The soft glow of the bedside lamp cast a golden hue across the room, gently illuminating Elena's sleeping face. Her lashes fluttered slightly as she breathed, chest rising in calm rhythm, one hand resting lightly over her stomach where a life-still invisible-had just begun to bloom.
Damien entered the room silently, his dark overcoat damp from the Sicilian night rain. The moment he saw her, peace returned to him. He slowly moved toward the bed, removing his coat and gloves, the weight of the outside world shedding off with them. Sitting at her side, he brushed a loose strand of hair from her cheek and bent down, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead.
His hand lowered, hovering gently over her belly. His palm settled softly, as if he could already feel the heartbeat of the life within. His thumb caressed slow circles, his breath hitching slightly. "You're going to change our world," he whispered under his breath, not sure if he was speaking to Elena or the unborn child. "And I'll protect you both. No matter what."
---
Sunlight spilled in through the curtains, birdsong floating in from the garden. Elena blinked awake, rubbing her eyes before turning over to see Damien already dressed, standing near the wardrobe as maids bustled about the room, folding and packing their clothes into elegant leather suitcases.
She sat up, confusion tugging at her features.
"Where are we going?" she asked, voice still wrapped in sleep.
Damien turned, smiling warmly. "On a small vacation, love. Just you and me. Somewhere quiet... peaceful." He stepped closer and brushed his thumb across her cheek. "We deserve that much, don't we?"
Elena's lips curled into a smile, her heart fluttering with excitement.
Just then, Julian and Lorenzo barged in without knocking. Lorenzo's grin was wide and teasing, hands on his hips.
"Wow, a vacation? That's smart," he said. "Because once the baby arrives, you two won't even get a second to sneeze alone."
Damien chuckled, flicking Lorenzo's forehead with mock irritation. "Focus on the company while I'm gone, you idiot. I'm only trusting you for a week."
Julian laughed, ruffling Elena's hair gently as she giggled. "Bring us some souvenirs. And don't let Damien spend all the time reading reports on his phone."
---
Their bags were loaded, passports ready. The private jet waited at a secluded runway under the soft pastels of a setting sun. Damien and Elena boarded hand in hand, unaware that with every mile the plane flew away from Sicily, a storm of blood and betrayal crept closer to their home.
Elena leaned against Damien's shoulder mid-flight, humming softly.
"You know... I feel like something really beautiful is waiting for us on this trip," she murmured.
Damien kissed the top of her head, eyes closed, holding her tighter than he usually did.
"I hope you're right," he whispered.
But deep down, a strange tightness coiled in his chest-a sense of urgency, of borrowed time.
They didn't know it yet...
But this was the last untouched moment of happiness they would share before the darkness swallowed their world whole.
-------
The warm breeze of Rio de Janeiro kissed their faces as Damien and Elena stepped out of the sleek black car that had brought them from the airport to the resort. The hotel loomed before them like a dream-an elegant coastal escape, nestled against a backdrop of towering palm trees and the sparkling blue sea. The lobby shimmered with soft gold accents and native wood carvings; a symphony of tropical scents hung in the air-frangipani, coconut, and the salt of the ocean.
Elena's eyes sparkled with awe as she turned in circles, her long hair swaying behind her. "This place... it's like a storybook," she whispered, breathless.
Damien didn't answer. He simply watched her-her smile, her joy, her light-and his chest ached with something he couldn't name. "It is," he finally said, voice low. "And you're the main character."
They spent their first evening watching the sunset from their private balcony, sipping fresh coconut water as the sky blushed in shades of lavender and coral. Elena tucked her feet under her and leaned on Damien's shoulder. The world felt far away-quiet, soft, and undisturbed.
---
The next morning, they boarded a small plane that flew them deep into the heart of the Amazon rainforest. As the canopy stretched endlessly below them, Elena pressed her face to the window, wide-eyed like a child.
The jungle welcomed them with its untamed symphony: chirping cicadas, distant howls, and the rustle of life hidden behind every leaf. Guided by locals, they wandered through dense emerald trails, marveling at towering trees and exotic wildlife. Damien, usually composed and unreadable, laughed when a colorful parrot swooped near Elena, startling her into a shriek.
They rode an open-roof jeep for the safari, cameras in hand, snapping pictures of everything-monkeys swinging from branches, butterflies landing on Damien's shoulder, and a baby jaguar watching them silently from behind thick vines.
"You're going to show these pictures to the baby one day," Elena beamed, scrolling through the images on the camera screen.
"And tell them their mother was the bravest explorer I've ever known," Damien replied with a smirk.
