All Chapters of BLOOD AND ROSES: Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

Every hallway Damian walked through hummed with the quiet efficiency of men trying not to show fear. Marco’s orders echoed from somewhere near the garage; engines coughed, doors slammed, radios crackled. Damian ignored it all. He needed silence to think. Damian closed the study door behind him and stood for a long moment, letting the noise outside fade. The mirror over the liquor cabinet caught his reflection—blood drying on his collar, a line of bruises along his jaw. Damian didn’t bother cleaning them yet. He wanted to see the damage, to remember how close the bullet had come. How close Isabella had been. Isabella’s face kept flickering behind his eyes—the instant she had thrown herself toward him when the shots rang out, the shock in her eyes when she realized what she’d done. She could have let him fall. She hadn’t. As much Damian wanted to forget it,he just couldn't. Damian kept on remembering everything detail. Everything. It was as though his mind was in a const

The night had the stillness of a trap that had already been sprung. Every window in the Moretti mansion glowed faintly, a pulse of quiet light in the vast dark. Yet inside, nothing felt still. Not to Isabella. Isabella moved through the hallways barefoot, her reflection flashing between mirrors and polished marble—one woman duplicated endlessly, every version trying to look composed. Her mind, however, replayed the afternoon over and over: the way Damian’s expression had flickered when Marco delivered the news from the docks, the terse order that had followed, and the moment their eyes met before he left with his men. Damian hadn’t said when he would return. He rarely did. But something in his look, a tiny fracture beneath the usual control, had unsettled her more than the silence that followed. When the study door finally opened behind her,Isabella startled, almost dropping the book she wasn’t reading. Damian entered without a word, his coat still on, dark smudges near the cuff

The morning began not with peace but with a silence that felt aware of itself—like the walls knew a boundary had shifted overnight and were waiting to see what came next. Isabella woke slowly, not because she’d slept well, but because her body refused to move before her mind caught up. She stared at the ceiling for a moment, replaying the night in flashes: Damian’s voice when he spoke of the fire, the way he looked at her when she said she believed he blamed himself, the brief touch of his fingers over hers. Nothing about it had been loud. But it had been seismic. Isabella pushed the sheets aside and stood. Her robe slid around her shoulders, her feet finding the coolness of the floor as she crossed the room. Down the hall, someone spoke in a low voice—Marco, likely. He always spoke quietly in the mornings, as if trying not to wake a house that never truly slept. But today Isabella didn’t pause to listen. For once, the shadows behind conversations were less interesting than th

The morning after the hospital scare carried a strange heaviness, as though something unseen had shifted beneath the surface of the Moretti world. Isabella felt it the moment she opened her eyes. Not fear exactly. Something quieter. Sharper. A tension threaded through the air like invisible wire. Isabella changed slowly, pulling on a soft sweater, brushing her hair back, trying not to think too hard about the previous night — about Damian’s hands gripping hers as they waited for results, about his voice when he whispered You scared me, about the look in his eyes when the test came back negative. Relief. And something else she hadn’t wanted to acknowledge. When Isabella stepped into the hallway, she didn’t expect to find Damian leaning against the wall outside her door. Not pacing. Not issuing orders. Waiting. Damian straightened the moment she appeared. “You slept longer than usual,” he said. Not cold, not demanding, careful. “I was exhausted,” she replied. “I know.” T

The drive was silent... the kind of silence that pressed against the ribs and sat heavy in the throat. Damian didn’t speak. He didn’t touch Isabella. But he didn’t look away from her, either. Every time Isabella shifted, Damian’s attention snapped toward her... ..like her smallest movement mattered more than the world outside the windows. When they left the last strip of city lights behind, Isabella finally asked, “Damian,Where are we going?” Damian didn’t look at her. But the muscle in his jaw tightened. “A place no one has access to. Not my father. Not the family. Not our men.” A pause. “Not even the enemies who think they understand me.” so That should have comforted Isabella. But it didn’t. Because the way Damian said enemies sounded too personal. Too familiar. Like he knew exactly who was out there. And exactly what they are capable of. The road narrowed as the car turned down a private route, winding through darkness and dense trees. But Isabella couldn’