Valentina's POV

Figlio di puttana. The words sliced through my mind, cold and biting as I saw the glimmer of something darker in Marcus' eyes. This wasn't a proposition—it was a threat. He wasn't offering an alliance; he was drawing a line in the sand.

Marry his son, or die.

The room felt too tight, the walls closing in on me with every breath. Would this never end? The constant dance between survival and power, with every move I made pushing me deeper into their games. But no. Not this time. I wasn't going to be their pawn.

In an instant, everything slowed. The air turned thick, heavy with the tension of a million possibilities, and my body reacted without thought. My fingers found the cold metal of my gun hidden beneath my leather jacket. The familiar weight calmed the rising storm in my chest, but my muscles were still tight, every nerve primed. I wasn't going to let them think they could control me. Not like this.

I didn't need to look, but I did. Damien. He was already on edge, his eyes hard, his hand steady on his own weapon, gun trained on Marcus. He wasn't used to this—not yet. This was his first real test, and I could see the uncertainty flickering in his eyes. But I couldn't waste time. Not now.

Damien hadn't been here long. And he was still figuring me out, still learning what it meant to protect someone like me. I felt his gaze, sharp and questioning, but I didn't have time to reassure him. He'd either follow through, or he wouldn't. There was no middle ground.

The silence was suffocating, every breath thick with tension. Then Antonio's voice sliced through the stillness, low and deadly, a warning more than words. "You've got to be fucking kidding me."

His gun cracked through the air, sharp and deliberate—no intention to hit, but a clear message: don't make me go further.

I barely glanced at Antonio. My eyes stayed locked on McKenzie, his cool demeanor unwavering, like he didn't feel the weight of this moment. His lips curved into a smile, unsettling in its calmness.

"My darling Valentina," McKenzie's voice oozed like honey, smooth and confident. "You are not Luciano. Learn your place, and you will live. Marry my son, and we all walk out of here alive, and happy."

I could feel my heartbeat in my throat, my fists clenched at my sides, rage burning through my veins. Learn my place? The words hit harder than any punch, but they didn't break me. Instead, the fire inside me grew, fierce and unrelenting.

Preferisco morire che consegnarti il mio impero.(I'd rather die than hand my empire to you)

I spat the words in Italian, the venom thick in my voice, each syllable a threat that echoed in the room. I could feel the cold weight of my gun pressing against my fingertips. It felt like the only thing anchoring me to reality. My breath was shallow, my chest rising and falling with the surge of adrenaline.

In an instant, the world shifted. My finger tightened around the trigger, and the crack of the gunshot shattered the air. The sound deafened me, the recoil harsh against my palm. McKenzie stumbled back, a shocked grunt escaping his lips, but the bastard wasn't dead.

The bullet didn't kill him, but it sure as hell unsettled him. The air smelled of gunpowder, sharp and acrid, the metallic tang of bullets hanging heavy.

Before I could react, Damien's gunfire erupted beside me—loud and fast, his shots punctuating the chaos. I wasn't sure where he aimed, but I didn't care. I was already in motion, firing once more. The rush of my gun discharging sent another wave of adrenaline rushing through me. Every shot was a desperate cry for control. I wasn't going down without a fight.

"Take her to the car!" Antonio shouted, his voice cutting through the madness. His eyes locked on Damien as their bodyguard went down in a blur of fists and gunfire.

My heart raced as the madness unfolded around me.

I spotted McKenzie again, still reeling from the first shot, his eyes wide with fury. That calm, controlled mask was gone now—replaced with a savage rage. His hand shot out, reaching for his own weapon.

I didn't hesitate.

My finger squeezed the trigger again, and this time, I aimed for his head.

BANG.

A clean shot. McKenzie collapsed like a ragdoll, his body hitting the floor with a sickening thud. The room fell into an eerie silence, punctuated only by the ringing in my ears.

But my victory was short-lived. The weight of his son's gaze burned through me before I even saw him move. Marcus. His face twisted with disbelief, then pure, unbridled rage. His eyes bulged with madness as he leaped toward meI barely had time to breathe before Marcus was on me, his fury burning in his eyes like a fire that couldn't be put out. His movements were frantic, a predator cornering its prey—but I wasn't about to go down like this.

