Chapter 6 RIVAL MAFIA CLANS STRIKE
1562 Words
Morning came too quietly.
Calla woke in a bed far too soft, wrapped in sheets that still held the faintest trace of Adrian’s scent — cedar, smoke, and something intoxicatingly wild. The memory of the night before hit her all at once:
His eyes glowing molten gold.
His body trembling against hers.
His whispered confession—
My mate.
She sat up sharply.
Had she imagined that? Was it the fever of the moment? A hallucination brought on by adrenaline and fear?
But the ring on her finger pulsed once, gently, like a heartbeat answering her question.
No. She hadn’t imagined anything.
She dressed quickly — a fitted blouse, tailored trousers — armor in the shape of professionalism. She needed clarity. Answers. A plan.
She needed Adrian.
When she stepped into the hallway, two guards straightened instantly.
“Dona Ricci,” one said with a respectful nod. “The Don is expecting you in the east wing.”
Her heart stumbled at the title. “Where in the east wing?”
“His office.”
Of course.
She followed the corridor until she found a door carved with the Valenti crest. Before she could knock, a voice from inside said:
“Enter.”
The door opened on its own.
Calla stepped into a room filled with warm light, bookshelves, and the scent of ink and leather. Adrian stood near the windows, back turned, posture tense as he read a series of documents spread across his desk.
He was shirtless.
Calla stopped breathing.
Broad shoulders. Carved muscles. Skin marked with faint claw-like scars across his back and sides — evidence of battles fought not with men, but with himself.
He glanced over his shoulder, and the look in his eyes made heat curl through her.
“You’re awake,” he said softly. “Good.”
She swallowed. “Are you… you? Today?”
A slow breath left him. He turned fully to face her.
Golden flecks still swirled faintly in his irises, but they were mostly human now — controlled, steady.
“I’m me,” he said. “For now.”
She approached cautiously. “You said you’d tell me everything.”
“I will.” His gaze softened. “Sit.”
She sat. He didn’t.
Instead, Adrian paced once, gathering his thoughts before meeting her eyes with unflinching honesty.
“I am a werewolf, Calla,” he said quietly. “Cursed. Born into a bloodline that changes under the moon — but not in the way normal wolves change. I don’t shift cleanly. I lose control. The beast takes over.”
She nodded, encouraging him to continue.
“My father died from the curse,” he said. “His heart gave out during a shift. I’ve been fighting the same fate since the night I inherited the Valenti throne.”
Her chest tightened.
“And me?” she whispered. “Where do I fit into this?”
He hesitated — and that silence said more than words.
“You carry Moonblood,” he said finally. “A genetic line believed extinct. Moonblood stabilizes the curse. Calms the beast. Gives balance to the chaos.”
“So last night—”
“You reached me.” His voice dropped. “No one ever has.”
Her breath stuttered.
“Calla,” he continued, stepping closer, “I’ve spent years building walls, controlling every breath, every heartbeat. You touched me once, and everything inside me leaned toward you.”
“That’s not comforting,” she whispered.
“No,” he murmured. “It isn’t.”
Their eyes locked.
The air thickened.
He was close enough that she could feel the heat from his skin.
Close enough that last night’s kiss flickered between them like a live wire.
“About what you said,” she whispered. “My mate—”
The door burst open.
A guard stumbled inside, breathless. “Don Valenti — the Orsinis breached the eastern perimeter. Armed convoy. They’re coming straight for the estate.”
Calla shot to her feet.
Adrian’s entire demeanor shifted — from tense vulnerability to lethal dominance in less than a second.
“How many?” he demanded.
“Seven vehicles. Heavy weapons. They must have tracked your meeting with Dona Ricci.”
Rage flickered across Adrian’s features, sharp and primal.
He turned to Calla.
“Stay here,” he ordered.
“The hell I will.”
“This isn’t a negotiation.”
She stepped toward him. “You brought me into this world. I’m not hiding in a corner while your enemies try to reach me.”
The guard looked horrified.
Adrian… almost looked proud.
“Fine,” he said tightly. “But you stay at my side.”
