THE MAFIA'S BROKEN VOW

Chapter 8: Searching For Her

Damian stepped out of his sleek, yellow sports car as he crushed the lit cigar under his polished black shoe. His black t-shirt hugged his muscular body, stretching over his chest and arms. As he moved, his muscles flexed, revealing the ink of his tattoos, which spread across his skin from his arms up to his neck.

The club’s neon lights flashed across his face, but his thoughts were elsewhere. He was here for a purpose, no time for distractions.

As he made his way in, the call girls in the hallway focused their gaze on him. "You need a private service, big daddy?" one of them purred, her eyes lingering on his body. Damian didn’t break his stride, didn’t acknowledge her. His focus is on one man. The only person who has the answer to his misery. Theo.

The room was filled with muffled voices and the pounding bass of the music. The moment he stood in front of Theo with crossed arms, Theo let out a deep, mocking laughter that sent a rush of irritation through Damian’s veins. He was lounging comfortably with a girl on his lap, looking up at Damian with a wide smirk as if his presence was a joke.

"Leave," Theo ordered the stripper without even glancing her way. She slid off his lap, giving Damian one last sultry glance while biting her lip as she walked away, but he ignored her.

Theo chuckled again, leaning back in his seat. "If you're here to ask me the same thing, just save yourself the headache and go grab some p***y around here. It'll do you more good than chasing ghosts."

Damian’s nostrils flared, his jaw tightening. Rage boiled inside him, his vision fixed on Theo. He stepped forward, his voice low but laced with venom. "You think this is some f*****g joke? I need to find her, goddamn it! You’re the only one who knows where she is."

Theo’s laughter filled the air again as he leaned forward, picking up his cigar. He took a long, slow drag before speaking, the smoke curling around his head. "I've told you a hundred times, I don’t know s**t. We saw her walking down the street and picked her up. That’s it. Wrong time, wrong place." He exhaled a smoke, his grin widening. "Move on."

Damian’s muscles tensed, his fists balling up as he leaned closer. His voice came out as a growl. "Theo, I'm holding myself back from ripping your f*****g head off right now."

Theo raised an eyebrow, genuinely intrigued. "Wait… don’t tell me you’re actually going soft over some one-night stand chic? Was the p***y that good you can’t let go?" he sneered. Damian’s knuckles turned white, his jaw grinding as he held back the urge to punch Theo right then and there.

Theo, sensing the rising tension, stood up and clapped a hand on Damian’s shoulder, his tone darkened. "You may have left the Bratva, but you’re still my brother. Forget about the b***h, man. Remember you were our hitman, our enforcer; ruthless and feared….Growl." Theo called the name in a dark tone as if trying to remind Damian of his identity. "You’ve killed men without batting an eye. Don’t start losing your edge over some girl."

Without another word, Theo turned and left the room, his laughter echoing behind him as he disappeared into the club’s dimly lit halls. Damian stood there, breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling with frustration. His hands shook, not from fear, but from anger that pulsed through him.

He stormed out of the club as he slid into his car. The engine roared to life, and moments later, he was speeding through the streets of Los Angeles. But his mind was elsewhere. It was with her.

Back at his guesthouse, Damian stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, staring out at the twinkling lights of the city, a cigar burning between his fingers. The smoke curled lazily around his face, but his heart felt anything but light. Night after night, the same memories played through his mind, the same question eating his insides. Who's she and where was she now? Why couldn’t he shake the sound of her cries from his head?

"Hey baby.." a sweet voice interrupted his thoughts. He swiftly turned his gaze towards the direction of the voice.

"Olivia, what are you doing here?”

She ignored his question and walked seductively towards him and her hand trailed down his back to his chest with that seductive smile of hers. Damian smirked slightly, though it didn’t reach his eyes.

"Always discreet as usual, Black Widow. I wonder how you get in without being noticed in those heels," he said while admiring her physique and wrapping an arm round her waist.

She traced his lips with her tongue, then chuckled low and seductive. "They don’t call me the Black widow for nothing," she whispered, her breath tickling his ear. Her tone shifted as she studied his face. "You’re thinking about her again, aren’t you?"

Damian’s expression hardened. He immediately unwrapped his arm from her and faced the glass window as he did before, his grip on the cigar tightening. "I don’t know, but It feels like I hear her cries every night. Every damn night." He took another long drag from his cigar. "I’ve killed men, watched them beg for their lives without a second thought. But her…" His voice trailed off, dark, rough. “It's different. Luca and Theo all put us in this messed up s**t, and now, I feel I'm the reason for her pain.”

Olivia watched him carefully, her tone softening. "From what you told me, you were both drugged. How is that your fault?"

Damian shook his head, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "I should’ve known better. Her distress that night… it was obvious. She wasn’t herself. But I didn’t stop. I…" He clenched his teeth, the guilt washing over him again. "I took advantage of her."

Olivia placed a hand on his arm, trying to comfort him. "You were both vulnerable, Damian. It wasn’t your fault."

He scoffed, the scene from that night playing over and over in his mind. "Then why do I feel…" His voice faltered, but before he could finish, a loud crash came from the kitchen, cutting through the tension like a knife.

Damian's body went rigid, his instincts immediately taking over. In one swift motion, he grabbed his gun from the table beside him. Olivia, without a word, reached down to her thigh, where her dress slit up to her hip, revealing two thin daggers strapped to her leg. She unholstered them effortlessly.

Together, they crouched in the shadows, their bodies tense, waiting. Damian’s mind raced as the sound of footsteps echoed through the house. It wasn’t just one person. The realization hit him like a bullet. "How the f**k did they get in here?" he thought, his grip on the gun tightening as the footsteps grew closer.