The air was heavy, sharp with the scent of rain and gun oil.
Isabella's pulse thundered in her ears as the distant crunch of tires grew louder, closer.
"Someone followed us," Luca hissed, already moving toward the window with his gun drawn.
Damian's eyes flicked toward the door, calculating, even through the pain. "They shouldn't have found this place. No one should've."
Isabella still stood frozen before the old fireplace, her gaze fixed on the golden crest carved above it two serpents intertwined around a dagger.
Her father's crest. The Romano family's symbol.
She turned to Damian slowly. "Why is that here?"
His jaw clenched. "This isn't the time."
"Yes, it is," she shot back, voice trembling with fury and fear. "You brought me here. To his house."
"I brought you somewhere safe," Damian said, stepping closer, his tone low but commanding.
"That's all you need to know right now."
"Safe?" she echoed, the word cracking. "You call this safe? You're bleeding, they're outside, and you're hiding secrets like I'm still some pawn in this sick game!"
He flinched not from the pain in his side, but from her words. For once, the control in his voice wavered. "You think I wanted this?"
"I don't know what to think anymore!" she cried, tears burning behind her eyes.
"You said you hated everything my father stood for but you're living inside his walls!"
Before he could answer, a gunshot shattered the moment.
Glass exploded from the window beside Luca, who dropped to cover.
"They're here!" Luca barked. "Two cars masked shooters!"
Damian's body snapped into motion, all emotion stripped away. He grabbed his gun from the table, checked the magazine, then looked at Isabella. "Get down."
But she didn't move.
"Damian.."
"Isabella," he said, his voice deadly calm. "Now."
Luca was already firing, the sharp echo of bullets ringing through the hall. Damian dragged Isabella toward the back of the room, wincing as his side reopened.
She tried to help him, but he pushed her behind a wall. "Stay here. Don't move unless I tell you."
"Damian.."
He turned to her, their faces inches apart, breath mingling. "If they get inside, run through the cellar.
There's a tunnel that leads into the woods. You hear me?"
She nodded shakily, her fingers clutching his shirt. "You're not going out there alone."
His lips curved faintly. "You've got fire, you know that?"
"Don't joke now."
"Not joking." His hand brushed against her cheek, soft, fleeting. Then he pulled away. "Stay alive, Bella."
He turned and was gone.
Gunfire filled the night.
Luca shouted something she couldn't make out.
The sound of boots crunching on gravel came next, closer, closer.
Then silence.
Her breath hitched. She could hear her heartbeat hammering against her ribs, deafening in the quiet.
"Damian?" she whispered.
No response.
She crept toward the window, every step slow, careful. Through the shattered glass, she saw the faint outline of men moving in the rain shadows, armed and precise.
One of them stepped forward, lifting his mask.
Her blood ran cold.
"Marco…" she breathed.
He was alive and he was leading them.
He smirked when he saw her through the glass. "Found you."
Before she could react, the door exploded inward. The blast sent her sprawling to the floor, ears ringing, vision blurred.
Hands grabbed her, rough and unyielding. She screamed, but the sound barely cut through the chaos.
"Get her!" Marco shouted. "Damian's no good to us dead yet."
Then another gunshot, this one deafeningly close. Marco froze, his expression twisting as a bullet tore through his shoulder.
Damian stood in the doorway, blood running down his side, eyes burning with fury.
He fired again a clean shot. The second man fell.
"Get away from her," he snarled.
"Damian!" she cried, crawling toward him as the chaos exploded again.
Luca was shouting somewhere behind them, the storm howling through the broken windows.
But Marco only smiled, clutching his bleeding shoulder.
"You don't even know, do you?" he taunted.
"You think she's yours to protect but she was his first. His blood. His deal."
Damian's eyes darkened. "Shut up."
"You're protecting the same girl your father promised to destroy," Marco hissed.
And that was when everything stilled for both of them.
The words hung between them like smoke.
Damian's breath caught. Isabella stared at him, confusion flickering into horror.
"What is he talking about?" she whispered.
But Damian didn't answer. He couldn't.
Because for the first time since she'd met him he looked afraid.
Rain pounded against the roof like gunfire, drowning out the echo of the last shot. Smoke and silence filled the hall, the kind that made every heartbeat feel too loud.
Isabella's hands shook as she crawled toward Damian, her eyes darting between him and Marco's blood pooling across the marble.
"Damian, what did he mean?" she asked, her voice cracking. "What deal?"
He didn't answer right away. He kept his gun trained on Marco, whose breath came in ragged, wheezing pulls.
"Tell her," Marco coughed, grinning through the pain. "Tell her why your father wanted her father dead. Why you.."
"Shut up!" Damian's voice thundered, raw and venomous.
But the damage was already done.
Isabella's chest tightened. The air seemed to vanish around her. "Damian…?"
Luca appeared in the doorway, bruised but steady, his expression grim. "We have to move. Now. More are coming."
Damian hesitated, still staring at Marco at the blood, at the truth he'd tried so hard to bury.
Then he turned to Isabella. His hand reached for her, but she stepped back, shaking her head.
"Don't," she whispered. "Don't touch me."
"Bella, it's not…"
"Not what it looks like?" she cut him off, eyes shining with betrayal.
"Every time I think I understand you, you make me doubt everything again."
The flicker of pain in his gaze was brief, almost imperceptible. "You think I wanted any of this?"
"I don't know what to believe," she said softly, her voice trembling. "Just tell me the truth."
Damian's jaw tightened, a storm brewing behind his eyes. "Not here."
He glanced toward the windows, where more headlights appeared in the distance. "We don't have time."
Luca grabbed his arm. "He's right. We stay, we die."