The first light of dawn bled through the villa's tall windows, painting the stone floor in pale gold.
The silence was deceptive too still, too careful, like the house itself was holding its breath.
Isabella woke to the distant chirp of birds and the faint scent of smoke still clinging to her hair.
Her body ached, her mind replaying flashes of last night the gunfire, the flames, Damian's hand gripping hers through the chaos.
And his voice.
That voice was low, dangerous, trembling with something he'd never admit aloud.
You're the only thing in this godforsaken world that makes me feel alive.
She sat up slowly, clutching the thin blanket around her shoulders.
Her heart still raced whenever she thought about it. Whenever she thought about him.
Footsteps echoed outside the door. Firm. Controlled. She didn't have to guess who it was.
The door opened a crack, and Damian stepped in his shirt half unbuttoned, the bandage around his arm spotted faintly with blood.
Despite the exhaustion lining his face, his presence filled the room like thunder.
"You didn't sleep," he said, his voice gravelly.
"Neither did you," she murmured, watching him move toward the window.
He didn't deny it. Instead, he scanned the horizon with the sharp focus of a man who trusted nothing.
"Luca says the perimeter's clear. But I don't like this silence."
"Maybe it's over," she said softly.
He turned to her then, and she instantly regretted speaking. His eyes were cold, unreadable. "In my world, it's never over."
The words hung between them, heavy and final.
She swallowed. "What happens now?"
He walked toward her, slow, deliberate. "Now we find out who betrayed us."
There was a flicker of something else behind his expression pain, perhaps, or fury buried deep. She didn't know which terrified her more.
"Damian…" she began, but he cut her off, his hand suddenly cupping her jaw.
"Don't," he whispered, his thumb brushing the corner of her mouth. "Don't say my name like that."
"Like what?"
"Like you care."
Her pulse thundered in her throat. "Maybe I do."
His gaze darkened, searching her face for a lie. He found none. His breath caught, the tension between them snapping taut.
Then a knock at the door.
He froze instantly, pulling back. His expression shifted from something raw to pure calculation in a heartbeat.
"Stay here," he ordered, his tone clipped.
"Damian…."
"Stay."
He opened the door, gun already in hand. Luca stood there, his expression grim. "We've got company."
Damian's jaw tightened. "Who?"
Luca hesitated. "Someone claiming to be sent by Antonio Romano."
Isabella's blood ran cold. Her father.
Damian's gaze flicked toward her just once but the look in his eyes said everything. Fury. Betrayal. Conflict.
"Get her out of sight," he said quietly.
"Damian…."
"Now, Isabella!" His voice cracked like a whip.
She flinched but obeyed, heart pounding as Luca guided her toward the hidden passage behind the fireplace.
She turned just once just long enough to see Damian standing in the doorway, his shoulders squared, the morning light catching the gunmetal edge of his weapon.
Whoever had come… they were bringing war.
The heavy oak door creaked open, sunlight spilling across the marble floor as a man stepped into the villa.
He was tall, dressed in black, his movements too smooth to be casual.
A faint scar cut through his left eyebrow, and his smile, if it could be called that, didn't reach his eyes.
"Quite the fortress you've built, Damian," the man drawled, glancing around as if admiring the architecture. "It's been a while."
Damian didn't return the smile. His voice was ice.
"Name."
"Marco," the man replied. "Antonio sent me."
Luca shifted subtly to Damian's side, hand near his holster. "Antonio doesn't send people unannounced."
Marco's grin widened. "Are you sure about that?
He reached slowly into his coat Luca stiffened but instead of a weapon, he pulled out a sealed envelope embossed with Antonio Romano's crest.
Damian's eyes flicked to it, but he didn't take it. "Read it."
Marco arched a brow. "You don't trust me?"
"I don't trust anyone."
A beat of silence. The only sound was the faint ticking of the clock on the wall. Then Marco tore the seal and began to read aloud.
Damian,
There are movements you don't yet see. The fire was not mine. But if you keep her with you, both of you will burn. Bring Isabella to me before the next dawn. Or there won't be another chance for any of us.
A.R.
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Damian's expression didn't change, but the muscle in his jaw ticked. "He expects me to believe that?"
Marco shrugged. "Believe what you want. My orders were to deliver the message and bring her back safely."
"Safely," Luca repeated, his tone laced with disbelief. "That's not a word Antonio uses lightly."
Marco's eyes glinted. "Depends who he's trying to protect."
From the shadowed passage, Isabella heard every word. Her pulse thundered in her ears, her nails digging into her palms.
Her father didn't start the fire…? Then who did?
She leaned closer, heart racing until the floorboard beneath her creaked.
Luca's head snapped up immediately. Damian's gaze followed, sharp and deadly.
"Stay where you are," Damian warned Marco, then strode to the fireplace.
In one swift motion, he pulled the hidden panel aside revealing Isabella, frozen, guilt painted across her face.
"Damian…" she began, but he grabbed her wrist, pulling her out roughly.
"You were supposed to stay hidden," he hissed.
"I heard what he said," she whispered, eyes darting to Marco. "My father didn't start the fire…."
"Your father lies for a living," Damian snapped, his voice razor-edged.
Marco's smirk deepened. "She's got your fire, Damian. Careful it'll burn you too."
Damian turned on him, fury flashing in his stormy eyes.
"You tell Antonio this if he wants her back, he'll have to walk through hell to get her."
Marco tilted his head, unbothered. "Message received."
He turned to leave but paused at the door.
"One more thing," he said over his shoulder.
"There's a bounty on your head now, Damian. Someone paid a fortune for your corpse."
And then he was gone.
The door slammed shut.
Luca cursed under his breath. "This is bad."
Damian stood still, silent, his mind calculating.
Then he turned to Isabella, his voice low, dangerous, almost trembling.
"Pack your things. We move tonight."
She stared at him. "Where?"
His gaze met hers, dark and burning.
"Somewhere no one will find you. Not even your father."
But even as he said it, he knew there was no such place anymore.
Outside, thunder rolled in the distance, a storm gathering on the horizon.