CHAPTER SEVEN

The door didn’t slam.

That was the cruelest part.

It closed softly behind her, like she wasn’t ripping my chest open. Like she wasn’t taking something vital with her when she walked out of my life.

I stood there long after she was gone, staring at the space where she’d been, my eyes refusing to accept the emptiness. The room still smelled like her vanilla and graphite and something warm I’d never been able to name. It clung to the air, to my clothes, to the back of my throat. My hands were clenched so tight my knuckles burned, a dull, grounding pain I welcomed.

I didn’t move.

Because if I did, I might go after her.

And if I went after her, I wouldn’t stop.

I’d promised myself—promised her—that I wouldn’t trap her in this world. That I wouldn’t be the reason her life shrank into shadows and locked doors. I’d let her choose. Even if that choice gutted me.

Especially if it gutted me.

Footsteps echoed somewhere down the hall. Voices murmured. Someone laughed. Life went on inside this house like nothing inside me had just caved in.

I let out a short, bitter laugh that scraped my throat raw.

Figures.

I dragged a hand down my face and finally turned away from the door. The room felt wrong without her in it. Too wide. Too quiet. Like it was holding its breath, waiting for me to break.

Five minutes later, Luca knocked once and walked in without waiting for an answer.

“She left,” he said.

I didn’t look at him. “I know.”

His gaze stayed on me longer than usual, heavier, searching. Luca had been there for every version of me the angry boy, the defiant teenager, the man who swore he’d never sit in my father’s chair.

“You didn’t stop her,” he said.

“No.” My voice came out quiet. Flat. “I didn’t.”

Silence stretched between us, thick and familiar. Luca had watched me fight my father at every turn, watched me reject the blood, the legacy, the expectations that came with my last name. He’d watched me believe I could carve something cleaner out of a dirty inheritance.

He exhaled slowly. “You love her.”

The word hit harder than any bullet ever could.

“Yes.”

No hesitation. No denial.

Luca nodded, like something had finally clicked into place. “That makes this harder.”

I turned on him then, anger flashing hot and sharp. “Don’t start.”

“I’m not,” he said calmly. “I’m telling you the truth.”

“The truth,” I snapped, “is she left because of this life. Because of what my name costs the people around me.”

“And?” he asked.

“And I won’t let that be the end of it.”

His brow creased slightly. “Damian...”

“She doesn’t get to decide this is over,” I said, my voice dropping into something dangerous even I barely recognized. “Not after everything.”

Luca studied me carefully, like he was measuring the distance between who I had been and who I was becoming. “You just said you let her go.”

“For now.”

The words tasted like blood.

By nightfall, the house was full.

Men I hadn’t seen in years stepped out of the shadows capos, lieutenants, soldiers who’d sworn loyalty to my father long before I’d been old enough to understand what loyalty cost. Their eyes followed me differently now.

Not as the boss’s son.

As the man standing closest to the throne.

I took my place at the head of the long oak table in my father’s study. The air was thick with cigar smoke and tension, heavy enough to choke on. His chair sat empty behind me.

Good.

I didn’t want it looming over me yet.

“Talk,” I said.

Luca began laying it out territories, alliances, the deal that had gone wrong. Names I recognized. Names that made my jaw tighten. Names that would need to be dealt with.

With every word, something inside me hardened.

Every betrayal.

Every weakness.

Every second I’d delayed stepping in.

If I had taken control sooner…

She would have walked out that door even sooner.

A man near the end of the table cleared his throat. “We need retaliation.”

Murmurs rippled through the room, eager, restless.

I lifted a hand.

Silence snapped into place instantly.

“No,” I said.

Bodies stiffened.

“Not yet.”

Luca shot me a look. “Damian...”

“I said not yet.” I met his gaze without blinking. “We don’t strike blind. We don’t spill blood just to soothe our pride.”

Some of the men shifted, uncomfortable. Others watched me more closely now.

“We find out who did this,” I continued. “Who thought they could touch my family and live comfortably afterward. And when we move…”

I leaned forward, palms flat against the table.

“We end them.”

Not loud.

Not theatrical.

Final.

No one argued.

It was past midnight when I finally left the house.

I didn’t know where I was going until I was already there. The city streaked past in blurs of light and shadow, my grip tightening on the wheel the closer I got.

Her house rose into view like a wound reopening.

I parked across the street and killed the engine, my gaze locking onto her window.

The light was on.

She was home.

The relief hurt almost as much as the loss.

I imagined her inside sitting on the edge of the bed, maybe hugging her knees, convincing herself she’d done the right thing. Convincing herself she’d escaped me.

I almost laughed.

She had no idea.

I wouldn’t drag her back kicking and screaming. I wasn’t my father.

Or maybe i could...No.... i mean could i?

I’d become someone she couldn’t walk away from.

Someone the world itself bent for.

My phone buzzed.

Luca.

“Everything’s set,” he said. “The men are ready. And Damian… the council wants to meet tomorrow.”

The council.

I closed my eyes for a beat. “I’ll be there.”

“You sure?” he asked quietly. “Once you step in, there’s no half-measure.”

I looked at her window one last time.

“I don’t do halves.”

I didn’t sleep that night.

I stood on the balcony as the city breathed beneath me, cold wind cutting through my shirt, grief and rage fusing into something solid and unbreakable.

Elena thought leaving would protect her... i mean it could ... just not from me.

She thought distance would save us.

She was wrong.

I wouldn’t beg.

I would take her back.

Because Elena Carter was mine.

Just ...not now