---
On the third day, they explored the bustling markets of Rio-woven hammocks, handmade jewelry, vibrant fabrics, and paintings that captured the soul of Brazil. Elena picked out a tiny woven bracelet, pink and green, and tied it on Damien's wrist.
"For good luck," she said.
"You're my good luck," he whispered back.
They bought wooden toys and little clothes from a local shop, Elena carefully selecting the softest onesies with tiny stars embroidered on them. Damien watched her, a small smile tugging at his lips, even as a strange heaviness tugged at the back of his mind.
That night, the two of them sat under the open sky in a rooftop restaurant, wrapped in fairy lights and quiet music. The ocean stretched endlessly before them as they shared a slow, candlelit dinner. Elena laughed, sipped sweet wine, and occasionally rubbed her stomach unconsciously, even though no bump had formed yet.
Damien reached across the table and took her hand, threading their fingers together.
"Do you feel it already?" he asked.
"I don't need to feel the bump. I already feel the love," she replied softly.
---
Their final night in Brazil arrived with a comforting drizzle outside their beachside villa. The two of them sat curled under a blanket in front of a small fireplace, a mug of hot cocoa in Elena's hands, and Damien's arms around her shoulders.
"So..." she began, eyes glinting mischievously, "we have to talk about names."
Damien groaned. "Again?"
Elena grinned. "If it's a girl... I want to name her Anara. It means blessing in a beautiful language."
Damien lifted an eyebrow. "Not bad. But if it's a boy, I say we name him Evander. It means pure and strong."
Elena made a face. "Strong? He's a baby, not a warrior."
"And Evander Cortelli sounds noble."
"Nope. I want a name that means blessing even if it's a boy. Like... Benedict maybe?" she offered, half-teasing.
"Benedict? He'll sound like a priest," Damien snorted.
Elena shoved his arm playfully. "Okay then, mister mafia king, what if it's a girl?"
Damien's smile softened. "Seraphina. It means one who brings light, luck, and strength."
Elena paused... then bit her lip. "Okay, I like that."
They went back and forth for hours-laughing, arguing gently, tossing names into the fire of their dreams. No name was finalized. But it didn't matter. That night wasn't meant for decisions.
It was meant for love.
They fell asleep tangled in each other's arms, the sound of the ocean lulling them to sleep.
They didn't know it yet... but this would be the last night they'd sleep without the weight of war returning to their lives.
And perhaps... somewhere in Damien's subconscious, he already knew.
Because that night, before sleep fully claimed him, he held Elena just a little tighter. Kissed her temple just a little longer.
And whispered into her hair, "No matter what happens... I'll always come back to you."
-----
It was quarter to four when the silence of their seaside villa shattered—though softly, like a whisper that knew it carried a scream. The phone on the side table lit up, its glow casting ghostly shadows against the curtains fluttering in the warm Brazilian wind.
Damien stirred from sleep, barely making a sound. Elena lay beside him, her hand resting against his chest, rising and falling with his breath. Her lashes fluttered softly, lost in dreams he wished she could stay in forever.
Carefully, he untangled himself from her arms, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead before slipping out of bed. He padded across the cool wooden floors of the villa, taking the call in the next room. The moment he saw the caller ID, his blood chilled.
Lorenzo.
He picked up.
The voice on the other end was not his brother’s usual flirtatious hum. It wasn’t mischievous or teasing. It was cracked, hollow.
“Damien…”
He heard it—the tremble in that one word. And he knew. Something was terribly wrong.
“I’m listening,” Damien said, his voice low, steady. Trained.
“There’s been… an attack.” Lorenzo's breath hitched. “The Cortelli estate… is gone.”
A deafening silence followed. Damien gripped the edge of the table, knuckles white.
“What?”
“Volkov.” The name was a dagger. “The Volkov Syndicate from Moscow. It’s him. Mikhail Volkov.”
Damien’s breath slowed. The Ghost.
“Are you sure?”
“He left no room for doubt,” Lorenzo rasped. “They came like shadows in the night. Precision. Brutality. Not just Sicily, Damien. Naples too.”
Something inside Damien cracked open.
“Elena’s family…” Lorenzo hesitated.
Damien’s heart began to race. No. No.
“They're gone, Damien. The Morettis are no more. Naples burned.”
The world slowed around him. Damien’s mouth went dry. He turned his gaze toward the half-open door that led to the bedroom. He could see the outline of Elena, sleeping peacefully, unaware that everything she had ever known was now ash.
He felt like he couldn’t breathe.
