Elena's legs felt unsteady as she walked out of that dimly lit room, the echoes of the man's ragged breathing still clawing at the edges of her mind. Her own breath came in shallow gasps, her heart slamming against her ribs like it was trying to escape her chest. But there was no escape. Not anymore.
Damian walked beside her in silence, his presence as heavy as the shadows creeping along the corridor. He wasn't looking at her, but she could feel him watching, measuring her reaction, waiting for her to crack. She wanted to scream at him, to demand why he had dragged her into that world of brutality and bloodshed. But she already knew the answer.
He wanted her to understand.
And she did.
When they reached his study, she stopped in the doorway, her hands curled into fists. "Was that supposed to teach me a lesson?" she asked, her voice colder than she expected.
Damian finally turned, his gaze sharp as a blade. "It was supposed to show you the truth."
She let out a bitter laugh. "The truth that you're exactly what I should have run from the moment I met you?"
He took a slow step closer, and despite herself, she didn't back away. "You didn't run," he murmured, his voice almost a whisper. "That's what matters."
Her stomach twisted. She hated that he was right.
She had been horrified by what she had seen, but she hadn't run. She had stayed, paralyzed by something stronger than fear. Was it fascination? Was it the dark pull of a man who could command a room with nothing but his presence? Or was it something even worse?
Was it the feeling that, no matter what he did, she was already his?
She hated herself for even thinking it.
"I don't belong in your world," she said, trying to inject steel into her voice. "I want to go home."
Damian's lips twitched, a ghost of a smirk playing at the corners. "You are home, Elena."
Her breath hitched. "You don't own me."
His fingers traced the edge of her jaw, a feather-light touch that sent a shiver through her. "Don't I?" he whispered.
She slapped his hand away, anger flaring in her chest. "I'm not some possession, Damian. I don't care how much power you have—I won't let you control me."
His expression darkened, but there was something else in his eyes—something dangerous, something possessive. "Then stop letting me."
She sucked in a sharp breath. It wasn't a threat. It was a challenge.
Before she could respond, the door swung open, and one of his men stepped inside. He was tall, built like a soldier, his expression unreadable. "Boss," he said, ignoring Elena's presence entirely. "We have a situation."
Damian's jaw tensed. "What kind of situation?"
The man hesitated. "The Riccis made a move. They attacked one of our shipments tonight. We lost three men."
Elena's stomach clenched.
Damian's entire demeanor shifted in an instant. The tension in his body coiled tighter, his presence suddenly suffocating. His gaze flickered to her, then back to his man. "Where?"
"Dockside. They ambushed us before we even saw them coming."
A muscle in Damian's jaw ticked. "I want details. Now."
The man nodded and stepped back out of the room.
Elena watched Damian closely, saw the way his hands clenched into fists, the barely restrained fury simmering beneath the surface. This wasn't just a business move. This was personal.
"Your family," he said, his voice low, controlled, but laced with something dangerous, "is going to regret this."
She stiffened. "I had nothing to do with this."
Damian turned to her, his gaze burning into hers. "Doesn't matter."
She swallowed hard. "What are you going to do?"
His smirk was cold, cruel. "What I always do."
Elena's heart pounded. She had seen what that meant. She had seen the monster beneath the man. And now, that monster was setting his sights on her family.
She had to find a way to stop this. But how do you stop a man like Damian Costa?
How do you stop a man who doesn't know the meaning of mercy?