Isabella POV
The silence in the grand lobby was absolute, heavy with the promise of violence. Julian stared at me, his perfectly styled hair and expensive Ivy League suit suddenly looking like a cheap costume. He swallowed hard, forcing the mask of the heartbroken hero back onto his face. He ignored the lethal aura radiating from the man holding me and took a step forward.
"Isabella, darling," Julian said, his voice dripping with rehearsed, agonizing concern. "Tell him you're coming home with me. Did he hurt you?"
He expected me to crumble. He expected me to weep, to reach out for him, to play the role of the terrified captive so he could play the savior and paint Damien as the monster.
I didn't even look at him. Instead, I kept my gaze fixed on the gleaming marble floor, my voice carrying clearly through the dead quiet of the room.
"I don't have a home to go back to, Julian."
Julian’s expression faltered, a crack appearing in his flawless facade. I finally lifted my head, my eyes meeting his. There was no warmth, no fear, only the cold, dead ash of a burned-down life.
"And this isn't a kidnapping," I stated, enunciating every word with lethal precision. "I went with him willingly."
The words dropped like a live grenade.
Julian recoiled as if I had physically struck him. His mouth opened and closed, the shock and profound humiliation twisting his handsome features into something ugly.
Beside me, Damien’s arm, which had been resting possessively on my hip, suddenly tightened like a steel vice. I could feel the rigid tension in his massive frame. My declaration had shocked him just as much as it had Julian. To Damien's paranoid, brilliant mind, my absolute surrender made no logical sense. It was too perfect, too sudden. He was searching for the trap, the hidden blade in my words. But he wouldn't show that doubt to an enemy.
"You..." Julian stammered, his voice trembling as his heroic script burned to ashes. The humiliation quickly morphed into a venomous, desperate rage. He pointed a shaking finger at Damien. "Castillo, this is a declaration of war against New York! Do you think the Fleming family and the Duke family will just sit back and watch you take her?"
Damien let out a low, dark chuckle that sent a shiver down my spine. He didn't fear threats; he fed on them.
Suddenly, he yanked me flush against his hard chest. Before I could gasp, he lowered his head, his cold lips brushing deliberately against the shell of my ear. It was an act of supreme, arrogant possession meant for everyone to see, but his words were a dark promise meant only for the three of us.
"She is mine now," Damien murmured, his deep voice vibrating against my skin. "And her family... will soon be mine as well."
The sheer disrespect, the absolute dismissal of Julian's power, snapped the last thread of Julian's control.
"I've already notified Hector Duke!" Julian roared, his face flushed with impotent fury. "He's on his way right now with his men! You just wait for the Chicago docks to run red with blood!"
My heart plummeted into my stomach.
The air in the lobby shifted instantly. The Castillo Soldiers in the shadows subtly adjusted their grips on their weapons. Damien’s eyes darkened, the predatory amusement vanishing, replaced by the cold, calculating stare of a Don preparing for slaughter.
A sickening wave of dread washed over me. My mind flashed back to the previous life—the deafening roar of Tommy guns, the smell of copper, and my uncle Hector lying in a pool of his own blood, fighting for his life for a month just because he tried to avenge me.
My Vendetta was supposed to save my family, not accelerate their destruction. I had to stop this. I had to stop the two men I loved—my uncle and the devil holding me—from tearing each other apart.