“I saw Julian cry until he passed out. He doesn't even know Enzo's gone.” Lorenzo's voice broke, just for a second. “I sat beside him. Watched him sleep. And a tear just… fell. I didn’t know it could still happen to me.”
Damien’s hand ran down his face. The past, the blood, the centuries-old vows of revenge—it was all catching up. The Volkovs hadn’t just returned. They had planned, waited, watched. And struck.
“All this while we were here…” Damien whispered.
“They waited for you to be away. Volkov’s smart. Calculated. He’s already got half the minor Italian syndicates behind him. He’s trying to bury your name, Damien. Erase it.”
Lorenzo’s voice turned quiet. “Brother… we need you now.”
Damien closed his eyes for a long moment, a storm building in his chest, crashing silently.
“We don’t know what his next move is,” Lorenzo added. “But I think… it’s Elena.”
Everything in Damien stilled.
No.
Not her.
Never her.
He opened his eyes again, green eyes darkened with fury. The room suddenly felt colder, though the wind still danced outside like nothing had changed. But everything had.
His empire was bleeding.
His name was being hunted.
His blood had been spilled.
And now they were coming for the heart he never thought he’d give away.
He turned toward the bedroom door again, watching the faint silhouette of the woman who was now his entire world… sleeping under the illusion that this was just a vacation.
A tear threatened to fall, but Damien swallowed it down.
“I’ll handle it,” he said finally. “Start preparing what’s left of our men. But don’t let anyone know I’m coming back.”
“Got it.”
“And Lorenzo?”
“Yeah?”
“Keep Julian close. That boy… he’s all we have left.”
The line clicked.
Outside, the stars continued to shine over Brazil. Inside, a man who once ruled Sicily with iron fists now stood hollow, holding the weight of war in his chest—his heart breaking silently for the woman he had to protect… even if it meant destroying himself to do it.
---------
The sun had barely touched the sky when Elena stirred awake, the warmth of the Brazilian morning seeping in through sheer curtains, painting soft golden lines across the room. She turned in bed, expecting to find Damien beside her, but the space was cold and empty. Her brows furrowed in confusion.
Then she heard the soft rustling from the living room.
Rising slowly, she padded barefoot across the floor, her silk nightdress clinging gently to her frame. What she saw halted her heart for a second—Damien was packing. Their clothes, the gifts they bought, even the pictures they took just days ago—every trace of the dreamlike vacation was being folded away with urgency.
A strange knot tightened in her chest.
"I thought we were leaving tonight…" she asked softly, voice still hoarse from sleep.
Damien turned around, gaze meeting hers. His face was calm—but only on the surface. Underneath, his eyes swirled with something she couldn’t name yet. Pain, maybe. Or guilt.
"We are," he said gently, walking toward her, hands reaching to cup her cheeks. "But plans have changed."
She leaned into his touch instinctively, her hand covering his. That one moment felt safe—until he spoke again.
“Can I ask you something, love?” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
She nodded, eyes on him.
“You always hated the mafia world. Hated when our marriage was arranged hated the way I acted but yet you choose to love me..why?"
She blinked, taken aback. “Because… I saw you, Damien. Not the mafia don. Just you. You were more than the world you were born into. And I… I loved that man.”
His hands moved lower, gently resting against her stomach—still flat, still waiting to swell with life.
“And I know,” he whispered, “you never wanted our child to live the life we were born into.”
She stiffened slightly, her hand resting over his. “Damien… what’s going on?”
He inhaled slowly, as though dragging in courage with the air.
“There’s something I need to tell you.”
Her heartbeat picked up.
“The Cortelli estate was attacked,” he said quietly. “They… they were waiting for me to be away.”
Elena’s breath caught.
Damien continued, voice low, reverent with grief. “Mikhail Volkov. From Moscow. You remember the name?”
Her hand clutched his shirt now.
“He came back, Elena. With fire, with blood. He burned everything. And Naples… the Morettis…”
He didn’t finish the sentence.
But he didn’t need to.
Her legs gave way, and she sank onto the edge of the bed, a sob ripping from her throat. “No… no, no, please—my brothers… Papa…”
Damien dropped to his knees in front of her, holding her hands tightly in his own. “I am so, so sorry, my love. I would give everything to change this. But I promise you now… you will be safe. Our baby will be safe. I will protect you both.”
Tears streamed down her cheeks as she whispered, “And what about you?”
He pressed his forehead against hers. “Cortelli needs me.”
A silence bloomed between them. Not the kind that offered peace, but one that throbbed with sorrow and the weight of cruel fate. Elena’s tears fell in quiet trails as Damien remained on his knees, their foreheads touching, breaths mingling, as if trying to hold on to the illusion that they still had time.
