Bound To The Devil

chapter 64

Valarie crossed her arms. "Why did he save us?"

Damien didn’t answer immediately. Because he didn’t fucking know.

Sebastian had always been a wild card, a man with no loyalty but to himself.

For him to turn on Mikhail so easily?

Damien’s gut churned.

"Sebastian and I..." He rolled his shoulders. "We have history."

Valarie’s eyes sharpened. "And?"

Damien’s expression stayed blank. "And it didn’t end well."

Valarie exhaled slowly, assessing him.

"Then why?" she pressed. "Why the hell would he go against Mikhail for us?"

Damien said nothing.

Because the truth sat heavy in his chest.

He had seen the way Sebastian looked at her.

Like a man looking at a deity.

Like a man who would burn cities just to have her look at him.

Like Damien look at Luca.

Damien clenched his jaw.

"...You," he said finally.

Valarie stilled. "What?"

Damien met her gaze, unflinching.

Sebastian Vasiliev wants you. He knows it too well..he was like that too , when he got obsessed with Luca.
But he'll not tell that to Valarie yet .

" I'll tell you , after investigating "... He replied instead.

*
The house was quiet.

Too quiet.

Luca had fallen asleep in their bed, curled up against the sheets, his soft breathing the only sound in the dark room. Damien had stayed beside him for a while, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest.

But sleep never came for him.

So, he sat in the dimly lit study, a glass of whiskey in hand, staring at the swirling amber liquid but not really seeing it.

Instead, his mind was somewhere else.

Years ago.

Back when blood wasn’t just something he spilled but something he swore by.

And back when Sebastian Vasiliev wasn’t an enemy.

But a brother.

---

They were born in blood.

Both of them.

Two children raised in the merciless belly of the underworld, both carrying the weight of their family names before they could even hold a gun properly.

Back then, there was no Volkov and Vasiliev rivalry.

There was just them.

Two boys running through the old estates of their fathers, laughing like they weren’t surrounded by monsters. Training together. Fighting together. Bleeding together.

The first time Damien broke a man’s arm, Sebastian was there, grinning like a devil, wiping blood from his own split lip.

"Good. Again."

The first time Sebastian put a bullet between a traitor’s eyes, Damien clapped a hand on his shoulder, nodding.

"Quick. Clean. No hesitation."

They were shadows of each other.

Two sons of violence, untouchable, unstoppable.

Until they weren’t.

Until their world fractured.

---

They were nineteen when it happened.

A war between their families. One neither of them wanted but one they couldn’t stop.

It started with whispers.

Then betrayals.

Then blood.

One moment, they were standing side by side.

The next, they were on opposite sides of the battlefield.

Damien still remembered the last night they stood together before everything fell apart.

They had fought about it.

About the divide.

About the war.

About the inevitable.

"They’re tearing us apart!" Damien had snarled, pacing the dimly lit rooftop of an abandoned warehouse, rage burning through him.

Sebastian had been leaning against the railing, his face unreadable, a cigarette burning between his fingers.

"That’s how it is, Volkov," he had murmured, voice eerily calm. "And you know it."

Damien had wanted to hit him.

Wanted to shake him, wanted to scream at him—wanted him to fight against it.

But he didn’t.

Because Sebastian accepted it.

He accepted that they were no longer allies.

No longer friends.

No longer brothers.

And when the war started, they didn’t hesitate.

Damien burned Vasiliev’s men without blinking.

Sebastian cut through Volkov’s territory without mercy.

They slaughtered and strategized, ruthless and cruel.

Until there was no trace left of the boys who had once laughed together in the halls of their fathers’ empires.

Until all that was left was hatred.

And now—

Now, after all these years—

Sebastian Vasiliev had reappeared.

Had killed for them.

Had saved his beloved.

And Damien—

Damien wasn’t sure if that was a gift or a curse.

He set the whiskey glass down.

A slow, dark smirk curled on his lips.

"You should’ve stayed dead, Sebastian."