Chapter 10: The Devil’s Due

The darkness was absolute, a suffocating blanket that swallowed the warehouse whole. For a heartbeat, there was only the ragged sound of my own breathing, the frantic pounding of my heart against my ribs. Then the screaming started—not mine, but the panicked shouts of Stefano’s men, the scrape of boots on concrete as they scrambled for their weapons and flashlights.

I felt the cold bite of steel leave my throat as Stefano jerked back, cursing violently. His hand found my arm, a vice-like grip that threatened to crush bone. "Don't you dare move, Isabella," he snarled, his voice a low growl in the pitch black. "If you run, I'll burn this whole city down to find you."

But I wasn't running. Not yet. Because in the chaos, I heard it—a sound that made my blood sing with a terrifying hope. The distinctive, silencer-muffled thud of a bullet finding its mark, followed by the heavy crash of a body hitting the floor. One by one, the panicked shouts were cut short, replaced by wet gurgles and thumps.

A flashlight clicked on, its beam slicing through the darkness. It wasn't Stefano's men. It was a figure I knew better than my own reflection. Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in black that seemed to absorb the light itself. Damien Moretti. My husband. The monster I'd been running from for six months.

His dark eyes found mine across the warehouse, and in that gaze, I saw a storm of fury and relief that made my breath catch. The flashlight beam shifted, illuminating the bodies at his feet—three of Stefano's men, each with a perfect hole in their foreheads. He was a ghost, a specter of death that had come to claim his due.

"Isabella." My name on his lips was a prayer and a threat. "Get down."

I dropped to the floor just as a bullet whizzed over my head. Behind me, Stefano had found his gun. But Damien was already moving, a blur of lethal grace. Two more shots rang out, and then there was a sickening crunch as steel connected with flesh.

I scrambled backward, my hands scraping against the grimy concrete, until my back hit a stack of wooden crates. The flashlight had fallen, its beam casting grotesque shadows as Damien and Stefano fought in the half-light. They were a tangle of limbs, grunts of effort, and the sharp smack of blows landing.

"So the little bird called for her keeper," Stefano spat, his voice wet with blood. "I should have known she was too weak to do this alone."

"She's not weak," Damien's voice came, cold as a winter grave. "She's mine."

The words hit me like a physical blow. Six months. Six months of running, of changing my name, of looking over my shoulder. Six months since I'd faked my death and fled the Moretti empire, convinced that any life was better than the gilded cage wedded to a devil. Yet here he was, in a rat-infested warehouse, covered in the blood of my enemies, ready to drag me back to hell.

A shot rang out, and I screamed. For a terrible moment, I didn't know who had been hit. Then Stefano staggered backward, a dark stain spreading across his white shirt. He looked down at the wound, then at me, a look of bitter amusement twisting his features.

"You chose him," he coughed out, blood bubbling on his lips. "After everything he's done... you still chose the devil you know."

Damien stood over him, the gun in his hand steady and sure. There was no mercy in his eyes, only the cold calculation of a man who had been wronged and was now exacting his price. He raised the weapon, aiming between Stefano's eyes.

"Don't." The word tore from my throat before I could stop it.

Damien froze, his gaze snapping to me. In the dim light, his expression was unreadable. "He threatened you. He touched you. He took you from me. Why shouldn't I end him?"

"Because I need him alive," I said, pushing myself to my feet. My legs were shaking, my whole body trembling with adrenaline and fear. "The list. He has it. The names of every corrupt law enforcement officer in the state. That's why I came to him, Damien. Not to run from you. To get you what you needed to finish the war."

Something flickered in Damien's eyes—surprise, maybe, or the ghost of something softer. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared. He let out a low, humorless laugh. "You risked your life for that? For me?"

"I risked my life for the truth," I said, lying through my teeth. The truth was more complicated, a tangled web of love and hate that I couldn't unravel even for myself.

Stefano laughed, a wet, gurgling sound. "She's lying to you, Moretti. She came to me to sell you out. She hates you as much as I do. She's been planning your downfall since the day you killed her brother."

The name hung in the air like a knife. Luca. My brother. The brother Damien had executed when he'd discovered Luca was a mole inside the Moretti organization. The reason I'd run. The reason I'd vowed to destroy him.

Damien's face went pale, then shuttered. He turned back to Stefano, his finger tightening on the trigger. "You're a dead man, Stefano. You just don't know it yet."

"No!" I lunged forward, grabbing Damien's arm. The gun was cold against my fingers, the weight of it familiar and terrible. "Please. Don't."

He looked at me then, really looked, and I saw the man I'd married beneath the monster. The man who had held me when I cried, who had whispered promises of a future free from blood and violence. The man who had killed my brother for betraying him, and had never told me the truth.

"Why?" His voice cracked. "Why do you care what happens to him?"

"Because if you kill him now," I whispered, "you'll never know if I came for the list or for you. And neither will I."

The silence stretched between us, broken only by Stefano's ragged breathing. Then, without a word, Damien lowered the gun. He pulled a phone from his pocket, typed a quick message, and within moments, the warehouse doors burst open with a flood of black-clad men.

"Take him," Damien ordered, his voice flat. "Keep him alive. I need him to talk."

As his men swarmed forward, Damien turned to me. His hand came up, cupping my cheek with a gentleness that made my heart ache. "You have a lot of explaining to do, Isabella."

"I know," I breathed.

He leaned in, his lips brushing my ear. "But first, we need to talk about the fact that there's another buyer coming for that list. A man named Volkov. And he just walked into the building."

My blood ran cold. Through the open warehouse doors, I saw a silhouette in the shadows—tall, unmistakable, a ghost from a past far darker than even Stefano's. And he was smiling directly at me.

"Hello, little dove," the voice echoed across the warehouse. "Did you really think you could outrun me?"