Chapter 9
Damian stepped into the room. He looked like a god of war. His crisp white shirt was stained with soot and blood, the sleeves rolled up to reveal his muscular, tattooed arms. The extremely short stubble on his jawline was dark with ash, and a nasty cut ran across his high-bridged nose. Yet, his posture remained unbowed, and his cold, observant eyes swept the room instantly, finding her in the dim light.
"You're bleeding," Clara gasped, dropping the candlestick and rushing toward him.
"Is a little blood not the cost of cleaning house?" Damian asked, catching her by the waist as she collided with his chest. His large, tattooed hand came up to rest gently on the back of her head, holding her close. The smell of gunpowder and expensive cologne enveloped her.
"Is it over?" Clara whispered against his chest, terrified of the answer.
"Do you believe the Arden family will ever pose a threat to us again?" Damian inquired, stepping back slightly to look down into her face. "Victor is dead. His remaining men surrendered when they realized they were completely surrounded by my tactical teams."
Clara swallowed hard, the brutal reality of the mafia world crashing over her. She had started a war, and Damian had finished it. "And Celia?"
"Will you accompany me to the cellar to conclude that piece of business tomorrow?" Damian asked, a dark, unforgiving shadow crossing his eyes.
Before she could answer, a loud crash echoed from the hallway outside the suite.
Marcus stumbled into the doorway, out of breath, his scarred face tight with fresh tension. "Boss, we have a major problem. It wasn't just the Ardens out there. Someone opened the service gate from the inside."
Damian’s posture instantly shifted back to absolute, rigid alert. "Did they infiltrate the house?"
"Two men slipped past the perimeter," Marcus grunted, raising his weapon. "They are in the west wing corridors right now."
Damian looked down at Clara. The danger was not over; it had breached their sanctuary.
"Will you keep her safe for me?" Damian asked, pulling a heavy, suppressed pistol from his holster and pressing it firmly into Clara's trembling hands.
"I will," Clara promised, gripping the cold steel of the weapon, her heart blazing with fierce determination.
"Shall we finish this?" Damian asked, turning his broad shoulders toward the dark hallway.
The dim, plush corridors of the west wing felt suffocatingly quiet compared to the war that had raged outside. Damian stepped out of the suite, pulling the heavy oak door shut behind him, leaving Clara and the sleeping old woman locked safely inside. He held his assault rifle with terrifying ease, moving with the predatory silence of a hunting panther.
"Are they moving toward the master suite, Marcus?" Damian asked, his voice a barely audible whisper over the comms.
"They are sweeping the second floor, Boss," Marcus replied softly. "They are looking for the old woman."
Damian’s jaw firmed into unyielding granite. The thought of those men breathing the same air as Clara ignited a cold, murderous fury deep within his chest. He navigated the shadowed archways, his polished leather shoes making absolutely no sound on the thick carpets.
Two men in dark tactical gear stepped out from a branching corridor, their weapons raised.
"Did you think you could infiltrate my home and live to see the dawn?" Damian asked.
The men spun toward the deep voice, but they were entirely too slow. Damian fired twice. The suppressed weapon made a sharp, deadly thwip-thwip sound, and both men collapsed instantly to the floor, neutralized before they could even pull their triggers.
Damian stepped over their bodies, his angular face a mask of cold, calculating wrath. The threat was eliminated. The estate was secure.
He walked back to the guest suite, his broad shoulders finally relaxing a fraction of an inch. He knocked twice on the heavy oak door.
"Are you ready to open the door, Clara?" Damian asked softly.
May you like
The deadbolt clicked, and the door opened. Clara stood there, still gripping the heavy pistol, her chest heaving. When she saw Damian standing there, unharmed, she let out a shattered breath of relief and lowered the weapon.
"It's over," Damian said quietly, stepping into the room and taking the gun from her shaking hands. He engaged the safety and set it on a nearby dresser.