But time was slipping fast—like sand between desperate fingers.
“You said we'd be safe,” she murmured, voice trembling. “That when this trip ends, we'd go back and build a life… together. That everything—everything would change.”
His thumb brushed away a tear from her cheek. “And I meant every word. I still do.”
She looked down at him, eyes searching. “Then why does it feel like you’re already saying goodbye?”
Damien looked away for a moment, swallowing the storm that raged within him. When his eyes returned to hers, they glistened—not with fear, but with the burden of a thousand unspoken promises.
“Because love… sometimes protecting someone means letting them go.”
-------
The airport was unusually quiet for the morning hour. A fog of soft mist hovered over the tarmac outside, and the sky held the pale lavender hue of early dawn. Elena stayed close to Damien’s side, clutching his arm like a lifeline.
Every step toward the terminal felt like a countdown.
When they reached the check-in, instead of handing over two tickets, Damien stopped and pulled a small envelope from his coat. Inside was a passport. Her hands shook as she opened it.
Alina Serrano.
Spain.
Solo passenger.
She looked up at him, confusion morphing into disbelief.
“This… this isn’t me,” she said, her voice rising slightly. “This isn’t where we’re going.”
Damien exhaled, reaching for her hand and enclosing it around a small silver key. “It’s where you’re going.”
“No,” she said immediately, backing away. “No, Damien. I’m going with you.”
His eyes pleaded. “Elena—”
“No!” she snapped, her voice cracking. “You promised we’d stay together. You can’t just—just send me away like I’m a suitcase you’re dropping off at a safer destination!”
He stepped closer, hands trembling as he gripped her arms. “Listen to me—this key opens the door to a small house. In the countryside. Quiet, hidden. I bought it years ago during college from an old couple who retired to the mountains. No one knows about it. No names, no mafia trails. It’s clean, untouched. And it’s safe.”
Elena shook her head, tears streaming down her face now. “I don’t care about safe. I care about you. I want to be with you, Damien.”
“And I want you to live,” he said, voice breaking now. “You, and the life you're carrying inside you. I won’t let our child grow up haunted by the shadows that followed us. You said it yourself—you never wanted that for them. And neither do I.”
She covered her mouth, a sob escaping. “How… how do you expect me to live knowing you’re out there bleeding for a world I never chose?”
He pulled her close, resting his cheek against her hair. His voice was barely above a whisper. “Because I’ll come back to you. I swear it. When this ends—when I end it—I’ll return. I’ll knock on that door with no blood on my hands. Just love. Just peace. I’ll come for you.”
Elena gripped the back of his coat, as if holding him tightly could change fate. “Damien… don’t make me go. Please…”
His tears fell silently, his lips pressing against her forehead. “My love,” he whispered, “if there was any other way…”
They stood like that, locked in each other’s arms, hearts beating against the silence like war drums. The announcement for her flight echoed again, muffled and distant, but to Elena it sounded like the cruel voice of separation pulling them apart.
Damien slowly pulled back, his hands trembling as he cupped her face.
“Elena…”
Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, lips quivering.
And then—he kissed her.
Not with urgency. Not with desperation.
But with everything.
A kiss that held every unspoken word, every tear he couldn’t shed, every moment he wished they still had. It was soft and slow, reverent like a prayer. His lips moved against hers with aching tenderness, memorizing the taste of her, the warmth of her breath, the curve of her mouth—because he didn’t know how long it would be before he’d feel it again.
She clutched his collar tightly, kissing him back with her whole soul, as if she could anchor him to her, as if love alone could rewrite fate.
When they parted, her forehead rested against his, both of them crying quietly now.
“I love you,” she whispered.
“I love you more,” he replied. “And I swear to you… I’ll come back.”
One last kiss—soft, fleeting, like a goodbye carried on the wind—and he stepped back.
“No,” she whispered again, voice barely audible. Her feet wouldn’t move.
Damien reached for her hand, raising it to his lips. “For me. For our child. Just until I come back.”
With her heart shattered and soul aching, Elena stepped back. She turned once at the gate, her eyes meeting his—where he stood tall, proud, smiling through tears. Waving.
And then she disappeared into the crowd.
Damien stood frozen for a long time.
Only when the final glimpse of her faded did his smile drop. The sorrow returned, sharper now. He closed his eyes briefly, gathering every broken piece of himself. Then, like a man preparing for war, he turned and walked toward his private jet.
Back to Sicily.
Back to the bloodied crown.
Back to the empire that needed its king.
But his heart?
His heart was already leaving for Spain...
------------------TO BE CONTINUE-------------