The morning after the break-in, the mansion felt… different.
Quieter. Tenser.
Guards moved through the halls like shadows, speaking in low voices. Every time I passed one, their eyes flicked to me, assessing, as though measuring whether I was worth the trouble Damian had gone through to keep me alive.
I stayed in our bedroom for most of the morning, staring at the closed door. Last night replayed in my head in flashes—the intruder's silent approach, Damian's swift shot, the cold way he'd knocked the man unconscious.
By noon, I found Damian in his office. He sat behind a massive desk, sleeves rolled up, dark hair damp as though he'd just showered. A faint bruise marred his jaw.
He didn't look up when I entered. "You should be resting."
"I can't," I admitted. My voice sounded smaller than I wanted it to. "You said they came for me. I want to know why."
He sighed, setting down the pen in his hand. "You want honesty? Fine. My enemies think I have a weakness. They're testing me. You're their test."
The words made my stomach tighten. "And if they see me as a weakness?"
"Then they'll keep coming." His eyes finally met mine, sharp and unyielding. "Which is why I need you to listen to me. Stay inside. Stay with me. Don't do anything reckless."
Something in me bristled. "What if I don't want to just… hide?"
His brows drew together. "Elena—"
"I mean it." I stepped closer, my hands curling into fists at my sides. "Last night, I felt useless. You were the one protecting me. But what happens if you're the one in danger and I can't do anything?"
He leaned back in his chair, studying me as if I were a puzzle he couldn't quite solve. "You think you could protect me?"
"I think I can try."
For a long moment, the only sound was the faint ticking of the clock. Then, to my surprise, his mouth curved into something that wasn't quite a smile.
"You're not like most women I know," he said quietly. "They would've taken the first flight out after what happened."
"I'm not most women."
The silence stretched between us, heavy but not uncomfortable. Finally, he stood, moving toward the cabinet in the corner. From it, he pulled a small, sleek black case.
He set it on the desk and opened it. Inside lay a compact handgun.
My breath caught. "I don't—"
"You said you don't want to be useless," he interrupted. "Then learn."
He picked up the gun, checking it with practiced ease before holding it out to me.
I hesitated. The weight of it in my hands felt strange, wrong—and yet… necessary.
"Safety's here," he said, pointing. "Magazine release here. You never point it at something you're not ready to destroy."
I tried to steady my grip as he adjusted my hands, his fingers brushing over mine. His touch was firm but not rough, guiding me into the right stance.
"Your hands are shaking," he murmured.
"I'm fine."
He stepped behind me, close enough that I could feel the heat of his chest against my back. "Breathe in. Aim. Exhale slowly when you pull the trigger."
I did as he said, feeling his presence steady me. My finger hovered over the trigger.
"Now," he whispered.
I squeezed, the sound of the click loud in the quiet room. My heart pounded.
"Good," he said, taking the gun from me. "We'll start with this. Then we'll move to live rounds at the range."
I turned to face him, searching his expression. "Why are you doing this?"
"Because," he said, his voice low, "if you're going to survive in my world, you need more than walls and guards. You need teeth."
Something shifted between us in that moment—something unspoken but undeniable. He wasn't just seeing me as someone to protect anymore. He was seeing me as someone who might stand beside him.
A knock at the door broke the tension.
Lucia stepped in, her sharp eyes flicking between us. "Boss, we have a situation. They've taken Marco."
Damian's jaw tightened. "Who?"
Lucia hesitated. "The Varelli family."
I didn't know who Marco was, but the name "Varelli" made Damian's face darken like a storm cloud. He grabbed his jacket, moving toward the door.
Without thinking, I stepped after him.
"You're staying here," he said, not even turning around.
"No." My voice came out steadier than I expected. "If you're going into danger, I'm going with you."
He stopped in the doorway, his shoulders tense. For a moment, I thought he'd refuse outright. But then he glanced over his shoulder, eyes locking on mine.
"This isn't a game, Elena."
"I know. But you said it yourself—if I'm yours, I'm a target. So either I stay behind and wait for someone to come after me… or I'm by your side, learning how to fight back."
His gaze held mine for a long, charged moment. Then, slowly, he nodded once.
"Fine. But you follow my lead. You don't speak unless I tell you to. And if I say run, you run."
"Deal," I said.
Lucia raised an eyebrow but said nothing as we followed Damian out.
The black car waited in the driveway, rain still clinging to its surface from the night before. Damian opened the door for me, his hand lingering at the small of my back as I slid inside.
As the engine started and the gates of the mansion swung open, I realized I was crossing a line I could never uncross.
For better or worse, I had just taken my first step into Damian Moretti's world.
And I wasn't sure I ever wanted to go back.