Chapter 66 Price Of Protection
Chapter 66 Price Of Protection
The city never truly slept, but tonight it breathed differently. Sirens wailed in distant spirals, lights pulsed red and blue against concrete towers, and somewhere beneath it all, power shifted hands without permission or apology. Lyra stood at the edge of a shattered rooftop, coat fluttering, fire pulsing faintly beneath her skin like a second heartbeat she no longer tried to silence.
Below, the aftermath of the last strike smoldered, disabled convoys, scorched weapons caches, rescued civilians wrapped in thermal blankets. Victory, if it could be called that, tasted metallic and bitter. She had won ground, not peace.
Cassian lingered several steps behind her, his presence steady but wary. “This isn’t how pack wars work,” he said quietly. “There’s no retreat line. No ceasefire howl. Mafia don’t bleed territory, they absorb it.”
Lyra nodded, eyes still on the streets. “I know.”
The answer came before the warning.
A helicopter descended without sound, its blades muted by occult dampeners. Black steel gleamed beneath the moon, sigils crawling like veins across its hull. It touched down with surgical precision on the adjacent rooftop, doors opening to release men in tailored armor and one figure who needed no escort.
Dominic Moretti walked forward as if the night belong to her, His gaze found Lyra immediately, sharp and assessing, as though she were a city he intended to buy.
“Impressive response time,” Dominic said, voice smooth. “Your forces adapted faster than projected.”
Cassian bristled. Lyra didn’t move.
“You didn’t come to congratulate me,” she said.
“No,” Dominic agreed. “I came to renegotiate.”
From the corner of the rooftop, Dante stepped forward, fury radiating off him like heat from a forge. His eyes were gold and burning, his Alpha aura flaring hard enough to crack the concrete beneath his boots. “You don’t get to stand here,” he growled. “Not after what you’ve done.”
Dominic turned his head just enough to acknowledge him. “Ah. The bonded Alpha. Predictable as ever.”
Dante lunged.
The air snapped. Occult barriers flared to life as Mafia guards moved with inhuman coordination, weapons raised but not fired. Dominic didn’t flinch. He simply lifted a hand.
Lyra felt it, the pressure, the silent command embedded in the Mark. Invitation.
“Enough,” she said sharply.
Dante froze, disbelief flashing across his face. “Lyra—”
“I said enough.”
The rooftop went still.
Dominic smiled faintly. “You see why we keep asking.”
“What do you want?” Lyra demanded.
“An alliance,” Dominic replied. “Revised terms.”
Cassian scoffed. “You mean ownership with b.”
Dominic’s gaze flicked to him. “No. Ownership is inefficient. Partnership scales.”
He turned back to Lyra. “You’ve proven something important. You can operate in cities without becoming a catastrophe. You protect assets. You inspire fear and loyalty in equal measure. That makes you valuable—not as a battery, not as a symbol—but as a sovereign force.”
Dante stepped closer, voice shaking with restrained violence. “She doesn’t need you. We don’t need you.”
“You need me,” Dominic corrected calmly. “Because human law bends to us. Because ports, satellites, they answer to money and shadows, not howls. Your war is expanding whether you like it or not. The question is whether you bleed alone or profit together.”
Lyra’s fire stirred, not in anger but calculation. She saw it now, the pattern beneath the chaos. Mafia strikes weren’t random. They were mapping influence, testing responses, measuring her.
“And the price?” she asked.
Dominic reached into his coat and withdrew a slim case, opening it to reveal a ring of black metal etched with her Mark, refined and sharpened. “Mutual protection. Shared intelligence. No claim on your person, your bond, or your territory. In return, you stand as Underworld-aligned in urban conflicts.”
Dante snarled. “You’re asking her to choose you over us.”
Dominic shook his head. “No. I’m asking her to choose reality over sentiment.”
The words cut deeper than any blade.
Lyra closed her eyes briefly, feeling the bond with Dante flare with love, rage, destiny tangled tight. She thought of the hostages she’d saved. The footage is already spreading. The cities are watching.
She thought of wolves who didn’t belong in alleys and boardrooms, and of a world that would burn them anyway.
“What if I refuse?” she asked.
Dominic met her gaze evenly. “Then this war escalates. Faster. Messier. More human casualties. And eventually, someone less patient than me decides you’re too dangerous to negotiate with.”
Dante’s voice broke through, raw. “Lyra, don’t. We’ll fight them. Together.”
She looked at him, really lookedand saw not weakness, but a world he was never meant to rule.
Lyra turned back to Dominic.
“I’ll consider it,” she said.
The night seemed to inhale.
Dante stared at her, stunned. “You’re not saying yes,” he said. It was a plea.
Lyra didn’t answer.
Dominic closed the case and inclined his head. “That’s all I ask.”
The helicopter lifted away, vanishing into the city’s veins. Silence rushed back in, heavy and charged.
Dante took a step toward her. “Tell me you won’t do this.”
Lyra’s hand curled arou
nd the black ring left behind on the concrete, its metal warm against her skin.
She didn’t say no