Chapter Eight – The Lies We Inherit
857 Words
(Dual POV: Isabella + Damian)
Isabella
Smoke.
That was the first thing she smelled when she opened her eyes. Smoke and salt and blood.
The room spun. Her wrists were raw, her vision blurred. Somewhere nearby, someone groaned. Then she remembered—the dinner, the gunfire, the explosion of chaos.
And him.
“Damian?” she rasped.
A figure stirred in the corner. He was slumped against a broken chair, blood streaking down his temple, but alive.
Relief hit her like a flood. “Thank God.”
He gave a faint, crooked smile. “Still breathing. You?”
“Barely.”
Outside, distant shouts echoed—the Don’s guards, searching through the burning mansion. The explosion must have taken out part of the estate. The walls trembled with every new blast.
“We have to move,” Damian said, pushing himself upright despite the pain. He reached for her, gripping her hand. “Can you walk?”
She nodded, though her knees threatened to buckle.
They slipped through the shattered hallway, the mansion collapsing in on itself like a dying beast. Flames painted the marble red. A portrait of Don Moretti cracked down the middle as they passed, his gaze split in two.
It felt symbolic.
When they reached the study, Damian stopped. “Wait.”
He pulled open a drawer, rummaging through it until he found what he was looking for—a small black envelope, sealed with wax.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“My mother’s records,” he said quietly. “He kept them locked here. Proof he was lying.”
He shoved it into his jacket. “Come on.”
But as they reached the back exit, Luca appeared—gun raised, fury burning in his eyes.
“Going somewhere, brother?” he sneered.
Damian pushed Isabella behind him. “Move, Luca. I’m not doing this now.”
“Oh, I think you are.” Luca stepped closer. “You ruined everything. You betrayed the family, the business, me. You chose her.”
“She’s innocent.”
“She’s a liability!” Luca’s finger twitched on the trigger. “Father was right. You’re weak.”
“Maybe,” Damian said evenly. “But at least I’m not empty.”
For a heartbeat, everything went still.
Then a gunshot tore through the air.
Luca staggered backward, shock etched across his face. He looked down at the blood blooming on his chest—then at Isabella, standing frozen, the gun still shaking in her hand.
“I—he was going to kill you—” she stammered.
Damian caught her before she collapsed, pulling her close as Luca hit the floor.
His brother’s final words were a whisper drowned by fire. “You’ll never outrun him…”
Damian
They reached the dock just as dawn cracked open across the sea. The flames behind them devoured the island.
The Don was gone—whether dead or alive, Damian didn’t know. But he’d be back. Men like that didn’t die easily.
He glanced at Isabella. She sat curled against the side of the small speedboat, pale and shaking, her eyes hollow.
“Don’t look back,” he said softly. “It’s over.”
“No,” she whispered. “It’s not.”
She reached into his jacket, pulling out the black envelope. “If this has the truth… I need to see it.”
He hesitated, then nodded.
Her hands trembled as she broke the seal.
Inside were two sheets of paper—a DNA record and a letter. She unfolded the letter first. The handwriting was elegant. Cold.
“If you are reading this, it means the truth has found you. You were never mine, Isabella. You were born from my mistake—but not my blood. Damian’s mother betrayed me, yes, but with another man. I kept you because I could not bear to lose control again.”
— Don Moretti.
Isabella’s breath caught. “So… he lied.”
Damian exhaled slowly. Relief and rage twisted inside him. “He lied about everything.”
She looked up at him then—eyes full of tears and something fiercer. “Then I didn’t lose you.”
He cupped her face. “You never could.”
The boat rocked gently, the morning light spilling over them. For a moment, the world went quiet.
He leaned in, kissed her softly—slow and certain. It wasn’t desperation this time. It was survival. A promise they’d fight for more than revenge.
But before the kiss could deepen, Damian’s phone buzzed.
Unknown number. One message.
“You should have made sure I was dead. – L.”
Luca.
Damian’s eyes widened. He turned toward the horizon—toward the burning island where the smoke still rose—and swore softly.
“Damian?” Isabella asked, fear tightening her voice.
He looked at her, jaw set. “It’s not over.”
The boat cut through the waves, carrying them toward an uncertain dawn. Behind them, the island burned. Ahead of them, war waited.
And between them, a love born from fire—and destined to be tested by blood.
- Writer
