Taming the storm

Chapter 5

Chapter 5: Doubtful Innocence

The room was dimly lit, the heavy scent of expensive cigars and lust hanging in the air. Damian Moretti leaned back against the headboard, his toned chest glistening faintly with sweat. The woman beside him—blonde, curvy, and forgettable—traced lazy circles on his chest, her lips curling into a satisfied smirk.

“You’re quiet tonight,” she purred, pressing a kiss to his collarbone.

Damian didn’t respond. His sharp blue eyes were fixed on the ceiling, his mind somewhere far from the room they shared. With a huff of impatience, the woman slid her hand down his chest, but he caught her wrist mid-motion.

“We’re done here,” he said flatly, his voice as cold as the winter air outside.

The woman frowned but knew better than to argue. She swung her legs off the bed, gathering her clothes from the floor. “You’re always so charming, Damian,” she muttered under her breath, slipping into her dress.

He didn’t respond, didn’t even spare her a glance as she left the room, slamming the door behind her.

The silence that followed was deafening. Damian ran a hand through his dark hair, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, all circling back to one thing—or rather, one person.

Alessandra De Luca.

He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her since his father had mentioned the marriage. An innocent girl, hidden away from the mafia world? It didn’t make sense. Vincenzo De Luca was a snake, a man who thrived in deception and bloodshed. How could someone like him raise an innocent daughter?

Damian scoffed, the thought almost laughable. “Innocent,” he muttered under his breath, the word foreign in his mouth.

He stood, walking to the bar cart in the corner of the room. Pouring himself a glass of whiskey, he stared out of the window at the city below. The Moretti empire stretched across every corner of it, and soon, the De Lucas would be tied to it as well.

Taking a sip, Damian tried to picture this so-called Alessandra. His father had painted a picture of a young woman with no ties to the mafia, someone who had chosen a life of nursing over power and money. But Damian wasn’t naive. People like her didn’t exist in their world.

What’s her angle? he wondered, his grip tightening on the glass. What’s Vincenzo hiding?

There was no way someone untouched by the darkness could come from the De Luca family. Vincenzo was ruthless, just like every other mafia boss. And if Alessandra truly was innocent, then she was weak—a liability, a pawn in her father’s games.

But then there was the part of him that lingered on the possibility. What if she really was different? What if she was everything his father had described and more?

He hated that he even cared.

Damian drained the rest of his whiskey, slamming the glass onto the bar cart with a little too much force. He wasn’t the type to dwell on things, especially not women he hadn’t even met yet. But there was something about this marriage, about Alessandra, that had him on edge.

For a moment, he considered calling his right-hand man, Enzo Ricci, to gather more information on her. But he stopped himself. He didn’t need to play detective. If Alessandra was hiding something, he’d find out soon enough.

Walking back to the bed, Damian pulled the sheets over his body, his thoughts still restless.

She’s probably just another spoiled mafia princess, he told himself, closing his eyes. And if she isn’t… well, I’ll deal with that when the time comes.

But deep down, he knew the truth: Alessandra De Luca was already under his skin, and he hadn’t even met her yet.

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Damian leaned back in his chair, the dim light of his private office casting shadows across his sharp features. A man knelt before him, trembling, sweat dripping from his temple onto the polished marble floor. The room was silent except for the soft ticking of the antique clock on the wall and the man’s shallow, panicked breaths.

Enzo Ricci stood to Damian’s right, his arms crossed and his expression unreadable. “He stole from us,” Enzo said flatly, his voice cutting through the tension. “For months. Passing intel to the Ricci syndicate in exchange for cash.”

Damian’s jaw tightened, his icy blue eyes locking onto the man. “Is that true, Marco?” he asked, his voice eerily calm.

Marco flinched at the sound of his name, his hands clasped in front of him as if praying for mercy. “Mr. Moretti, I swear, it’s not what it looks like! They forced me—they said they’d kill my family if I didn’t cooperate!”

Damian remained silent, studying him with a predator’s patience. The room grew colder with each passing second, the weight of Damian’s stare suffocating.

“Family, huh?” Damian finally said, standing up and walking slowly toward Marco. The sound of his shoes against the floor echoed in the room. “And what about my family? What about the men who trusted you, who bled for you? Did you think about them when you sold us out?”

Marco’s lip quivered. “Please, Mr. Moretti. I didn’t want to do it—I had no choice!”

“There’s always a choice,” Damian said, his voice now dangerously low.

He turned to Enzo, who handed him a sleek, silver knife without hesitation. Damian held it in his hand, inspecting the blade as if it were a piece of art. The light caught the sharp edge, reflecting a glint that sent another wave of terror through Marco.

“I gave you a place in my family,” Damian said, his tone unwavering. “I trusted you. And you repay me with betrayal?”

“Please,” Marco begged, tears streaming down his face. “I’ll do anything—just give me one more chance!”

Damian’s expression hardened, all traces of humanity vanishing from his features. “You made your choice, Marco.”

In one swift motion, Damian drove the knife into Marco’s chest, the sound of steel meeting flesh filling the room. Marco let out a strangled cry, his hands clutching at Damian’s arm in a futile attempt to stop the inevitable.

Damian twisted the blade, his face a mask of cold detachment as blood seeped onto the floor. He leaned in close, his voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t betray the Morettis and live to tell the tale.”

With one final pull, Damian yanked the knife out, and Marco collapsed onto the floor, lifeless. Blood pooled around him, staining the pristine marble. Damian wiped the blade on a handkerchief Enzo offered, his movements precise and methodical.

Enzo broke the silence, his tone as calm as ever. “What do you want us to do with the body?”

“Send it back to the Riccis,” Damian said, his voice devoid of emotion. “Let them know what happens to anyone who crosses me.”

Enzo nodded, already pulling out his phone to make the necessary arrangements.

As Damian turned to leave the room, his steps unhurried, a dark thought crossed his mind. This is who I am. And this is the man Alessandra De Luca is about to marry.

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