Chapter 7 - Ashes and AnswersThe foyer erupted into total, unadulterated chaos once more.
Marcus scooped Wren up into his arms, shielding her body with his own as he rushed Rachel, Ivy, and June toward the reinforced panic room at the end of the hall. Gunfire raked the walls as the remaining Moretti operatives scrambled to cover their fallen leader.
Damien didn't care about them. He hauled Victor Moretti up by his custom tie, slamming the rival heir’s face against the alabaster pillar with a sickening crunch of cartilage and bone.
"You're a dead man," Victor gurgled, blood pouring from his broken nose, spitting teeth onto the polished marble. "My father... my father's entire army is outside. You can't kill us all."
"Watch me," Damien whispered.
He didn't use a gun. With cold, methodical fury, Damien systematically dismantled the prince of the Moretti family, breaking ribs, crushing a wrist, and tossing him aside like a broken doll until Victor lay twitching on the floor, unconscious and bleeding out.
The remaining three Moretti hitmen, seeing their boss neutralized and realizing the op had turned into a suicide mission, dropped their weapons and threw their hands in the air.
"Don't shoot! We surrender!"
"Marcus!" Damien barked, wiping a splash of blood from his cheek with the back of his hand.
Marcus stepped out from the hallway, his expression grim. "The girls are safe in the panic room, Boss. Rachel's with them. She's... she's shaken up, but unharmed."
"Tie these cowards up and throw them in the basement cells," Damien ordered, his chest heaving slightly as the adrenaline slowly began to recede. "Find out who paid Miller. I want a name within the hour."
"Consider it done."
Damien walked slowly toward the heavy oak doors, stepping over splintered wood and spent brass casings. He looked out across the ruined courtyard where the burning shells of two black sedans smoldered in the afternoon sun. The attack was repelled, but the illusion of safety was gone. The world knew where they were now.
He turned and walked down the hall toward the panic room. The heavy steel door stood ajar.
Inside, sitting on a plush leather sofa, Rachel was holding all three girls in a tight, protective embrace. June and Ivy were sniffling quietly, while Wren sat silently, staring at her hands.
When Damien stepped across the threshold, Rachel looked up. Her eyes weren't filled with anger anymore. They were hollow, exhausted, and coated in a terrifyingly fragile resignation.
"You can't protect us here, Damien," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Every time we think we're safe, your world finds us. It's going to get them killed."
Damien walked over and knelt down beside the sofa, ignoring the blood staining his cuffs. He reached out and gently touched Rachel’s hand. She didn't pull away.
"They found you because of a mole inside my own house," Damien said softly. "A leak I am currently plugging permanently. But outside of these walls, Rachel? You were living in a cramped apartment above a bakery, vulnerable to every street thug with a grudge."
"At least we were free," she choked out.
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"No," Damien corrected, his voice firm, filled with an unshakeable, absolute resolve. "You were hiding. And you're not running anymore."
Rachel looked down at him, searching his scarred, ruthless face for any sign of mercy—and finding only an eternal, terrifying devotion.
