Three nights later, Isabella stood in her penthouse, staring at the city skyline through floor-to-ceiling windows. The money had hit her account - Damian was true to his word - but something gnawed at her. His warning. Her spies had caught wind of a hit planned against her, a rival family moving in fast. She'd doubled security, but the unease lingered like a storm on the horizon.
A knock at her door jolted her. She grabbed the Glock from her desk, adrenaline spiking. "Who is it?"
"Delivery," came a voice - low, amused, and unmistakably his.
She yanked the door open, gun aimed at Damian's chest. He stood there, hands in his pockets, a bottle of red wine dangling from one finger. "Really, Isabella? No 'hello'?"
"What the hell are you doing here?" she snapped, lowering the gun but not holstering it.
"Saving your life," he said, brushing past her like he owned the place. He set the wine on her marble counter and turned, his expression unreadable. "The Gallos put a contract on you. Fifty mil. They're coming tonight."
Her stomach dropped. "How do you know?"
"I have my sources." He stepped closer, voice dropping. "And I don't like my investments dying before I get my money's worth."
She glared, heat rising in her chest. "I'm not your investment."
"No?" He tilted his head, a lock of dark hair falling over his brow. "Then why do I keep thinking about you?"
Her breath hitched, and before she could snap back, he closed the distance. His hand cupped her jaw, thumb brushing her lower lip - a touch so electric it stole her words. "You're trouble, Isabella Moretti. The kind I can't resist."
"Then you're a fool," she whispered, but her body betrayed her, leaning into him. His lips hovered over hers, a heartbeat from ruin, and -
Glass shattered. A bullet whizzed past her head, embedding in the wall. Damian moved faster than humanly possible, shoving her behind the counter as gunfire erupted. Her penthouse became a warzone, windows exploding, her guards shouting. She peeked out, spotting masked men storming through the balcony.
"Stay down!" Damian growled, and then he was gone - blurring into a streak of shadow. She blinked, heart pounding, as screams echoed. One attacker flew across the room, crashing into the bar. Another dropped, neck twisted at an unnatural angle. Damian reappeared, blood streaking his face, his eyes glowing red.
"What the fuck are you?" she gasped.
He grinned, feral and breathtaking. "Your favor."
She fired at a shadow moving toward them, the Glock's kick steadying her nerves. Together, they fought - her bullets, his inhuman speed - until the last body hit the floor. Silence fell, heavy and surreal.
Breathing hard, she turned to him. "Vampire?"
"Something like that," he said, wiping blood from his lip. He stepped closer, heat radiating off him. "You're welcome, by the way."
Her laugh was shaky, but she grabbed his shirt, yanking him down. Their kiss was fire - desperate, bruising, tasting of danger and survival. His hands slid to her hips, pulling her flush against him, and she melted into the chaos of it, the world fading to just them.
But he didn't stop there. His lips trailed to her jaw, then her neck, a low growl rumbling in his chest as his teeth grazed her skin - just shy of breaking it. "You taste like power," he murmured, voice rough with want. "I could devour you right here."
Her knees weakened, a thrill racing through her. "Try it, and I'll put a bullet in you," she teased, but her fingers dug into his shoulders, urging him closer.
He chuckled, dark and sinful, lifting her effortlessly onto the counter. Glass crunched beneath her, but she didn't care - his hands were on her thighs, spreading them as he stepped between, his body a wall of heat and muscle. "You'd miss me too much," he said, lips brushing hers again, teasing now, drawing out the ache.
She arched into him, breathless. "Keep dreaming, Voss." But her hands slid under his shirt, tracing the hard planes of his chest, feeling his heartbeat - impossibly slow, inhumanly steady.
His grip tightened, a predatory glint in his eyes. "Oh, I dream of you, Isabella. Every damn night." His mouth claimed hers again, deeper this time, a promise of more - of everything - until her head spun and her pulse roared.
Until her phone buzzed. She broke away, panting, and read the message: "Moretti, you're next. The real boss sends regards."
Damian's eyes darkened as he read over her shoulder. "The Gallos were just pawns. Someone bigger's pulling strings."
"Who?" she demanded.
Before he could answer, the lights flickered - and a low, guttural laugh echoed from the shadows of her penthouse. A figure stepped forward, tall and cloaked, eyes glowing gold. "Hello, Isabella," it purred. "And hello, Damian. Did you think I'd let you keep her?"