Chapter 27 27

Chapter 27 27
Damiano
White walls. The scent of medicines. Beeping machines.
I wake up choking on the taste of iron and regret. The pain in my side is sharp, biting with every breath, but the ache in my chest... that's worse. The bullet wound is deep, they said I almost bled out before the ambulance even got to me. I remember flashes: the betrayal in her eyes, Lorenzo’s voice, my knees hitting the floor. Then nothing.
Now I’m strapped to a hospital bed with tubes in my arms and stitches holding me together.
Vincent is the first face I see when I blink fully awake. His jaw is tense, eyes tired.
“You're lucky you're not dead,” he mutters, not looking at me. “The bullet missed your lung by an inch.”
I want to ask where she is. But I don't.
Because I know she isn't here.
Days pass. My body heals slow, but my mind? It's stuck. On her. On the way she screamed You killed my father. On the trigger she pulled without hesitation. I deserve her hatred, maybe. But she deserves the truth.
And that vault she found?
I don’t even know what the hell was inside it.
Vincent fills me in on what I missed—Pachino handed her the title, the soldiers, the businesses. Aurora is now sitting on a throne I spent years building just to keep her safe from it. Irony is a cruel bastard.
Still, I keep replaying her voice in my head.
"You never loved me."
Wrong.
I’ve only ever loved her.
Once I'm strong enough to stand, I push myself to walk again, first to the window, then to the door. The doctors protest, but I don’t care. I didn’t survive all that just to rot in bed.
I have to find her. I have to prove I didn’t kill her father the way she thinks. If I did anything… it wasn’t how she believes it went down.
I need to tell her everything.
And if she won’t believe my words—then I’ll bring her the truth, piece by piece, even if I bleed doing it.
Because I’d rather die again than let her hate me forever.
Damiano’s POV – Digging Into the Vault’s Secrets
I’m out of the hospital in two weeks. The stitches still burn every time I move too fast, but I’ve learned to live with pain. What I can’t live with is Aurora thinking I murdered her father.
Vincent picks me up from the hospital. He doesn’t say much. He doesn’t have to—we both know the war’s already begun.
First stop isn’t the estate. It’s the apartment in the city I rarely use, the one with no ears in the walls and no eyes in the corners. That’s where I plan and think clearly. That’s where I have a private investigator waiting.
He lays out photos. Names. Fingerprints. Including the vault Aurora opened.
“There was a second set of prints on that vault, aside from yours,” the investigator says, sliding over an enhanced scan.
I recognize the name instantly.
Cesare Rizzoto.
I grit my teeth. That snake has had his hands deeper in my family than I thought.
“He tampered with the vault weeks before it was opened,” the man continues. “Some of the documents you originally placed there... weren’t there anymore.”
So Aurora found what he wanted her to find. Planted evidence. Twisted facts.
And I walked right into it.
My chest tightens. She thinks I killed her father. But if Rizzoto’s fingerprints are all over this, then it wasn’t just manipulation.
It was a goddamn setup.
I don’t waste time. I get in the car and head straight for the estate. Not to see her. Not yet. I need proof. Solid. Clean. I need to rip Rizzoto’s web apart strand by strand.
But a fire’s already lit inside me. If Aurora took the throne, then she’s walking into the same mess that killed her father. And this time, I’m the one who’ll burn everything down before they touch her again.
Damiano’s POV – Hunting Rizzoto
The rain starts again as I drive out of the city. It’s almost poetic, like the sky knows blood is about to spill. My shoulder’s killing me, the stitches pulling every time I turn the wheel, but I don’t care. Pain is focus. Pain keeps me sharp.
I’ve got one name burned into my mind now: Rizzoto.
I pull up to one of our old safe houses on the outskirts of New York. Not many know about it, only the ones who were trusted before the war began. Inside, my men are already waiting.
“He’s hiding in Messina,” Enzo says, sliding a folder across the dusty table. “Top floor of a casino he bought under a fake company. Security's tight. He’s got mercs, not just mafia. And he’s expecting someone.”
“Let him expect me,” I say coldly. “I want him alive.”
My voice echoes with something new—something darker. I don’t just want revenge. I want the truth. I want to drag it out of him inch by inch, breath by breath. What did he plant in that vault? What did he swap out? How long has he been playing us all?
I grab a Glock from the table and check the magazine. Full.
“Get me in there,” I say. “I don’t care how.”
Enzo nods. “We’ve got someone inside. A girl named Livia. She works the bar. She said Rizzoto’s been paranoid lately. He’s checking cameras himself, not letting anyone near his private suite.”
“Perfect,” I murmur.
I press a hand against my ribs, feel the edge of the bandage under my shirt. I should be resting. I should be healing.
But there’s no time for that.
He framed me. He tore Aurora from me.
And for that, I’ll make him bleed truth before I end him.