Another guard rushed in, handing Adrian a sleek handgun and holster. He strapped it on with practiced ease, his muscles flexing with controlled danger. Then he turned and placed his hands gently on Calla’s shoulders.
“I mean it,” he murmured. “Where I go, you go.”
Her pulse jumped.
“Understood.”
They moved fast — down the hall, down the stairs, past armed guards taking positions. Outside, the roar of engines grew louder, tires skidding across gravel.
Adrian led her to a reinforced balcony overlooking the front grounds.
Black SUVs tore through the gates, metal shrieking as they crashed inward.
Orsini soldiers poured out, weapons raised.
Calla’s stomach tightened.
“They came ready to kill,” she whispered.
“They came ready to die,” Adrian corrected, voice smooth and cold as steel.
He stepped forward on the balcony ledge, shoulders squared, power radiating off him like heat.
When he spoke, his voice boomed through the estate like thunder.
“THIS IS VALENTI TERRITORY.”
The Orsinis froze.
Even the air held still.
Then Adrian’s eyes began to glow.
Calla sucked in a breath.
Not gold flecks.
Gold fire.
The wolf stirred beneath his skin — awakened by danger, fueled by the scent of enemies.
She grabbed his arm. “Adrian—”
He didn’t turn. “Stay behind me.”
The Orsini leader raised his weapon.
“Kill him!” he shouted.
Gunfire erupted.
Calla screamed— but Adrian moved before the sound even left her lips.
He was a blur.
Fast. Inhumanly fast.
He leaped from the balcony, landing upon a car with bone-crushing force. Soldiers scattered, shouting, but he was already among them — a storm of fists, claws, and impossible strength.
Calla watched from above, heart in her throat.
He wasn’t shifted — not fully. But the wolf within him surged with every movement.
He slammed an attacker into the ground, disarming another before the man could blink. A third soldier swung a blade; Adrian caught his wrist and twisted until the man dropped, screaming.
Gunfire sparked off the stone walls. A bullet grazed Adrian’s arm, drawing blood — and the sight of it made something inside Calla snap.
“Adrian!” she cried instinctively.
He turned — and for a terrifying second, she saw the wolf’s fury slam into his gaze, gold blazing, teeth bared.
But the moment he saw her, the rage stuttered.
His chest heaved.
His eyes softened.
The beast pulled back.
Just for her.
Then an Orsini soldier aimed at Calla.
Time slowed.
Adrian roared — a sound that shook the estate — and launched himself toward the balcony with impossible speed.
Calla ducked, covering her head as Adrian tackled the gunman mid-shot, ripping the weapon away and dropping the man with brutal precision.
It was chaos.
Terrifying.
Explosive.
Uncontrolled.
Yet Adrian fought like a creature built for war.
And then—
Sirens.
A second convoy arrived — Valenti reinforcements.
Within minutes, the remaining Orsinis were subdued, dragged to their knees.
Silence fell.
Adrian stood in the center of the wreckage — chest rising, blood streaked across his skin, gold still flickering in his eyes. He looked like the embodiment of violence. Of power.
Of a man who would burn the world for her.
Calla moved down the steps slowly, her legs shaky.
Adrian saw her and stiffened — not in anger. In fear.
“Calla,” he rasped. “I told you to stay back.”
“You were bleeding,” she whispered.
He blinked, as if the concept surprised him.
Then she reached him.
Her fingers brushed the cut on his arm — a small wound, but enough to mark him.
His breath hitched.
The gold in his eyes flared, responding to her touch like flame meeting oxygen.
“Calla,” he warned, voice low, trembling. “Not here. Not when I’m like this.”
She swallowed. “Like what?”
He leaned closer, heat radiating off him, breath shaking as he held himself back by sheer will.
“Like a man one touch away from losing control.”
He took her wrist gently — too gently for a man who had just broken bones — and lowered her hand.
“Come,” he said. “We need to talk. Now.”
She nodded.
But as they walked back toward the manor, Calla couldn’t ignore the truth:
Adrian Valenti had just fought an entire mafia convoy with half a shift breaking through his skin…
…because someone pointed a gun at her.
And the way he looked at her now told her something even more dangerous:
He didn’t regret it.
Not for a second.
- Writer
