in the wind", Isabella replied in a harsh voice. She clenched her fists, standing up. Now this was personal.

"Hey, nice jammies, Pacino", she heard someone tease as he walked in. It was Flack. Isabella looked down and saw she was still in her pajamas, a pair of shorts and an Aerosmith T-shirt. Half of her 'ribelle ' tattoo peeked out from under the hem of her shorts. She'd gotten tattoos of her heritage: Half of the Italian flag, half of the Irish flag in the middle of her back. 'Ribelle' meant 'rebel' in Italian. 'Mharú' or 'Killer' was tattooed on her shoulder.

"What's that mean?" an officer asked, pointing to 'ribelle' on Isabella's leg.

"Hold on, I'll get dressed really quick . People are starting to talk about my tats", Isabella said to Mac with a wry smile. She was proud of her Irish heritage.

"Alright, I figured you might need a minute", Mac replied with a chuckle. Cheeks burning, Isabella went into her hotel room to get her clothes on. It was weird to know everyone was right under her feet. After pulling on a pair of jeans and her usual button-down shirt, she shoved her feet back into her Converses and walked back into the crime scene, winding her hair back into a low dancer's bun.

"How many tats you got?" the officer asked, winking at Isabella.

"None that you will ever see", she replied, swabbing the stray smear and put a drop of lethanol on the cotton swab. It turned bright pink.

"We got blood", she called. She swabbed it again for trace and slid it into an envelope, muttering under her breath.

"Alright, we'll get it sent back to the lab. COD is apparently sharp force trauma due to a stab wound in the jugular vein. I'd put TOD around two, maybe three hours ago", Hawkes replied. She nodded to him and stood up.

"Hey, Flack, did we get surveillance tapes for this floor?" Isabella asked. Flack nodded.

"Yeah, couple of my guys are on it. Several witnesses say they saw the victim with a guy wearing sunglasses going into the room, but they didn't get a good look at him", he replied. Isabella clenched her fists.

"We're going to get this guy, alright? Don't beat yourself up", Flack said.

"Well, my night is going swell. First, Panthers stomp the Giants again, the next, a murder happens right under my nose. Then I forget to put on proper clothes to a crime scene", she replied. He gave her a cheesy smile.

"Hey, the forces of evil never sleep", he said. Isabella rolled her eyes and put the envelope in her kit.

"Therefore, I must fight crime in my pajamas?" she said.

"Exactly", Flack replied. Isabella dusted the bedpost for prints and pulled them up.

"So far, I've been at this for an hour. If I was an insomniac before, I sure as hell ain't now", she muttered.

"Go on up and sleep. If we need you, I'll send Danny upstairs to get you", Mac said. Isabella nodded gratefully at Mac and walked upstairs. She unlocked her room and saw someone sitting on her bed. She pulled out her piece and slowly raised it.

"Who's there?" she called. The person stood up and turned on the lamp. He looked like Uncle Tony and Ian, but older and harsher.

"Who the hell are you?" she demanded.

"Isabella", the man said softly. It hit Isabella like a ton of bricks. The man in her hotel room was her father, Armando Pacino.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded, her eyes narrowing. Her heart was racing like a hyperactive horse as she looked at the man sitting down, looking up at her like she was an unexpected guest.

"I heard you were in town. I wanted to see you", her father replied politely in an Italian accent. He blinked his large dark chocolate brown eyes. He looked too much like Ian. Same black hair, same eye-shape, same smirk, same jaw-set, toss of the head. He wore a black button down shirt, dark jeans, and cowboy boots. Her father was handsome for his age, she noticed.

"So you decided to break into my hotel room?" she said, incredulous.

"It wasn't as hard as I thought it was going to be", he replied.

"You're a Mafia crime lord. Nothing's too hard for you!" Isabella snapped coldly.

"Touche", he replied, not breaking his cool. It was infuriating. She wanted to make her father feel all the hurt she'd felt over the entire course of her life. She hated a man she never met with every fiber of her being.

"Can you ever forgive me for what I've done?" he asked suddenly. Isabella's blood boiled and it took every ounce of self-control to not punch him in the mouth for even thinking of asking her for forgiveness.

"Such a mighty big word for such a small man", she retorted.

"Here, let me show you the door. I've been up since four o'clock yesterday morning, got off at eight, had to go on scene at two. It's three thirty in the morning currently", she said, slamming her badge onto the table and walking towards the door. Armando set a card next to her badge and quietly went to the door after his daughter.

"I want to know the daughter I left behind. Deep down, Isabella, you want to know me too. Give me a call before you leave town", he said, kissing her forehead and leaving the room. Flack stood on the other side, his knuckles raised and about to knock.

"Mac sent me up to get you, we need to run something by you", he said, not taking his eyes off of Armando. Both men were locking eyes and a silent threat passed between them.

"I'll be in touch, Isabella", Armando said, sliding past Flack and walking away briskly.

"Where were you about fifteen minutes ago?" Isabella joked, trying to slow her racing pulse.

"I didn't even know Armando Pacino had a daughter; I can see the resemblance", Flack said, looking from Isabella to her retreating father. He'd connected the dots.

"Do me a solid and don't ever say that again", Isabella snapped, walking the other way to the stairs. She didn't want to share an elevator with her father. Hell, she didn't even want to share DNA with the man.

"You didn't get to sleep, did you?" Flack said. Isabella shook her head.

"And don't tell anyone about this or I will personally kick your ass and make you beg for mercy", she threatened.

"Don't worry, it's not like they'd believe me", he assured her.

A/N2: Okay, so I hope you liked this...it took me three tries to write this out. The first was that Isabella forgave her father and was dying to know more, but that would make my OC OOC lol. That simply would not do. The second one was her thawed heart, but then that wouldn't do either. This one sounds more like Isabella, so I hope you like it c:

Peace out,

Buster Quarantine