All Chapters of BLOOD AND ROSES: Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

Damian’s POV The house still hadn’t learned to sleep. Even in the silence before dawn, it breathed — the faint creak of timber, the soft groan of pipes, the distant hum of security systems that watched when men couldn’t. Damian sat in his study with the curtains drawn and a cooling cup of espresso untouched beside him. The fire had burned low, an orange heart flickering weakly inside its glass cage. He’d been there for hours, pretending to read reports he already knew by memory. The words blurred into nothing — figures, routes, names — all of it dissolving beneath the image that refused to leave him. Isabella, standing before him in that quiet defiance of hers. The way she’d looked at him lately: no longer afraid, but something worse. Understanding. He rubbed a hand across his jaw, exhaling slowly. Control — the one thing he’d never lost, not once. It had been his law, his armor, his god. But the longer she stayed, the more cracks he found in that discipline. She moved thro

The day unfolded in a quiet rhythm that felt almost unnatural to the Moretti house. No orders barked through corridors, no quick murmurs from men in dark suits, no tense footsteps echoing across marble floors. The quiet didn’t demand obedience; it simply existed, like a fragile truce the walls themselves were afraid to disturb. Outside, the garden still glistened from the night’s rain. Sunlight spilled through the dripping ivy that framed the arched windows, scattering shards of gold across the floor. Isabella crossed the courtyard slowly, her fingers grazing over damp petals. It had been so long since she’d stepped outside without purpose. The scent of wet earth and roses curled through the air, grounding her in a way nothing else had. Damian followed at a distance, hands in his pockets, watching her with the kind of attention that came from instinct, not habit. He was used to scanning a room for danger; now he found himself scanning her, searching for signs of unease, of dista

Morning found the house caught in that deceptive quiet that comes after a storm. Nothing was broken, yet everything felt slightly off-center, as if a picture frame had been tilted and no one dared fix it. Damian had already left the bedroom before dawn, and Isabella woke to the faint scent of his cologne fading down the hallway. In the dining room, Maria set the table in silence. The silver gleamed, the coffee steamed, but Isabella tasted little. She told herself that peace was possible—that perhaps they had reached an understanding—but the stillness in the mansion hummed like wires stretched too tight. When Damian finally appeared, his expression was unreadable. He greeted her with a nod, not a kiss. “You didn’t sleep,” he said. “I could ask the same of you,” she replied, voice soft. He poured coffee, the gesture neat and deliberate. “Work doesn’t sleep.” Neither do ghosts, she thought but didn’t say. The memory of their closeness—of how quickly tenderness could turn to d

The drive to the hotel was steeped in silence. Damian’s hand rested on the steering wheel, firm and still, his jaw set in that unbreakable line Isabella had learned to read like a map of warning signs. He hadn’t said much since they’d left the mansion, not even when she asked about the purpose of the event. Now, as the towering glass façade of the Grand Aurelius shimmered before them, she finally understood — this was not just business. It was about power. He exited first, as always, a wall of control in a dark suit. His fingers brushed hers only long enough to guide her inside. The gesture looked tender to outsiders, but Isabella could feel the silent command beneath it: Stay close. Inside, everything glimmered — chandeliers like liquid fire, a crowd of tailored ambition and quiet malice. The kind of people who whispered fortunes and traded names like weapons. Damian belonged to this world completely. She, still learning how to breathe in it. “Smile,” he murmured near her e

Damian's POV Damian had lived through too many winters of blood to ever mistake peace for safety. In his world, quiet was only the sound made right before the next shot. But lately, the silence around him wasn’t from enemies. It was Isabella. He watched her from the terrace that morning, standing near the edge of the stone balustrade, sketchbook open, a streak of light in her hair. She was different now — sharper, more aware. The fragile woman who had once trembled in his presence was gone, replaced by someone who measured every word, every pause. He didn’t know when it had changed. Maybe it was the first time she’d stood up to him, the first time she’d stopped lowering her eyes. Maybe it was when she started walking the halls like they belonged to her. Whatever it was, the balance between them had shifted — not entirely, but enough that he felt it every time she entered the room. She was learning. Watching. Adapting. Exactly what he had wanted, and yet somehow, it terr