ASHES AND OATHS : A MAFIA LOVE STORY (BOOK 1)

Chapter Three (Part 2) – Blood in the Market

(Isabella’s POV)

For a heartbeat, all I could hear was his breathing — shallow, fast, too close.

Rainwater dripped from his hair, streaking down his face. His hand was still locked around my wrist, firm but trembling with the adrenaline of near-death.

“You’re in my war now,” he said again, quieter this time.

Something in his voice wasn’t anger — it was fear. Not for himself… but for me.

“I didn’t ask to be,” I whispered.

“No one ever does.”

Footsteps echoed from the far end of the alley. Damian spun, gun raised. The narrow passage shimmered with reflected light from the street — flashes of red and blue. Police? No. Too precise. Too coordinated.

“They’re not done,” he muttered.

Before I could react, he grabbed my hand again, pulling me deeper into the maze of backstreets. We darted past rusted gates, laundry lines, and neon signs buzzing in the rain.

Bullets followed — sharp, metallic, merciless.

One whizzed past my ear. Another shattered a lamp post ahead.

“Damian!” I shouted. “You’re bleeding!”

He glanced down — a crimson patch spreading on his side. He didn’t slow. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing!”

He turned a corner abruptly, pulling me into a dark doorway. We stumbled inside — an old wine cellar, half-abandoned, filled with dust and broken bottles. He slammed the door shut, braced against it, and exhaled hard.

The silence afterward was deafening.

For a moment, neither of us moved. His chest rose and fell fast, every breath strained. I could smell the copper of his blood mixing with the musty air.

“Let me see,” I said, stepping closer.

“I said it’s fine.”

“It’s not!”

My voice cracked. I didn’t even know why — fear, anger, something else I couldn’t name. Carefully, I lifted the hem of his shirt.

The sight made me gasp. A bullet had grazed his ribs, carving a raw, bleeding line across his skin.

“Hold still,” I whispered, tearing a strip from my blouse.

His hand caught my wrist. “You don’t have to—”

“I’m not letting you bleed out in front of me.”

For a long second, he just looked at me — those storm-gray eyes softening for the first time. Then he let go.

I pressed the cloth against the wound. He hissed through his teeth but didn’t pull away. Our faces were inches apart now, our breaths mixing.

“This isn’t your world, Isabella,” he said quietly. “You should’ve walked away.”

“I tried.”

His lips twitched. “No, you didn’t.”

My hands trembled, whether from fear or something else, I didn’t know. The closeness was suffocating — danger and desire tangled into one.

“You saved me,” I said.

“Maybe that was my first mistake.”

The words hit something deep in me — a truth neither of us wanted to face.

Then he turned his head slightly, listening. Footsteps again — closer this time.

“Stay quiet,” he whispered, pressing a finger to my lips.

Through the c***k in the door, I saw shadows pass — armed men scanning the alley.

Damian’s hand found mine in the dark. His pulse was steady, his grip sure.

When the footsteps faded, he leaned closer, his voice barely a breath. “We can’t stay here. They’ll find this place soon.”

“Then where do we go?”

“To someone who might help us.”

“Who?”

“My brother.”