Seraphina POV

The deafening crack of the splintered door still echoed in the cramped room as Angelo's massive frame filled the doorway. His chest heaved, his dark eyes locking instantly onto the blood-soaked mattress.

In two brutal strides, he crossed the room. He pressed two thick fingers against Damien's neck, exhaling a harsh breath when he found a pulse. Then, he spun on me.

His Colt M1911 was drawn and leveled at my chest before I could even blink.

"Who did you call, *puttana*?" (whore) Angelo snarled, his voice a lethal rumble.

He didn't wait for an answer. Driven by the blind, absolute loyalty of a Falcone *Soldier*, he began tearing the forgotten safe house apart. He kicked the rusted iron table, sending it crashing into the wall. He took a switchblade from his pocket and slashed the mattress near Damien's feet, ripping out the stuffing to search for a hidden wire or weapon. He tore the moth-eaten curtains down, shattering the window pane in his blind rage.

I stood perfectly still, my face a mask of ice. I had died once already; the wrath of a mafia enforcer no longer terrified me.

Finding nothing, Angelo lunged. He grabbed me by the throat and slammed me back against the peeling wallpaper. The cold steel barrel of his gun dug painfully into my temple.

"Who set the ambush?" he roared, his spit hitting my cheek.

I stared back into his murderous eyes and said absolutely nothing. My silence, my refusal to cower, only fueled his frustration. With a disgusted grunt, he released my throat, letting me slide down the wall.

"You're a liability," Angelo muttered, turning his back on me to reach for Damien. "I'm taking the Boss. And then I'm putting a bullet in your head. You're nothing but trash in the way."

*Trash.*

The word echoed in my mind, unlocking a vault of past-life memories. The humiliation. The way I was treated as a disposable pawn, locked away and left to bleed out. The sheer dismissal in Angelo's voice ignited a blinding, reckless fury in my chest. I refused to die on my knees again.

"Stop right there," I said, my voice dropping to a razor-sharp whisper.

Angelo paused, glancing over his shoulder with a sneer.

I stepped forward, channeling every ounce of my hatred, and slapped him across the face.

The sharp *crack* of my palm against his jaw silenced the storm outside. Angelo froze, his eyes widening in sheer disbelief. A country girl had just struck a made man.

"You call yourself his most loyal *Soldier*," I spat, my voice trembling with venom, "yet you can't even tell who is saving him and who is killing him. You're nothing but a mindless, rabid dog!"

His eyes went dead. The shock vanished, replaced by pure, unadulterated malice. He racked the slide of his Colt and pressed the muzzle dead center against my forehead.

"You're dead, Moretti."

I closed my eyes. This was it. The Damien Falcone I knew from my past life would never sacrifice a loyal man for a pawn. I braced for the gunshot, waiting for the dark abyss to claim me again.

"Stand down."

The voice was a ragged, breathless rasp, but it carried the crushing, absolute weight of a *Don's Command*.

Angelo's face lit up with vindication. "Boss. I've got the rat—"

"I said, stand down."

I opened my eyes. Damien was struggling to sit up against the iron headboard. His face was ashen, his shirt ruined with blood, but his dark eyes were entirely lucid. They burned with a terrifying, cold fury.

Angelo hesitated, lowering the gun a fraction.

In that split second, Damien lunged forward with a sudden burst of adrenaline. He struck Angelo across the face with the back of his hand. The blow wasn't heavy, but the sheer authority behind it staggered the massive enforcer.

"She saved my life, you fool," Damien snarled, his chest heaving as he gripped his bleeding side. "While you let my car get shot to pieces, she dragged me out of hell. If you ever point a weapon at her again, I will put a bullet in your skull myself."

Angelo stood paralyzed, his face burning red with humiliation and shock.

"Now get out," Damien ordered, his voice leaving no room for argument. "Find a doctor we can trust."

Angelo swallowed hard, his jaw tight. He shot me a look of pure venom before bowing his head. "Yes, Boss."

