HIS FAVORITE ENEMY

Chapter six

The silence stretched long after Damian’s revelation. Alessia’s hand still lingered in Isla’s, her pulse pounding with confusion and fury. A daughter. His daughter. That sweet, fragile, mute girl she had mistaken for another victim… belonged to him.

Damian broke the stillness first, his tone smooth as ever. “Take Isla to her room,” he commanded, not looking at the girl but flicking his gaze toward the guards stationed by the garden archway.

At once, the two stepped forward.

But Isla didn’t move. Her small fingers clung tighter to Alessia’s hand, refusing to let go. Alessia felt the tremor in her grip, the silent plea that traveled from the girl’s palm straight into her own chest.

“No.” Alessia’s voice rang sharp and clear, slicing through the air. The guards froze, startled. Even Isla’s wide eyes flicked to her.

Damian’s brows arched, faint amusement flickering in the depths of his storm-gray eyes. “No?” he echoed, as if testing the sound on his tongue.

“You’re not taking her anywhere,” Alessia said, standing her ground, tugging Isla gently behind her like a shield. “I don’t care who you are, she’s not going with them.”

The corner of Damian’s mouth curved, the faintest ghost of a smirk. “Protective already? How touching. But you’re in no position to dictate what happens under my roof.” His voice deepened, velvet threaded with steel. “Step aside.”

Alessia lifted her chin, defiance blazing in her dark eyes. “If you want her, you’ll have to get through me.”

For a moment, tension thickened in the garden, sharp enough to cut. The guards shifted uneasily

Damian’s gaze locked on Alessia, his gray eyes narrowing, a storm brewing. “Step aside, Alessia,” he said, his tone calm but edged with steel. “This isn’t your fight.”

“Like hell it isn’t,” she snapped, her voice trembling with rage. She glanced at Isla, whose tiny frame seemed to shrink under the floodlights. “She’s a child, Volkov. Your daughter or not, she doesn’t belong in this… this cage you call a home.”

Damian’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t move, his coat billowing as a gust swept through the garden. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, his voice low, dangerous. “Isla’s safe here".

Alessia laughed, sharp and bitter, the sound echoing off the mansion’s stone walls. “Safe? With you?” She gestured to the guards, their guns glinting, then to the razor wire topping the walls. “You shot my father in front of me. Chained me to a bed. And you expect me to believe you’re some doting parent?”

Isla stepped closer, her small hand brushing Alessia’s, a fleeting touch that stopped her cold. The girl’s eyes were fixed on her, not scared but searching, stealing glances as if memorizing her face. Alessia’s heart clenched, but she didn’t back down, her glare returning to Damian.

“Viktor,” Damian said again, his voice harder now, his eyes never leaving Alessia. “Take her. Now.”

Viktor moved, but Alessia grabbed Isla’s shoulder, gentle but firm, pulling her closer. “I said no,” she hissed, her voice low, lethal. “You want her? Go through me.”

“You want to protect her? Fine. But we need to talk. Alone.”

Alessia’s grip on Isla tightened, her heart racing. “Talk? So you can lie to me again? Tell me she’s safe while you play warlord?”

Isla’s hand squeezed hers, a small, silent plea. The girl glanced up, her gray eyes catching the floodlight, then looked back at Damian, her expression unreadable. Alessia’s chest ached, she didn’t know this child, but she’d promised to come back for her. She couldn’t let her go with these men, not after everything.

“Isla,” Damian said, his voice softening, a tone Alessia hadn’t heard before. “Go with Viktor. I’ll come to you soon.”

The girl hesitated, her eyes darting between Alessia and her father. Then, slowly, she stepped back, stealing one last glance at Alessia, long, lingering, like she was afraid to let go. Viktor took her hand, gentle but firm, and led her toward the mansion’s glass door, her sketchbook dangling at her side. Alessia’s throat tightened, but she forced herself to stay still, her glare burning into Damian.

The door clicked shut, and the garden felt emptier, the floodlights colder. Damian faced her, his presence overwhelming, the wolf fountain’s shadow stretching across his face. “You’re stubborn,” he said, his voice low, almost amused. “It’s going to get you killed.”

“Then let it,” Alessia spat, stepping closer, her bare feet steady on the gravel despite the thorns pricking her ankles. “You think I’m going to stay here and play prey with you?"

He tilted his head, his smirk returning, faint but sharp. “You’re free to go, Alessia.” He gestured to the forest, its dark pines swaying beyond the garden’s edge. “Walk out that gate. See how far you get before the Bratva finds you. Or the Cartel. Or my enemies, who’d love to carve up Giovanni De Luca’s daughter.”

She laughed, the sound raw, defiant. “You think I’m scared of your enemies? I’d rather face them than stay in this prison with you.”

His eyes darkened, but his voice stayed calm, each word deliberate. “You’re not thinking straight. You’re angry, grieving. I get it. But running gets you nothing but a bullet.”

“Don’t pretend you care,” she hissed, her hands clenching into fists. “You killed my father. You chained me up. And that girl....” Her voice cracked, the image of Isla’s stolen glances burning in her mind. “How did you manage to become a father to her?"

“You don’t know me,” he said, his voice low, raw.

"hell no,I don't and I don't want to,you don't deserve her,you don't deserve to have a daughter like her"

"you're a murderer and that's what you'll ever be good at"