Power was a living thing.
It breathed. It pulsed. It fed on the weak and strengthened the ruthless. Damian had known this since he was a child, watching his father rule with an iron fist, watching men bow their heads in fear and obedience.
Now, that power rested in his hands. And with it came the weight of everything his father had built—the alliances, the betrayals, the blood spilled in its name. The Costa empire was vast, but its foundation was fragile. One wrong move, one sign of weakness, and it would all come crumbling down.
Damian stood in his father's old study, a place that still smelled of cigars and aged whiskey, his fingers drumming idly against the mahogany desk. It was here that Diallo had orchestrated his reign, where he had broken men with his words before ever lifting a gun. The desk still bore the faint scratches of where his father's rings had pressed into the wood as he delivered judgment.
Now, it was Damian's turn.
He glanced at the documents spread before him—financial records, supply routes, coded messages from informants scattered throughout the city. Every number, every shipment, every move mattered. But tonight, his mind wasn't on business.
Tonight, it was on her.
Elena Russo.
She was a distraction he hadn't planned for. A crack in the solid wall of his control. It wasn't just lust—lust was easy, replaceable. This was something different. Something dangerous. The way she had looked at him at the ball, the fire in her eyes, the way she defied him even when she knew what he was—he hadn't been able to shake it.
And now, she carried his mark, even if she didn't know it yet.
---
A knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts.
Adrian entered first, his massive frame filling the doorway. He had the look of a man who had been built for war—scarred knuckles, a face carved from stone, eyes that had seen too much.
"Everything's in place," Adrian said. "Your orders?"
Damian exhaled slowly. "The docks?"
"Secure. Matteo handled the new shipments personally. Everything's clean."
"And Salvatore?"
Adrian hesitated for a fraction of a second. It was barely noticeable, but Damian caught it.
"He's been asking questions," Adrian admitted. "Nothing outright, but he's watching. Testing the waters."
Damian's jaw tightened. His uncle had always been a patient man, waiting in the shadows, biding his time. If he was testing the waters now, it meant he was looking for weaknesses. And Damian couldn't afford to give him any.
"Keep an eye on him," Damian said. "I don't want him making a move before I'm ready."
Adrian nodded, but there was something else in his expression.
"What is it?" Damian asked, his voice sharp.
Adrian hesitated again, then sighed. "It's the girl, isn't it?"
Damian's gaze turned cold. "Watch your mouth."
"You don't get distracted," Adrian continued. "Not by anyone. But her?" He shook his head. "This isn't like you."
"She's mine," Damian said simply, the words final, absolute.
Adrian studied him for a long moment, then nodded. "Then I hope you know what you're doing. Because if anyone finds out she's important to you, she won't just be yours. She'll be their target."
Damian already knew that. He had spent his entire life turning everything he cared about into weapons, into leverage he could use or discard. But Elena…
He wasn't going to discard her.
No, he was going to make sure the whole world knew she belonged to him. And anyone who tried to take her away would learn exactly what kind of monster he truly was.
---
After Adrian left, Damian walked through the estate, his mind still turning. His men were loyal, but even they questioned this path he was taking. He could feel their silent judgment, their unspoken warnings.
But it didn't matter.
He had already made his choice.
He stopped by the large windows overlooking the courtyard, where Nico stood in the shadows, speaking in hushed tones to one of their informants. Matteo was in the library, pouring over records, looking for patterns, threats, weaknesses in their rivals. Luca was nowhere to be seen, likely indulging in one of his reckless, self-destructive games.
And Damian stood at the center of it all, the unshaken pillar that held the empire together.
He had never hesitated before. Never questioned himself.
But as his thoughts drifted back to Elena, to the way she had looked at him that night, to the way she had unknowingly become something he wasn't ready to let go of, he felt something unfamiliar creep into his chest.
Obsession.
It wasn't love. Love was weak. Love got people killed.
But obsession…
Obsession was power.
And Damian had never wanted anything more.