Chapter 3: Secrets in the Shadows

The moment Damien disappeared through the door, the air in the private suite seemed to thin.

Elena pressed her fingers to her lips, her breath unsteady.

What the hell had just happened?

Damien was back. Not as the reckless, arrogant young man she once loved, but as someone far more dangerous. Someone who now owned Inferno.

She turned toward the glass wall overlooking the club. From here, she could see the main floor—a blur of flashing lights, swaying bodies, and the endless thrum of music.

But Damien was nowhere in sight.

The memory of his kiss still burned on her lips, and she hated that her body had responded to him so easily. It was reckless. Dangerous.

A knock on the door pulled her from her thoughts.

Tony, her manager, poked his head inside, his face pale. “Elena, you should go home. Now.”

Something in his tone made her stomach twist.

“What’s going on?”

He hesitated, glancing over his shoulder as if someone might be listening. “Some guys came looking for trouble. Boss is handling it, but it’s about to get messy.”

Elena’s pulse spiked. “Damien—”

“Boss,” Tony corrected sharply. “And trust me, you don’t wanna be around when he’s done.”

A part of her wanted to storm downstairs, to demand to know what the hell Damien was involved in.

But a louder voice—the voice of a mother—reminded her that she couldn’t afford to get tangled in his world again.

Not when Draco was waiting for her at home.

Nodding stiffly, she grabbed her purse and hurried out.

By the time she arrived at her tiny apartment, exhaustion clung to her like a second skin.

The moment she unlocked the door, she heard the quiet hum of a cartoon playing on the ancient TV.

Draco was curled up on the couch, his small frame tucked under a thin blanket. His chest rose and fell steadily, though his breathing was faintly wheezy.

Elena’s heart ached.

She crossed the room silently, brushing a hand over his dark curls. He stirred, blinking up at her with sleepy blue eyes.

“Mama…” His voice was soft, groggy.

“Shh,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Go back to sleep, sweetheart.”

He yawned, rubbing his eyes. “Did you work late?”

She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Yeah. But I’m home now.”

Draco smiled, then closed his eyes, his breathing evening out again.

Elena sat beside him, her fingers threading through his hair.

She had been so close to losing everything tonight.

Damien had offered her a deal, a way out of this mess—but at what cost?

Her freedom? Her heart?

The last time she had let him in, she had ended up broken. Abandoned.

And yet…

Elena’s gaze drifted to her purse, where the contract Damien had given her sat untouched.

He was offering protection. Stability. A life where she wouldn’t have to fear losing Draco to her inability to pay hospital bills.

But trusting Damien Moretti was like playing with fire.

And she had already been burned once.

A sharp knock at the door startled her.

Her heart lurched as she stood, nerves twisting in her stomach. It was nearly two in the morning—who would be visiting her now?

Slowly, she approached the door and peered through the peephole.

A man in a dark suit stood on the other side. She didn’t recognize him, but the cold intensity in his stance screamed danger.

Mafia.

Elena hesitated, but before she could decide whether to open the door, the man’s voice cut through the silence.

“Miss Devereaux.”

Her blood turned to ice.

“I have a message for you.”

Elena exhaled shakily before unlocking the door, just enough to peer out. “Who are you?”

The man didn’t introduce himself. He simply extended a small envelope toward her.

“Boss doesn’t like being refused.”

Elena didn’t take it. Her fingers curled into fists at her sides.

“Is that supposed to be a threat?” she whispered.

The man’s expression didn’t change. “It’s a reminder.”

Elena swallowed hard.

The silence stretched between them before he finally set the envelope on the floor.

Then, without another word, he turned and disappeared into the night.

Elena stood there, her heart hammering.

Slowly, she bent and picked up the envelope. Her fingers trembled as she opened it.

Inside was a single piece of paper with just one sentence:

This city is dangerous. You shouldn’t be struggling alone.

There was no signature. But she didn’t need one.

Damien.

Elena exhaled harshly, shoving the envelope onto the kitchen counter.

He was trying to push her. To force her hand.

She wouldn’t let him.

Tears burned at the back of her eyes, but she forced them down.

She needed to find another way.

A legal way.

Something that would allow her to support Draco without sacrificing her dignity or tying herself to a man who would only shatter her all over again.

Determined, she grabbed her laptop and opened a dozen job listings.

She didn’t care how many hours she had to work, how little sleep she got.

As long as she kept Damien Moretti out of their lives, it would be worth it. 

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Damien Moretti sat in his penthouse office, a glass of whiskey untouched in his hand, staring out over the city skyline. The weight of the night pressed against his chest, a familiar ache that had never truly left him.

The blood on his knuckles had already dried.

Vincent DeLuca had made a mistake sending his men into Inferno. A mistake that had been dealt with swiftly.

But Damien wasn’t thinking about DeLuca.

He was thinking about her.

Seeing Elena again had ignited something deep inside him. Something raw. Dangerous.

It had been six years. 

Six years since Elena had walked out of his life.

Six years since she had ripped a hole in his chest and left him bleeding.

And yet, no matter how much time passed, she was still his.

The past week had only solidified what he already knew—Elena Devereaux belonged to him, whether she accepted it or not.

Watching her struggle, seeing her wear desperation like a second skin, had made something dark inside him snap.

He had spent years convincing himself he had moved on, drowning himself in power, money, and meaningless women.

Until last week.

Until he saw that bastard put his hands on her, groping her like she was just another girl in his club.

Damien’s fingers tightened around his glass, the memory slicing through him like a blade.

The sound of shattering glass had barely registered before he was moving.

The man had been laughing, whispering something obscene in Elena’s ear as his hands roamed her body.

Damien had wanted to rip him apart.

Instead, he had done the next best thing.

The previous owner of Inferno had been looking for a buyer. It had taken Damien less than an hour to make an offer the man couldn’t refuse.

By sunrise, Inferno belonged to him.

And Elena?

She had unknowingly placed herself back under his control.

A twisted smirk curled his lips as he leaned back in his chair, swirling the whiskey in his glass. His fingers drummed against the desk as he replayed her reaction in his mind—the fire in her eyes, the defiance in her voice.

She was still fighting him.

And God, if that didn’t make him want her more.

But he wasn’t the same man he had been six years ago.

Damien Moretti didn’t make the same mistake twice.

This time, he wasn’t letting her go.