Isabella POV
The words had barely left Julian’s mouth when the heavy brass revolving doors of the hotel were violently shoved open.
My uncle, Hector Duke, stormed into the grand lobby. His massive, broad-shouldered frame was a force of nature, radiating pure, unadulterated fury. Behind him poured over a dozen of his most elite Soldiers, their long black overcoats sweeping the marble floor, their hands resting menacingly on the drum magazines of their Thompson submachine guns.
Julian immediately moved toward him like a shark scenting blood in the water. He leaned in, whispering frantically into my uncle’s ear, his face a mask of fabricated agony as he pointed an accusing finger at Damien and me.
Hector’s face, already hardened by years of dockside brutality, turned a lethal shade of purple. He bypassed Julian entirely, his heavy boots echoing like gunshots in the dead silent lobby. He ignored the dozen Castillo Soldiers who instantly raised their weapons, forming a lethal wall of steel around us.
Hector slammed a custom-engraved Colt pistol onto the marble concierge desk with a deafening crack.
"Castillo," Hector roared, his voice echoing off the crystal chandeliers. "Give me back my niece, or I swear to God, this lobby will run red with blood today."
The air in the room solidified. The click of safeties being disengaged echoed from every corner. A bloodbath—a full-scale Vendetta—was seconds away. The nightmare of my past life, of my uncle bleeding out on the cold ground for my sake, flashed before my eyes.
I had to stop this.
I tore myself from Damien’s iron grip and threw myself between the two men, spreading my arms wide. "Uncle Hector, stop! It’s not what you think!" I pleaded, my voice trembling with genuine terror for his life.
Hector reached out, his large, rough hand grabbing my arm to pull me behind him. But as he did, his sharp eyes locked onto the exposed skin just above the neckline of my red silk dress.
His expression froze. The righteous anger morphed into a dark, murderous horror.
"Did he do this to you?" Hector’s voice shook with a lethal rage. "Tesoro mio (My treasure), tell me the truth. Did this animal hurt you?"
My hand flew to my collarbone instinctively, my face burning with a sudden, violent flush. The dark, purplish bruise wasn't a mark of torture; it was the brand Damien had sucked into my skin hours ago in the throes of his possessive rage. But to my uncle, a man who only saw the Demon of Chicago holding his precious niece captive, it was undeniable proof of abuse.
"No, I'm not hurt—" I stammered, the lie sounding pathetic even to my own ears. My attempt to cover the mark only cemented his worst fears.
"Isabella, that's enough," Hector commanded, his grip on my arm tightening. "You are leaving with me. Now."
Before I could take a single step, a massive force clamped around my other wrist.
Damien’s grip was bone-crushing. The lethal, predatory stillness that had surrounded him vanished, replaced by a terrifying, explosive violence. He thought I was leaving. He thought my earlier submission was exactly what he had suspected—a whore's trick to buy time until my family arrived to rescue me.
"Where do you think you are going, principessa?" Damien hissed, his voice a low, demonic rumble against my ear. I could feel the rigid, coiled tension in his massive body. He didn't even look at me as he barked an order to his chief Enforcer. "Silas. Take the lady back to the penthouse. Now."
Silas stepped forward from the shadows.
Panic seized my throat. If I let Silas take me, Damien would slaughter my uncle, and the fragile trust I was trying to build would be incinerated.
I didn't pull away from Damien. Instead, I ripped my arm from Hector’s grasp and spun around to face the Underboss. I flipped my hand, intertwining my fingers with Damien’s large, calloused ones, gripping him with every ounce of strength I had.
I forced him to look at me, meeting his turbulent, paranoid blue eyes with absolute, unwavering certainty.
"My place is here, Damien," I said, my voice ringing clear and steady over the tension. "With you. I made my choice, and I am not leaving."
Damien’s breath hitched. The violent storm in his eyes faltered for a fraction of a second, replaced by a profound, jarring shock. He stared down at our intertwined hands, his thumb instinctively brushing over my knuckles. He didn't release me, but the suffocating, murderous aura radiating from him dialed back just enough to let the room breathe. He didn't order Silas again.
The fragile, razor-thin truce hung in the air.
Then, the silence was shattered by the one man who had everything to lose.
Julian Barron stepped out from behind my uncle's imposing frame. His handsome face was twisted with a desperate, ugly need to reclaim his narrative.
"Isabella, don't let him terrify you into this," Julian pleaded, his voice dripping with a sickeningly sweet, rehearsed devotion. "Come with me. Our engagement still stands. The Barron family will give you everything a woman could ever dream of. I can take you away from all this filth and blood. Come back to me, Izzy. Come back to a normal life."