I shut my eyes for a fraction of a second, trying to steady my breath. My hands were trembling, but I forced myself to ignore it. My gun—my only lifeline—was just within reach. I could feel its cool metal, the weight of it steadying my pulse as I gripped it once more. But the impact of Marcus's attack never came. His desperation was palpable, but something else was keeping him at bay.

Damien.

His body slammed into Marcus with a force that sent them both crashing to the ground. I didn't have time to fully process the scene before I saw Damien's fist connect with Marcus's jaw, the punch sending a sickening crack through the air. I could almost taste the violence in the room, thick and metallic, as Marcus staggered back, clutching his jaw. His rage was far from diminished, though. His eyes, wild and unfocused, locked on Damien as he lunged forward again, this time with more fury than before.

Damien moved like a storm, every punch deliberate, a force of nature unleashed. The way he fought was almost primal—there was no hesitation, no second guessing. His movements were fluid, controlled, a contrast to Marcus's flailing, desperate attempts. Damien's knee caught Marcus in the stomach, driving all the air out of him with a force that left the younger man gasping for breath.

I watched it all, my eyes flicking from one brutal movement to the next, analyzing, calculating. Damien wasn't just defending me—he was annihilating every ounce of Marcus's resistance. There was something in the way he moved, his body language exuding a quiet confidence as if he had done this a thousand times before. Every punch he landed was like a statement, an unspoken promise that no one would harm me—not while he was there.

The sound of bones colliding with flesh echoed in the space, a sickening rhythm that kept me on edge. Damien's focus was sharp, his eyes never leaving Marcus as his fists landed with precision. It was brutal, efficient, and violent. It was as if he had no room for mercy in that moment, and I couldn't bring myself to look away.

But then—something shifted.

I saw Antonio.

Antonio was on the ground, struggling beneath one of McKenzie's men, the pressure on his throat enough to make him gasp for air. The scene unfolded so fast that my heart skipped a beat. Without thinking, I grabbed my gun and slid out of my seat, my fingers tight around the grip as I moved toward Antonio.

 The hairs on the back of my neck stood up as I raised the gun, steadying my breath.

The man above Antonio was still focused on choking him, oblivious to my presence. I didn't hesitate.

My shot rang out, sharp and clear. The bullet hit its mark—a clean shot to the back of the man's head. He fell with a sickening thud, his body going limp as Antonio gasped for breath, his face flushed and wild with panic.

I didn't wait to watch Marcus crumple to the ground. My eyes snapped back to Damien. I wasn't worried about the fight; I was worried about him. The energy in the room had shifted. Marcus was weakening, but Damien wasn't letting up. His fists came down with the kind of precision that spoke of years of training, each blow landing like a hammer driving the man closer to the edge.

I could see it in Marcus's eyes—his madness was starting to fade, his desperation draining with every hit. He wasn't done yet. He swung wildly, trying to get one last shot in, but Damien moved like a shadow, sidestepping the blow with a smooth, effortless grace.

I could hear Antonio's ragged breathing behind me, but my focus never wavered. Damien was taking care of it, but I couldn't shake the tight knot in my chest. My body was still trembling from the adrenaline, but all I could think of was getting through this. Getting him through this.

Damien surged forward with a brutal, fluid motion, grabbing Marcus by the collar and lifting him off the ground. The sheer force with which he slammed Marcus back down made the room reverberate. I heard it—a sickening crack as Marcus's head collided with the floor. The sound was enough to make my stomach turn, but I couldn't look away.

"Damien, enough!" I shouted, my voice sharp, slicing through the air. I didn't need to see more. We were done here.

Damien froze, his body still coiled like a spring, his breath heavy. Slowly, he turned to face me. His eyes—those damn eyes—were filled with concern. I looked at him, taking in the cut on his lip, the bruise already forming on his cheek. His knuckles were bloodied, his stance still tense.

I barely noticed the ache in my own body as I clicked my heels on the cold concrete floor, stepping closer to Marcus's fallen form.

