The penthouse was no longer quiet.
Elara woke to the thrum of voices bleeding through the walls—men barking orders, phones ringing, footsteps heavy with urgency. The air vibrated with tension, a storm gathering behind velvet drapes and marble floors.
Something had shifted.
She slipped from her bed, pulling a robe around her shoulders, and cracked the door. Guards filled the corridor, more than usual, their faces tight, eyes sharp. Marco stood among them, murmuring into his phone in rapid Italian.
When he saw her, he gave a quick shake of his head. Stay inside.
But staying still had never been her strength.
She padded down the hall until she found the study door ajar. Inside, Damian stood over the city map, his hands braced on the table, head bowed. Papers were scattered across the surface, names scrawled in black ink, photographs with red Xs slashed across faces. A gun lay beside him, gleaming in the low light.
She hesitated at the threshold. "What happened?"
His head lifted slowly.
"You should be in your room."
Her pulse quickened. His voice wasn't sharp this time—it was controlled, heavy, like a man holding back an avalanche.
"I asked you a question," she said softly.
He studied her for a long moment before answering. "There was an attempt on Marco last night. They're closing in."
Her stomach twisted. "Because of me."
His jaw flexed. "Because of me."
She stepped inside, heart racing. "Then fight them. Do what you have to do. But stop locking me away like I'm a piece on your board."
His eyes narrowed. "You are not a piece. You are the board."
The words chilled her.
He moved closer, slow, deliberate, until the desk separated them by only a breath. His hands flattened on the surface, veins taut beneath his skin.
"You don't see it, Elara," he said, voice low, dangerous in its calm. "You think I cage you because I want power. But the truth is, you're the only thing holding this empire together right now. They know it. I know it. And if you step outside, if they even touch you, everything burns."
Her breath caught. His eyes burned into hers—not cold this time, but alive, feral, desperate.
"I never asked for this," she whispered.
"I never asked for you," he shot back.
The silence after cut like glass.
But then his gaze softened, just barely. "And yet…" His voice dropped, raw. "Here you are. The only thing I cannot lose."
Her chest tightened. She hated that her body leaned toward him, drawn like a moth to flame.
Before she could speak, the door burst open.
Marco strode in, phone in hand, face pale. "It's confirmed. The leak's inside."
Damian's head snapped around. "Who?"
Marco hesitated, eyes flicking briefly to Elara before lowering. "Luca. One of the inner guard."
Damian's body went still. Deadly still.
"Bring him here," he said.
Marco nodded and vanished.
Elara's pulse hammered. "What does that mean?"
"It means someone sold us," Damian said flatly.
Her stomach turned. "And you'll—what—kill him?"
His eyes flicked back to her. "Yes."
The word was so calm it made her shiver.
Minutes later, two guards dragged a man into the study—Luca, tall and wiry, his face bloodied, lip split. They shoved him to his knees before the desk.
"Damian, please," he begged, voice cracking. "It wasn't me. I swear—"
Damian stepped around the desk, slow and methodical, like a predator circling prey.
"You've been with me six years," he said quietly. "I gave you a name, a place, loyalty. And this is how you repay me?"
Luca's eyes darted wildly. "It wasn't me. Someone set me up—"
The crack of Damian's hand across his face silenced him.
Elara flinched.
Damian crouched low, eye to eye with the man. His voice was almost gentle. "Tell me the truth, and I'll make it quick."
Luca broke then, sobbing. Words tumbled out—how he'd passed intel to the Bratva for money, how he thought Damian would never find out, how he hadn't known they'd target her.
Elara's blood iced.
Damian rose slowly, eyes like steel. "You endangered her."
Luca's head snapped up, panic wild in his eyes. "Please, boss, I didn't mean—"
The shot rang out before he finished.
Elara gasped, stumbling back as Luca's body crumpled, blood pooling across the marble.
The guards dragged him away without a word.
Silence fell, thick and suffocating.
Damian holstered the gun and turned, his face unreadable.
Elara's stomach twisted. "You didn't even hesitate."
His eyes met hers, cold and burning all at once. "Hesitation kills empires."
Her chest ached. "What about mercy?"
He stepped closer, shadows wrapping around him like armor. "Mercy kills faster."
She wanted to scream at him, to tell him he was a monster. But the words caught in her throat. Because part of her knew—without his ruthlessness, she would already be dead.
That night, the penthouse was quieter, but Elara's head was loud with echoes. The gunshot. The look in Damian's eyes. The way he'd said you're the board.
She couldn't sleep. So she wandered the east wing until she found herself at the balcony. The city stretched endless before her, glittering and alive, a world she could not touch.
Behind her, the door opened.
Damian stepped out, a cigarette glowing between his fingers. He rarely smoked. She wondered what it meant that he did tonight.
He leaned against the railing, silent. The glow lit his jaw, the hard lines of his face.
"You killed him without blinking," she said softly.
He exhaled smoke, watching it curl into the night. "Yes."
"And it doesn't haunt you?"
His eyes flicked to hers, sharp and tired. "Every night. But I do it anyway."
Her throat ached. "Why tell me that?"
He studied her for a long moment, then said, "Because I don't want you to believe I'm made of stone. I bleed, Elara. I just don't show it."
Her chest tightened. For a moment, the city fell away. It was just the two of them, raw and unmasked.
She stepped closer, against her better judgment. "Why me?" she whispered.
His jaw clenched. He ground out the cigarette, turned, and faced her fully.
"Because you're the only thing that makes this life feel like it's worth bleeding for."
Her breath caught.
The air between them crackled, thick with something neither of them dared name. His hand lifted, brushing her cheek, lingering this time.
She didn't move away.
Her heart pounded. If he leaned in, she knew she wouldn't stop him.
But once again, he pulled back, his restraint a blade cutting through the moment.
"Go inside," he said roughly.
Her chest ached, but she obeyed, because if she stayed, she wasn't sure she could.
Lying in bed later, Elara pressed her hands over her racing heart.
Damian Moretti was a monster. She had no illusions about that.
But monsters weren't supposed to bleed. And tonight, she'd seen him bleed without spilling a drop.
And that terrified her more than anything else.