Would you like to continue with the infiltration of the casino or switch to Aurora sensing Damiano’s return to the shadows?
Damiano’s POV – Infiltration of the Casino
The moon hangs low over Messina, a pale silver eye watching everything unfold. I arrive just past midnight. Livia, the bartender Enzo mentioned, left the service entrance propped open with a matchbox wedged under the rusted frame.
Inside, the casino is loud, glamorous and gaudy, all gold and cheap champagne—but it’s a mask. Underneath the glittering lights and laughter, something rotten crawls. I feel it in the walls.
I move through back corridors like a ghost. The tailored black suit helps me blend in, but it’s the confidence, the stillness in my eyes, that makes guards nod instead of question. I carry myself like I belong here, because predators recognize each other.
Livia meets me near the staff elevators. She doesn’t say a word, just hands me a chipped security badge and flicks her gaze toward the top floor.
“Room 907,” she whispers. “He’s alone tonight. He always is on Sundays. Lights go off at 2 a.m.”
I nod. “If I don’t come back, disappear.”
She vanishes into the hallway without another word.
I press the badge to the elevator sensor. It beeps green.

Room 907
I reach the top floor in silence. The hallway is quiet, carpet muffling every step. Two guards stand outside his suite, stiff and bored. Amateurs.
I draw the silenced pistol and put them down before either can draw breath. One shot each, quick, clean.
The door is locked with retinal scan.
But I didn’t come unprepared.
I pull a preserved eye from my inner coat pocket. Messy work earlier, but necessary. Rizzoto’s ex-bodyguard, drunk and careless, was easy enough to handle.
The scan accepts it. The lock clicks open.
I step inside.

Rizzoto’s Suite
He’s standing by the glass wall, overlooking the city with a drink in his hand. He doesn’t turn around.
“I was wondering when you'd show up,” he says.
I raise the gun. “Then you knew this was coming.”
“I knew she’d find the vault.” He takes a sip of whiskey. “And I knew you'd come looking for someone to blame.”
I step closer. “You set me up. You altered the files. You made her hate me.”
“She needed to hate someone,” Rizzoto says coolly. “Better you than me.”
“You killed her father?” My voice is ice.
“No. You did.” He finally turns, eyes gleaming. “But you did it for me.”
My heart clenches. I stare at him—waiting, daring him to explain.
“You don’t remember, do you?” He laughs. “The night you became my underboss. The old man wouldn't step down, so we sent you. You thought it was a warning job. I swapped your bullets.”
Everything freezes.
“I wanted him dead, not scared,” Rizzoto says. “So I made sure you pulled the trigger. And you did. Like a loyal little soldier.”
My stomach churns. My breath catches.
“You ruined everything—” I raise the gun, hands shaking now.
He opens his arms, smirking.
“Then finish it.”
I hesitate.

Damiano’s POV – Rizzoto Escapes
I don’t lower the gun.
Not yet.
My finger grazes the trigger, my pulse pounding in my ears. Everything Rizzoto said plays on a loop in my head like a curse. The guilt. The manipulation. The truth.
And then—
Boom.
The door blasts open behind me.
I’m thrown forward as shrapnel rips across my back. The sound is deafening. I roll instinctively, shielding my head, and spot two of Rizzoto’s men storming in, rifles drawn. He planned this. He knew I’d come.
“Alive!” Rizzoto shouts, already moving toward the private exit through the panic room behind the wall panel. “I want him breathing.”
Gunfire erupts. I dive behind a couch, return fire, but I’m bleeding again. My side—fuck—they hit me. I grit my teeth and empty the rest of my mag into one of the guards. He drops. The other takes cover.
“Coward!” I yell after Rizzoto. “You won’t get far!”
He doesn’t answer. Just a smirk before the wall slides shut behind him.
I reload fast, fingers slick with blood, and put a bullet through the second attacker’s leg, then another through his shoulder. He screams and drops his rifle.
“Where’s he going!?” I bark, pinning him down.
“I—I don’t know, I swear, he’s got a jet waiting. Vegas.” the man groans.
I slam the butt of my gun into his temple. He’s out cold.
The sirens are wailing now, internal alarms. Reinforcements will be here in seconds. My legs give out as I limp to the balcony. Blood coats my palm, dripping from my side.
One last glance back at the mess. The suite smells of blood and betrayal.
Rizzoto was right about one thing: Aurora hates me now.
But I’m not letting him win.
Not again.
I leap off the balcony, crashing into the awning two floors below and rolling hard. Pain explodes through my body. I barely make it to the alley where my bike is parked. The keys are already in.
I gun the engine and disappear into the night.

He’s running. And now… so am I. Not from the truth. But toward vengeance. Toward her.