His World Of Chaos

Chapter Four

Damiano’s POV

She almost jumped.

For a second, I saw it like a looped film, burning behind my eyes.

Isabella. My enemy’s brat. My damn pawn. Standing on my balcony, heels teetering on the edge like she thought gravity was just a suggestion. The girl had no idea how hard the ground bites.

I should’ve let her drop.

Would’ve been clean. No more headaches. No more ice-cold glares from across the room. No more game of chicken with her pride. But nah… that’s not what happened.

I grabbed her. Instinct, maybe. Or stupidity. My hand still tingled, remembering the shape of her wrist thin, breakable, and hot under my fingers. Hated that I clocked all that. Hated even more how it felt less like a rescue and more like claiming something.

Like I owned her.

I stormed down the hall, didn’t bother looking at the poor bastard soldier I’d flattened. Guy was lucky I didn’t gut him right there for mouthing off about her. Not in my house. Not about her.

Not while she’s… mine.

That word. It stopped me on my tracks. I curled my fist tight. She wasn’t mine. She was a tool. A warning shot to her old man. Damiano Vitale never forgets, never forgives, and never lets a debt slide.

But the memory wouldn’t quit her pressed to my chest, pulse racing, shaking just enough I could tell it wasn’t all fear. There was something wild between us. Something we definitely weren’t supposed to notice.

This was a mess.

I slammed into my study. The books, the maps, and the whole “king of the castle” view are rare and useless. The hearth just spat shadows. All I could think about was how her hand touched my chest.

Whiskey, the only thing that burned hotter than her. I tossed it back and stared out at my little empire. Guards with itchy trigger fingers, shiny cars, everything running smoothly.

My kingdom.

My rules.

Control. That’s the only thing that’s ever mattered.

And she’s a walking disaster for it. One look, one mouthy retort, one crazy stunt like tonight, and the whole thing shakes.

The door creaked open. Marco tiptoed in like I might bite. “You want extra men on her door?”

I shot him a look. “Already done?”

He nodded. “Yes, boss.”

“Good.” My voice was calm, but my heart racing like I had just ran. Two guards, ten, a damn army wouldn’t matter. Isabella burned with a fire I hadn’t seen in forever. Makes people dangerous, that kind of spark.

Marco lingered. “She’s not like the others, right?”

I squinted my eyes. “Others?”

“The girls we take.” He said it like he was afraid I’d snap. “This one fights.”

Didn’t bother answering. Didn’t have to.

He coughed. “You want me to…”

“No.” Cut him off quick. “Nobody touches her.”

His eyebrows jumped. Surprise, maybe. He hid it fast. “Got it.”

Once he left, I slumped onto my chair, rubbed my hands over my face. Still smelled like her perfume. It made me want to hold her.

I can’t afford this. Can’t want anything that makes me weak.

That’s what she is. Weakness in a silk dress with a mouth full of thorns. I should keep my eye on the prize.

And yet…

Her voice wouldn’t leave me alone. Then kill me. Go on.

She didn’t flinch. No tears. No begging. Just stared at me like she was the one holding the gun.

I’ve put bigger men in the ground for less. But with her? I let go.

Some twisted part of me, God help me, wanted her to keep fighting.

I got up, started pacing. The room felt like a cell. Even outside, the night was too loud with her ghost.

Her father. The bastard who gutted my family and thought tucking his daughter away would keep her safe. Bringing her here was supposed to be smart. Leverage.

The problems, leverage isn’t supposed to make your heart race.

I glared at my reflection in the whiskey glass. Scar on my temple, lines cut deep by old battles. A face that doesn’t break.

And yet tonight, with her on that damn balcony, I bent.

Not on her terms. Something else entirely. Something that’d been buried for how long? I cut the thought off fast. Some memories, you just slam the door on them and leave the lights off.

So I let myself replay her shoving at me, the way her anger practically burned the air between us. That declaration, “You don’t own me.” Yeah, that stuck in my head. Her breath smelled nice too.

I downed another shot, felt it burn a path right to my stomach.

“Not yet,” I’d said back then.

Didn’t mean it as a threat. It was just the truth, raw and ugly, almost dragging itself out of my throat. I would own her. Not with chains hell no. Not with threats either. With something way more dangerous. Whatever the hell that meant.

Honestly, that thought? It made my skin itch. None of this was supposed to go like this.

Somehow, the night slipped away while I was chewing on all that. Next thing I knew, the sun was smudging the sky with that gross pre-dawn gray. People shifted around below my guys, swapping places, the city starting to yawn and stretch. Inside me, though? Not a damn thing settled.

Eventually, I just gave up fighting it. I had to see her. No use pretending.

Sneaky as a rumor, I slipped down the hall to her room. Guards outside alert, stiff, silent. I nodded, and didn't bother talking. Opened the door.

She was sprawled on the bed, curled up small, like something breakable. Hair everywhere, a messy tangle on the pillow. Her lips parted, breathing softly. Lashes fanned out. A different universe from the Spitfire I’d faced off with earlier. She looked... innocent, almost. Untouchable.

Almost.

I crept closer, breathing slowly. My hand moved, itching to move that hair from her face. But I didn’t. Touching her while she slept felt like cheating, or taking something I hadn’t earned.

I couldn’t take it and went out to catch my breath.