Chapter Six : First Blood

Marco was already on his phone, speaking in rapid Italian as Elena stood in what remained of her father’s office, staring at the destruction as she tried to process the words that had just come out of her mouth. She had ordered an attack on another mafia family. The thought settled heavily in her chest, sharp and unreal, and there was no taking it back now. One part of her mind screamed that this was madness, that she had crossed a line she could never uncross, while another part remained cold and focused, already calculating how much damage they would need to inflict to make sure the message was unmistakable.

Damien hadn’t moved from her side. When she finally turned to look at him, she found his gaze fixed on her, dark and unreadable. He asked quietly if she was truly sure about this, reminding her that once they moved forward, there would be no undoing it. Elena looked past him to the bloodstains on the floor, to the shattered remnants of the room where her father had once ruled, and she answered without hesitation. If they did nothing, every family would see her as weak. And if they saw weakness, they would come for her without mercy.

Marco ended his call and faced them both, something like respect flickering briefly in his eyes. He explained that the Calabrese family operated a warehouse on the south side where drug shipments were processed. It would be staffed that night, but lightly guarded. They would never expect retaliation so quickly. If they struck fast and vanished just as fast, they could cripple a major source of Calabrese income and send a warning that would ripple through all five families.

When Damien asked how many men it would take, Marco said twenty would be enough if they moved efficiently. It was then that Elena heard herself ask if she would be going with them. Both men turned toward her in disbelief. She met their stares and said that if she was ordering people to risk their lives, then she would not hide behind walls while they carried out her commands. This was her decision, and she would stand in it.

Marco immediately began to object, but Damien silenced him with a raised hand. He said Elena was right. The soldiers needed to see that their Donna did not rule from the shadows, that she was willing to stand beside them when it mattered. Marco hesitated, clearly unhappy, but whatever he saw in Damien’s expression made him relent. He agreed, but warned that she would need to change into something practical, carry a weapon, and be prepared to use it if necessary.

Twenty minutes later, Elena stood dressed in dark jeans and a fitted black jacket borrowed from one of Damien’s female guards. The gun tucked into her waistband felt impossibly heavy, its presence a constant reminder of what lay ahead. Her father had taken her to shooting ranges when she was younger, had drilled technique and discipline into her, but she had never aimed a weapon at a living person. The reality of it made her hands tremble until Damien caught her wrist and told her to breathe.

He reminded her that no one would think less of her if she chose to stay behind, if she let them handle it. Elena shook her head. She had already crossed the line. Turning back now would not undo that. Damien studied her for a long moment before nodding. He told her to stay close to him, no matter what happened. If things went wrong, she was to run and let his men cover her. Her life, he said quietly, was worth more than any message.

They left in four cars, five men to each vehicle. Elena rode with Damien and Marco, her pulse racing as the city blurred past the windows. She focused on keeping her breathing steady, even as her heart slammed against her ribs. The warehouse sat in a mostly abandoned industrial district, its silhouette looming in the darkness. At Marco’s order, the streetlights were cut before they reached it, plunging the area into shadow.

As they drove, Damien went over the plan in a calm, measured voice, as if they were discussing something trivial rather than an armed assault. One team would enter through the loading dock, another through the front. Their objective was to destroy the product and seize any files they could find. Killing was to be avoided unless absolutely necessary. When Elena asked why they weren’t eliminating everyone inside, Damien explained that slaughter would spark an all-out war. Destroying the business would hurt longer and more deeply.

When they arrived, Elena’s mouth was dry and her palms slick with sweat. She forced herself out of the car and followed Damien and Marco toward the warehouse. Two guards lingered outside the loading dock, smoking and distracted. They never saw the group coming.

Marco and one of his men took them down with brutal efficiency, and then they were inside. The air burned with chemical fumes, stinging Elena’s eyes and throat. Around a dozen men worked at tables covered in white powder. Shock registered on their faces as armed strangers stormed in. Some reached for weapons. Others froze.

Damien fired a shot into the ceiling, the sound deafening in the enclosed space, and shouted orders in Italian that Elena didn’t understand. Most of the workers bolted for the exits, but three returned fire. Someone grabbed Elena and shoved her behind a concrete support beam just as bullets ricocheted off metal and glass exploded nearby.

Pressed against the cold concrete, Elena’s body shook as chaos erupted around her. Gunfire echoed, men shouted, and fear clawed at her chest. Then a man appeared from the wrong side of the beam, his gun already raised toward her. Instinct took over. Elena pulled her weapon and fired twice, just as her father had taught her, aiming for center mass without hesitation.

The man fell and did not rise again.

For a moment, Elena could only stare at him, blood spreading beneath his body as the truth slammed into her. She had killed someone. Not as an accident. Not indirectly. She had done it herself.

Damien was suddenly beside her, his voice cutting through the noise as he asked if she was hurt. He glanced at the body, murmured approval, and urged her to move. He guided her toward the back of the warehouse where Marco and the others were already dousing the tables with gasoline while another soldier tore through an office, stuffing files into a bag.

Marco flicked a lighter and dropped it onto the soaked surface. Flames roared to life, heat blasting outward and forcing Elena to stumble back. Fire raced across the floor as sirens began to wail in the distance. Damien kept a firm hand on her back, steering her toward the exit as the warehouse burned behind them.

They ran. Smoke filled Elena’s lungs and her legs screamed in protest, but she didn’t stop until Damien shoved her into the car. Tires screeched as they sped away, police lights appearing just as Marco began barking orders into his phone to delay the response.

In the backseat, Elena stared at her hands, smeared with blood and soot, unable to shake the image of the man’s face before she pulled the trigger. It had been so easy. Two shots. A life ended. Damien reached for her hand without a word, and she clung to him until her fingers ached.

Back at the penthouse, everything felt distant, as if she were moving through water. Damien guided her to the couch and placed a glass of whiskey in her hand. She drank without tasting it as Marco reported the success of the operation. The warehouse was destroyed. The Calabrese family would feel the loss immediately. More importantly, word was spreading that the new Donna had led the attack herself.

When Elena asked about casualties, Marco told her only two soldiers were injured, both minor. No arrests. He praised her composure under fire, though she almost laughed at the idea. After he left, Damien sat beside her and asked how she was holding up.

She told him the truth. She had killed someone. She had ordered violence that would ruin lives. And she didn’t know how to feel about the fact that she didn’t regret it. Damien said that was the cost of this world. It turned people into strategists and made brutality feel necessary. The fact that she still questioned it meant she hadn’t lost herself yet.

Exhausted, Elena leaned against him, thinking of how only yesterday she had been a doctor sworn to save lives. Now she had taken one. Damien suggested they try to sleep. Tomorrow would bring more problems.

She doubted sleep would come, but she followed him anyway. In the bedroom, she stripped out of clothes reeking of smoke and gunpowder and collapsed into bed, feeling detached from her own body. Damien joined her and held her in silence while her mind replayed the gunshot over and over.

Eventually, exhaustion dragged her under. Just before sleep claimed her, her phone buzzed. The message made her blood run cold.

You just started a war you can’t win. The Calabrese family sends their regards.

Damien’s expression hardened when he read it. He welcomed it. Now there would be no confusion about where they stood.

Elena set the phone aside and stared into the dark, wondering how many more lives would be lost before this ended, and whether she would still recognize herself when it did.