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The taste of iron and betrayal still lingers on my tongue, but beneath the terror and the fury, something cold and hard settles in my stomach. A realization. One that’s sour and unwelcome yet undeniably true. I can't believe it. All of this. Every twisted, blood-stained moment is because of money and power.
The world I grew up in, the one I naïvely chose to marry into, worships at the altar of wealth and domination. Damien is the ruthless god who presides over it. I think of him now, his eyes that command with an iron fist, his charisma that enraptures and terrifies in equal measure.
In the privacy of our home, I've glimpsed his vulnerability, a whisper of tenderness that he dares show only to me. Aurora believes him weakened, but she doesn’t truly know her brother. I know the other face of Damien, the one sculpted by shadows and stained with the blood of his enemies. He's not weak.
He's calculating, precise, a predator who waits patiently for the perfect moment to strike. Damien’s capacity for blood and vengeance is unquenchable. His power is meticulously crafted and fiercely guarded. No, Damien isn't weak. He is the very embodiment of the cold, methodical force that rules our world.
A hysterical laugh bubbles up from my throat, sharp and uncontrollable. It cuts through the tension in the room like a knife, drawing wide-eyed stares at the absurdity of the sound. These guys are so stupid.
"You all think you're so clever," I gasp between erratic breaths. "But you forgot one thing," I pause, my eyes methodically meeting each of them, making sure they feel the weight of my gaze. "My husband is Damien Blackhart."
The name tastes good on my tongue. "His heart is as black as his name, stained with the blood of his enemies. You've underestimated him, but I haven't. When he realizes I'm missing, he’ll remind you exactly who he is."
My voice sharpens, cold as the steel of a blade. "He'll become a man on a war path, annihilating anything and everything that stands in his way because you are right about one thing. He does care for me. He cares for our unborn child. He will do anything to get to us. And I'll clue you in on a little secret."
I lean forward, as far as my bonds allow, a smirk playing on my lips before I deliver the final blow. "I'm the one that tames the beast. Without me around, no one will stop him. You've just sealed your fates."
32
CHAPTER 32
Damien
I grip the steering wheel until my knuckles turn white, each turn taking us closer to my mother's house, each turn a silent scream of fury. Victor breaks the silence, his own anger a palpable force.
"This is bullshit, Damien. They played us like amateurs," he spits out, his eyes scanning the road as if expecting our enemies to appear out of thin air.
"I know," I growl, the words coming out like shards of glass. "Someone fed us bad intel on purpose, to make us look like fools, to waste our time while my wife sits at home worried..." I can't finish the sentence, the rage boiling within me threatens to erupt at any moment.
"We'll find them, brother," Victor assures me, not a hint of doubt in his voice. "We'll bring hell down on every single one of those Nightingale bastards. We will end them."
A harsh laugh escapes me, hollow and devoid of humor. "They think they can hide? They think they can make me look like a fool?" My grip on the wheel tightens further if that's even possible. "They have no idea who they're dealing with. I will tear down every hiding hole, every stronghold, until I get my hands on them."
Victor nods a cold determination settling on his features. "We'll make them regret ever crossing the Blackharts," he says, his voice steady now. "We'll find them, Damien. And when we do, the Nightingales will pay with blood."
My blood boils in my veins, each heartbeat a drum of war in my chest. They've tried to make a fool of me, and that doesn't just stir my fury. It ignites it like a wildfire that cannot be contained. The streets fly by in a blur, and with each passing second, the image of the betrayer's face takes form in the back of my mind. When this is over, when the pieces are back in their rightful order, I'm going to find that low life. The one who dared to feed us bad intel.
I can almost feel the satisfying crunch of bone beneath my fists already. The thought fuels me, a promised calm to the raging storm within. There will be no mercy, no hesitation. Just the swift, brutal justice that's been a long time coming. They've made it personal, and I’ll make sure the price they pay is steeped in their own blood and regret.
As we pull up to my mother's house, a knot tightens in my gut. "Something isn't right," I mutter as my senses heighten.
The front door is ajar, and there’s a gaping hole in the side of the house like an open wound. My heart races and fear interlaces with the fury. I slam on the brakes, leaving the car running, and swing the door open.
"Isabella!" Her name tears from my throat, raw and laced with dread as I sprint towards the house.
Each step pumps more adrenaline through my veins. She’s been my anchor during these dark times. Without her, the beast threatens to break loose. I can't let that happen. Not now. Not when she needs me most.
The house stands before me like a grim picture of chaos and violence. Walls that once echoed with laughter now bear the scars of brutality. The plaster is punctured by bullets, and the artwork is shredded by shrapnel. I tread over the shattered glass and look around.
As I move further in, overturned furniture and the remnants of my mother's treasured collectibles lay strewn about. Bullet holes pepper the walls as if a madman had danced while spraying lead. There were no cries of pain or whispers of movement, just bodies lying around, unnaturally still.
"Isabella!" Her name rips from me again, desperation coloring it with a sharp edge. "Isabella! Where are you, baby? Come on. Answer me."
Behind me, Victor's voice rises and falls, calling for my mother, Aurora, Seraphina, and Jacob. The syllables bounce off the walls with a hollow echo. His voice, once laden with fury, now carries an undercurrent of worry. No reply comes, and the silence that swallows his words is far more terrifying than the sound of any gunshot. It's the silence of a void, a vacuum where life should be, and it grips my heart with icy fingers.
A shuffling noise cuts through the suffocating stillness, snatching our attention. Victor and I whip around, weapons raised in an instinctual, deadly dance we've performed countless times. The silhouette of a figure teeters on the edge of clarity. It’s Jacob stumbling in with his face glistening with a sheen of blood and his clothing torn to ribbons.
We lower our guns as Victor steps closer to him, his voice tainted with controlled anger. "Jacob, what the hell happened?"
