Chapter Two: Baptism by Fire

The windows shattered with a deafening crash, glass spraying everywhere. Elena hit the floor before her brain caught up. Marco was already moving, gun drawn, phone pressed to his ear. He barked orders in Italian while bullets tore through the walls above her head. Elena froze for a moment, remembering her father’s body sitting just three feet away in that office. She realized she could be next.

Marco grabbed the back of her scrub top and hauled her to her feet. She stumbled but he didn’t let go. Gunfire echoed from downstairs. They ran for the door. It kicked open before they reached it. A man in black tactical gear charged through, shotgun raised. Marco fired first. Two bullets hit the intruder’s chest and he collapsed before Elena could process what had happened.

They jumped over the body and entered the hallway. Chaos ruled the space. Blood spattered the walls. Bodies lay across the marble floor. Men ran in every direction. Muzzle flashes lit the darkness. Marco’s grip on her wrist bruised her skin. He pulled her through the corridor while shooting at shapes she couldn’t identify through the smoke.

She stumbled over something soft and grimly noted another body under her foot. She didn’t look. She couldn’t stop moving. Halfway to the main staircase, someone grabbed her from behind. Cold steel pressed against her throat. She felt a breath against her ear and heard rapid Italian she didn’t understand. The knife made the message clear.

Marco spun around with his gun, but he couldn’t shoot. A miss would hit her. For a terrifying moment, she thought it was over. Then her training kicked in. Her father’s voice echoed in her mind from those self-defense classes she had hated. Instep. Always aim the instep when grabbed from behind. Elena drove her heel down. Something crunched beneath it. The man’s grip loosened. She slammed her elbow backward into his solar plexus.

He staggered and made a horrible choking sound. Marco fired three shots before she even turned. The man collapsed and didn’t move again. Marco pulled her toward a door she hadn’t noticed before. They entered a narrow service corridor. Gunfire from the house was suddenly muffled. Distant.

Elena leaned against the wall. Her hands shook uncontrollably, clenched into fists. Marco spoke rapidly into his phone again in Italian. When he hung up, he looked at her and nodded. He said the Morettis had brought twenty men. They had already taken down half of them. The basement was still locked down. No one could get out the front.

“There’s a tunnel from the wine cellar to the garage,” he said. “We need to move before they figure out your location.”

Elena’s phone rang. Marco told her to answer. Damien’s voice came through, amused. “You’re still alive,” he said. “I wasn’t sure you’d make it past five minutes.”

“Did you know this would happen?” Elena demanded. Anger began to replace fear. Anger was easier to focus on.

“I warned you the Morettis would move fast,” Damien said lazily. “I’m three minutes away with enough men and firepower to end this. Accept my help if you want to survive tonight.”

Elena told Marco. His jaw tightened. He nodded and instructed her to tell Damien they’d meet at the east gate. She relayed the message. Damien laughed and hung up.

The wine cellar was dark and smelled of earth and old wine. Marco used a flashlight to guide them past the racks. A section of stone swung open, revealing a narrow tunnel. Elena ducked under the low ceiling. The walls scraped her shoulders. The weight of the house pressed down above her.

They emerged in the garage through another hidden door. Concrete and fluorescent lights never looked so good. Marco’s phone rang again. He listened, hung up, and told her Cross was at the east gate with thirty men and enough weapons to start a small war. The Morettis were regrouping, but they would strike again in hours. They had to decide whether to trust Damien or consider him a threat.

Elena thought of the three hundred people who would die if she abandoned her father’s seat. She remembered Damien’s offer in his office. It had seemed insane then. Now it felt like the only lifeline. “Take me to him,” she said. Her voice steadier than she felt.

Marco drove through the estate without headlights, guided by memory and moonlight. The main house burned in the distance. Muzzle flashes lit the windows. Bodies were scattered across the lawn. Elena didn’t count them. She tried not to think about how recently they had been alive.

The east gate was open. Damien leaned against a black SUV, rifle casually slung over his shoulder. At least twenty armed men stood behind him. When Marco pulled up, they all raised weapons. Marco instructed them to stand down. Damien raised one hand lazily. The men lowered their guns immediately.

Damien walked toward Elena’s door with the same predatory grace she had noticed before. He looked her up and down. “You’re covered in blood,” he observed, like it was nothing unusual.

“It’s been a long night,” Elena said flatly.

“I can see that,” he said, smiling. A dangerous, teasing smile. “Ready to hear my terms or should I let the Morettis finish this?”

Elena thought of her father’s body and the man she had helped kill. Twenty-four hours ago, her biggest problem was an intubation in the ER. She held out her hand. “I’m ready. Let’s talk.”

Damien’s hand closed around hers. Warm. Strong. Confident. Electric. He pulled her toward the SUV and opened the passenger door. He told her they were going to his penthouse. Neutral ground. Most secure location in the city.

Marco followed. They spoke quietly. Elena’s phone buzzed with a warning: trust Damien, but do not run. She looked at him. His eyes were dark, predatory, seeing every defense she had.

“The Morettis lost fourteen men. They’re pulling back. They’ll return within forty-eight hours, with more men and better planning. Your father’s territory is worth two hundred million a year. They think you’re weak,” Damien said.

“And what do you think?” Elena asked quietly.

“They’re about to find out how wrong they are,” Damien said.

He drove fast. Elena watched the city pass by, trying to process everything. She had killed someone tonight, or at least helped. Her hands still smelled of blood, even after washing twice. Her father was dead. She was the head of a crime family she never wanted to join. And she was driving with a man who wanted to marry her for her territory.

“First time?” Damien asked.

“What?”

“First kill. That move with the knife guy was good. Where’d you learn it?”

“My father made me take self-defense classes when I was sixteen,” Elena said. Her throat tight. “I hated them.”

“Bet you’re grateful now.” His phone rang. He answered in Italian, cold and commanding. Hung up. “Your father taught you to shoot too?”

“Yes.”

“Good. You’ll need it.” He accelerated. “The Morettis aren’t the only family coming. Calabrese will act within a week. DeLucas are planning. All want your territory and think you’re easy prey.”

“Then I’ll prove them wrong,” Elena said. Surprised by her own words.

Damien smiled sharply. “Exactly what I wanted to hear.”

They entered an underground garage. His men fanned out, securing the area. He kept his rifle ready. He scanned the garage twice before opening her door. She realized he lived like this. Always watching. Always planning escape routes.

The elevator needed a keycard and fingerprint scan. They rode in silence. Elena’s reflection stared back. Blood on her face. Hair loose from its bun. Scrubs stained. She barely recognized herself.

“Question,” Damien said. “If you could go back to yesterday, before your father died, would you?”

Elena thought of her small apartment, her simple life. The three hundred people who would die if she walked away. “No,” she said. She meant it.

Damien’s smile reached his eyes. “Good answer.”

The penthouse took the entire top floor. Floor-to-ceiling windows. Expensive furniture. Damien led her to a guest bedroom. Clothes were there. Perfect fit. When she asked how he knew her size, he smiled. “I plan for everything.”

Elena showered until the water ran clear. Her skin burned from the heat. She emerged to designer clothes that fit perfectly. She dressed and joined Damien by the windows, whiskey in hand. Heat pooled low in her stomach when he looked at her.

He handed her a whiskey, pulled out a folder, and explained the marriage contract with the same efficiency he used in any negotiation. Elena read through the terms, her heart racing each time he glanced at her. When she requested an addition to the contract, he smiled like he had expected it.

If you want, I can also rewrite Chapter 4 in the same style so it matches Chapters 1 & 2 perfectly.

Do you want me to do that next?