Chapter Four (Part 1) – Secrets and Shadows
553 Words
(Damian’s POV)
Sleep didn’t come easy that night. The villa had too many memories—echoes of broken glass, whispered orders, the ghost of his father’s voice barking commands from the study. Even the wind sounded like it carried old sins.
Damian poured a glass of whisky and stood by the window, watching the storm roll across the Mediterranean. Rain streaked down the glass, and lightning flashed over the cliffs. Somewhere in the guest wing, he could hear Isabella moving around—restless, too.
He hated that she was here. Hated that he’d dragged her into this. But the moment he’d seen her at the market, everything he’d buried came crashing back—the fire, the guilt, the feeling that he didn’t deserve peace.
“You’re drinking before dawn,” Luca’s voice drawled behind him.
Damian didn’t turn. “Old habits die hard.”
“So do brothers.” Luca stepped into the light, half-dressed, hair still damp. “The city’s buzzing. Someone saw you at the market. The Santorini cartel wants your head—again. You really know how to pick your moments.”
“I didn’t have a choice,” Damian said flatly.
Luca smirked. “You never do, do you? Always saving someone. Always pretending you’re not one of us.”
Damian set his glass down hard enough for the crystal to c***k. “I’m nothing like you.”
“No?” Luca took a step closer. “You carry a gun. You kill when cornered. You run when it suits you. The only difference between us is that I stopped lying about what I am.”
Silence hung thick between them. The air smelled of rain and whisky.
Finally, Luca leaned against the window, his tone softer. “She’s beautiful, you know. The journalist. Brave. Stupid, maybe—but beautiful. Does she know what you’ve done for her to be alive tonight?”
“Leave her out of this,” Damian warned.
“Why?” Luca’s grin sharpened. “Because you care?”
Before Damian could answer, a sound echoed from the hallway—a faint creak, followed by soft footsteps. Isabella stood at the doorway, wearing one of his shirts. Her hair was tousled, her expression uncertain.
“I couldn’t sleep,” she said quietly. “The storm’s too loud.”
Luca chuckled. “The storm’s the least of your problems, sweetheart.”
“Enough,” Damian snapped.
Luca raised both hands, feigning innocence. “Fine. I’ll behave. For now.” He brushed past Isabella, pausing just long enough to murmur near her ear, “Careful, darling. The Moretti men don’t come with warning labels.”
He disappeared down the corridor, leaving tension crackling in his wake.
Isabella watched him go, then turned to Damian. “He’s impossible.”
“He’s dangerous,” Damian corrected.
She stepped closer, arms folded. “Then why do I get the feeling you’re more afraid of me than of him?”
He looked at her—really looked at her. The damp curls, the defiance, the way her pulse beat just beneath her throat. Something inside him gave way.
“Because you make me forget who I’m supposed to be,” he said.
Lightning flashed, and for a heartbeat, she saw it—the pain, the want, the man behind the mask.
- Writer