As Angelo backed out of the ruined room, I stared at the man on the bed, my heart hammering against my ribs. The Damien of my past life would have let me die without a second glance. But this man had just struck his most trusted man to protect me. The foundation of my revenge trembled, leaving me staring at the monster I swore to destroy, entirely unsure of what he truly was.

Seraphina POV

Angelo was halfway through the splintered doorframe when Damien's voice, though ragged, cracked through the dusty air like a whip.

"Angelo."

The massive enforcer froze, his broad shoulders tensing. He turned back slowly.

"Kneel," Damien commanded, his dark eyes devoid of any warmth. "And apologize to your future Mafia Queen."

The silence that followed was deafening. Angelo's face turned a mottled, furious purple. A made man, a lethal *Soldier* of the Falcone family, being ordered to bow to a country girl in a ruined safe house. It was the ultimate humiliation. But the supremacy of loyalty bound him; a *Soldier* did not defy his *Underboss*.

Angelo's jaw clenched so hard I thought his teeth would shatter. Slowly, agonizingly, he dropped heavily to one knee. He refused to meet my eyes, staring instead at the blood-stained floorboards.

"My apologies, *Signorina*" (Miss), he ground out, every syllable dripping with suppressed venom.

Damien didn't dismiss him. He simply shifted his gaze to me, ignoring the bleeding wound at his side. "I am Damien Falcone," he said, his voice a low, resonant rumble that seemed to vibrate in my very bones. "Your fiancé."

An hour later, the suffocating tension followed us into the back of the black Duesenberg Model J.

The luxurious leather seats smelled of expensive cigars and gunpowder. Angelo was behind the wheel, his hateful glare burning into me through the rearview mirror as we cruised through the bustling streets of Chicago.

Damien sat beside me, a temporary bandage wrapped tightly around his torso. Despite his injury, his presence consumed the space.

"You pulled me from the fire," Damien said suddenly, breaking the heavy silence. He turned his head, his sharp, calculating gaze pinning me to the seat. "Name your reward. Any compensation you desire, it is yours."

My heart hammered against my ribs. This was my chance. The Damien of my past life had locked me away to rot, but this man owed me his life.

"Break the engagement," I said, my voice steady, though my hands trembled in my lap.

The faint trace of civility vanished from Damien's face. His expression turned to absolute ice, his eyes darkening into bottomless pits.

"I was raised in the country," I pushed on, desperate to sever this fatal tie. "I don't know your rules. I don't belong in your world. I will only tarnish the Falcone name. Call off the wedding."

Damien leaned closer, the scent of copper and dark musk enveloping me. "The contract was sealed by my grandfather, the *Don*," he replied, his voice a velvet threat. "It is unbreakable. As for the rules, you will learn them."

He reached out, his knuckles lightly brushing against my cheek. I flinched, but he didn't pull away. "I admire your bluntness, Fia. But do not mistake my gratitude for weakness. You are mine now."

I swallowed hard, turning my face toward the window. The first battle was lost. He was more possessive, more terrifyingly stubborn than the ghost in my memories.

By the time we arrived at the Moretti estate, the afternoon sun was casting long, golden shadows over the manicured Italian gardens. Damien was immediately escorted to a quiet side wing by his men to be treated by a discreet doctor.

A maid was assigned to lead me toward the main house. As we walked down the gravel path, I spotted my half-sister, Rosalia, and her brother, Marco, standing near the edge of the deep ornamental pool.

They were whispering furiously to each other. When Rosalia saw me, her malicious sneer instantly morphed into a sickly sweet, entirely fake smile.

"Sister! You've finally arrived," Rosalia called out, stepping dangerously close to the edge of the freezing water, gesturing for me to join her.

Every instinct I had screamed that it was a trap. They wanted a spectacle for my first day.

Before I could alter my path, a slight movement in the shadows caught my eye. Through the thick ivy of the nearby gazebo, I saw him.

Damien was reclining in the shade, his suit jacket discarded. He was perfectly concealed from my siblings, but his dark eyes were fixed intently on Rosalia and Marco. He had heard them. I could see it in the cold, expectant tilt of his head. Then, his gaze slid slowly to me, waiting to see what I would do.