The storm chased them deep into the hills before finally breaking apart behind them.
By the time Damian forced open the rusted door of the old villa, both were soaked, shivering, and breathless.
The place smelled of dust and rain forgotten but not ruined.
A single chandelier swayed above, its crystals chiming softly with every gust of wind that blew through the cracked windows.
"Stay here," Damian ordered, scanning the shadows before crossing the room.
Isabella's arms wrapped around herself, her wet dress clinging to every curve.
The silence pressed heavy. When he returned, his eyes softened briefly.
"It's clear. You can breathe now."
She exhaled shakily, leaning against a faded wall. "Are they gone?"
"For now." He took off his soaked jacket, revealing the dark shirt plastered to his chest, outlining every line of muscle. His arm was still bleeding, she noticed it immediately.
"You're hurt again," she whispered, moving toward him despite the warning glare he shot at her.
"It's nothing."
"You always say that," she murmured, and before he could stop her, she tore a strip from her dress hem and pressed it gently against the wound.
He went still. Her touch was too soft for a man who only knew violence.
The warmth of her fingers seared through the cold, and for a long moment, he didn't breathe.
"Why do you do this?" he asked finally, voice low, dark. "Why care about a monster like me?"
Her eyes lifted to his. "Because you keep saving me, even when you don't have to."
A bitter smile formed across his lips. "You think I'm saving you, Bella?" His gaze darkened.
"Every time I touch you, every time I breathe near you, I drag you deeper into hell with me."
"Then maybe," she said softly, "hell isn't as cold as I thought."
The air between them cracked like lightning.
He stared at her, jaw tight, restraint warring with desire.
Her stubbornness, her softness, tore through the walls he built his entire life.
He took a step forward. Then another. Until her back hit the wall.
His hand rose , not rough, but hesitant brushing a wet strand of hair from her cheek.
His thumb lingered just beneath her jaw, where her pulse raced wildly.
"Don't look at me like that," he whispered again, voice rougher this time.
"Like what?"
"Like you see something worth saving."
She swallowed, her heart hammering. "Maybe I do."
He leaned in, his breath warm against her lips. "You shouldn't."
"Maybe I can't help it."
Silence. The world outside faded only the storm, their breathing, the pounding of two hearts.
Then, as if surrendering to something unexcapable , Damian closed the distance.
The kiss was slower this time, deeper.
Less war, more confession. His hand slid to her waist, her fingers curled into his shirt. The rain outside softened, but inside the storm only grew.
When he finally pulled back, his voice was barely a whisper.
"If I keep you here, they'll find us."
"Then don't keep me," she said. "Stay with me."
He froze because she didn't say save me, she said stay.
For Damian Moretti, that was far more dangerous.
The fire Damian built crackled weakly in the old stone hearth, its glow dancing across the walls.
The storm outside had softened into a rhythm ,steady, almost soothing but the tension between them burned hotter than the flames.
Isabella sat near the fire, wrapped in one of his shirts.
It was far too big, swallowing her petite body, the fabric still carrying the faint scent of his smoke, rain, and something darker.
Damian leaned against the wall across from her, arms folded, eyes unreadable.
Every part of him screamed restraint, but his gaze gave him away slowly, hungry, conflicted.
"You should sleep," he said finally.
"I can't."
"You need rest."
"So do you."
He didn't answer. He couldn't. Because every time she spoke, he forgot how to breathe.
Her voice softened. "You blame yourself for what happened, don't you?"
His jaw tightened. "You shouldn't try to understand me."
"I already do."
That broke something in him. He pushed off the wall, moving toward her before he even realized it.
The shadows from the firelight wrapped around him as he knelt in front of her.
"Don't," he murmured. "Don't look at me like I'm someone who deserves your softness."
"Then stop looking at me like you're afraid of it," she whispered back.
His hand brushed against her cheek slowly, trembling.
The touch was almost caring , as though he were afraid she'd vanish if he pressed too hard.
Her lips parted, a breath caught between them.
The firelight flickered against his face, sharp angles, dark eyes, a man torn between control and desire.
When he kissed her this time, it wasn't the reckless heat of before. It was a slow, deliberate, silent surrender.
His hands moved up her arms, mapping her skin as though memorizing her. She melted against him, the world narrowing to the feel of his breath, his warmth, his pulse.
She broke the kiss first, her forehead resting against his.
"Damian…" she whispered, her voice trembling. "Why does this feel like goodbye?"
His eyes opened slowly and she wished they hadn't, because they held too much.
"Because I don't know if I can keep you safe anymore."
Her fingers gripped his shirt. "Then take me with you. Wherever you go."
"You don't understand," he rasped. "If I let you that close, there's no going back."
She smiled faintly, eyes shining in the firelight. "Then don't go back."
He closed his eyes, breathing her in. The war inside him raged , duty versus desire, guilt versus need and for the first time in his life, he didn't know which side to fight for.
The rain stopped. The fire dimmed. And as he drew her back into his arms, the storm that began outside finally settled inside them.
But peace never lasts long in Damian Moretti's world.
Because just before dawn, a single, silenced bullet shattered the window.