Damien moved to stop me, but I pushed past him, not giving him a chance to argue. I didn't care what he wanted to say. I was done waiting. I looked down at Marcus, his face twisted in pain, his breath shallow, his eyes filled with nothing but desperation. He knew.

I reached out a hand, steady, calm, and not a word left my mouth. Damien, watching me closely, handed over the gun without hesitation, his eyes still locked on me. His hand brushed against mine, the briefest touch, but it spoke volumes.

"Please—Valentina, don't," Marcus's voice cracked, pleading, a tremble running through him. His eyes were wide, desperate, but I didn't respond.

I raised the gun, aiming it directly at the center of his forehead. There was no emotion in me—not now, not after everything. Just a cold, empty resolve. He had made his choice.

The shot rang out,the echo of the gunfire hanging in the air, sharp and final.

Silence.

I stood there for a moment, the weight of the action settling over me. The body on the floor was just that—a body. Marcus was nothing more than a casualty in this world. I felt no satisfaction, no victory, only the bitter taste of what I had to do.

I turned away, my gaze sliding off Marcus's body like it was nothing more than a faded memory. The silence was suffocating, thick in the air, pressing in on me from all sides. The world beyond that room felt like it was a lifetime away, the weight of the moment dragging me down, pulling me further into a darkness I couldn't escape. There was no going back from this. Not from this godforsaken life.

"I'm going home," I said, my voice cold, like I'd just ordered a drink at a bar, not spoken after taking someone's life. I glanced at Antonio, his chest still heaving as he caught his breath from the fight. His eyes locked onto mine, and he nodded, understanding without a word. "Will you clean this mess for me?"

I didn't wait for his response. I was already walking, my mind a thousand miles away, my thoughts a blur. Damien, though, stayed close, his presence a constant at my back. His footsteps light, yet steady, as if he were walking on eggshells around me. Even though he was right behind me, so near that I could feel the heat of his body, I couldn't shake the feeling of emptiness that still gnawed at my insides. 

It wasn't until we reached the hallway that I felt his fingers wrap around mine, the sudden contact pulling me out of my head, out of the fog that had settled there. I froze. The rush of the moment still clung to me, and the simple touch of his hand on mine sent a shiver through me. It was a jolt. 

I turned to look at him, and the intensity in his eyes caught me off guard. There was something there, something raw that made the air between us suddenly thick with unspoken tension.

"Are you okay?" His voice was low, almost a whisper, as if the world outside the two of us had fallen away. His gaze never left mine, his eyes wide with something I couldn't name. It wasn't just concern—it was something deeper, something heavier.

He was too close. His body radiated heat, warmth that felt almost foreign to me now, after the cold, calculating motions I'd just made. I couldn't look away. I found myself caught in the depth of his stare, his worry curling around me like a tangible thing.

And that's when it hit me. He wasn't just asking out of politeness, out of the professionalism of a bodyguard. No, Damien was scared. Scared like he thought I might die. And the realization sliced through me, sharper than any bullet, a cold reminder of how close I had come to that very thing.

Who am I kidding? I could have died there.

I felt his fingers tighten around mine, the warmth of his touch spreading through me like a slow burn. Then, his hand slid to my hip, steady and sure, like a silent reassurance, a promise that he wouldn't let go, that he wouldn't let me fall. For a brief moment, I felt something in me shift, something I didn't know I was capable of feeling. Vulnerable. Human. My mask, so carefully constructed over the years, began to crack, and I could feel the raw edges of it splintering under the weight of his touch.

For a heartbeat, everything stood still. The world felt too heavy, too real, and I wanted to scream, to break free of it all. You can't, Valentina! You can't fall apart. Not now, not ever. The voice inside me, the cold, calculating part of me that had kept me alive all these years, screamed at me to snap back into control.

I did.

I snapped myself together, as I always had, as I always would. My breath steadied, my heart slowed, and I squared my shoulders, feeling the familiar hardness return to my chest.

"I'm fine," I said, the words flat, rehearsed. I refused to look at him for too long, unwilling to let him see the vulnerability that had briefly cracked through. "Thank you. Let's go home."

But there was something different now. The air between us had shifted, charged with the kind of unspoken understanding that only comes when you've shared a moment of raw truth, even if neither of you is ready to acknowledge it.