The gunshot split the air like lightning.
Screams ripped through the hall as chandeliers swung and shattered, glass raining down like jagged stars. The smell of smoke, sharp, acrid, spread in seconds.
Damian moved instantly. His arm wrapped around Isabella's waist, dragging her flush against him as his other hand reached inside his jacket. A gun gleamed black in the fractured light.
"Down," he hissed, shoving her against the marble column. His body covered hers, a shield of steel and heat.
Her heart thundered, breath catching against his chest. The chaos blurred shadows darting, guests scattering, guards shouting orders.
Luca was already moving. Silent, controlled, his weapon was out as he scanned the balcony. "Second tier!" he barked. His voice cut sharp through the frenzy. "Shooter on the east side!"
"Take him alive," Damian snapped, fury vibrating beneath his calm.
Isabella clutched at his jacket, the fabric rough under her fingers. "Who…who's shooting? Why…"
His head dipped, lips brushing her ear, dangerous even in the chaos. "This is what happens when men think they can touch what's mine."
Another shot rang out. The marble at Damian's shoulder splintered. Isabella screamed, pressing tighter against him, the sting of dust scratching her throat.
Damian snarled, lifting his gun and firing upward in return. Sparks rained from the railings. Shouts echoed as the shooter was flushed out, footsteps pounding above.
Luca disappeared into the fray, shadows swallowing him.
And then Antonio's voice thundered above the chaos.
"Enough!"
The room froze. Even gunfire obeyed his command.
Antonio stood on the dais, his dark suit immaculate, his presence unshaken. Guards swarmed to shield him, but his glare cut through them, through Damian, through everyone in that hall.
"Whoever dares bring blood into my daughter's presentation," Antonio said, voice like carved granite, "has declared war not only on Moretti… but on me."
Murmurs surged like a tide. War. The word hung, heavy as an executioner's blade.
Damian tightened his hold on Isabella, whispering against her hair, "He can posture all he wants. You'll never leave him."
Her pulse spiked. Between the iron grip of her father's authority and the scorching cage of Damian's arms, she couldn't breathe.
The shooter was dragged down moments later, beaten, bloodied. Luca held him by the collar, shoving him into the light. "Marco's men," he said flatly, his dark eyes cutting to Damian. "It's a message."
Damian's smile was lethal, almost feral. "Then I'll answer it."
Antonio's gaze landed on Isabella, burning with something unreadable rage, regret, warning. "Isabella," he said, his voice suddenly soft in a way that made her heart crack, "this is not your place. You don't belong in this blood."
But Damian only pulled her tighter. "She belongs exactly where I put her."
Two worlds clashed in a single moment the father who had traded her, and the wolf who had claimed her.
Isabella's breath trembled, trapped between their power, their fury, their wills.
And then, the shooter half-dead, spitting blood lifted his head and rasped a single word that turned the entire hall into ice.
"Traitor."
His bloody smile curved as guards struck him down, but the word lingered, poisonous.
Isabella's chest constricted. Her eyes flicked instinctively to her father.
Antonio didn't flinch. He only raised his glass, unbothered, as though the word hadn't been meant for him.
But in that instant, Isabella knew: someone in this hall was betraying them. And the wolves were already scenting the blood.
The word still rang in her ears
Traitor.
Isabella's body trembled, but Damian didn't give her room to collapse. His hand clamped around her wrist, dragging her through the chaos as if the crowd itself might devour her if he let go.
"Damian" she tried, but his pace was relentless.
"Not a word," he snapped, eyes storm-dark, jaw tight. "Not here. Not now."
They cut through the scattering guests, whispers trailing in their wake. Men bowed their heads, women stared, some with envy, some with pity. But none dared to stop them.
Luca fell into step, his gun still in hand. His voice was clipped. "We need to move her. That shooter wasn't alone."
"I know," Damian growled, not slowing. "Get the car ready."
The night air hit her like ice when they stepped outside. Torches glowed along the mansion's stone steps, casting shadows that danced like devils. Damian's grip only tightened as he all but shoved her into the waiting car.
Inside, the leather was cool against her bare skin, but her chest burned. She twisted toward him, voice shaking. "Damian, stop! What just happened there? Who was he calling a traitor?"
His eyes cut to her, blazing, but his silence was heavier than steel.
"Tell me," she pressed, anger pushing through her fear. "I have a right to"
The car jolted forward, and in a flash Damian's hand was at her chin, tilting her face up to his. His touch was not gentle it was command, pure and sharp.
"You have no right," he said, his voice low, dangerous. "Not in this world. You'll listen. You'll breathe. You'll obey. And you'll stay alive."
Her pulse stuttered, caught between fury and something she refused to name. His nearness scorched her, his breath warm against her trembling lips.
"Why me?" she whispered, desperate, breaking. "Why drag me into this if you won't even tell me the truth?"
His thumb brushed her jawline, slow, deliberate. "Because the truth would destroy you."
For a heartbeat, the mask cracked. She saw the exhaustion in his eyes, the shadows of battles he never spoke of. And it terrified her more than his ruthlessness ever had.
Luca cleared his throat from the front seat. "Damian…"
"Not now," Damian snapped, his gaze never leaving Isabella's.
She swallowed hard, her hands trembling in her lap. The taste of betrayal lingered in the air. Her father's cold gaze haunted her, the shooter's bloody smile carved into her mind.
And Damian the devil she should have hated was the only thing keeping her from shattering.
The car slowed, the gates of the Moretti estate looming ahead. Guards opened them with swift precision, guns slung across their backs, eyes sharp.
Damian finally released her chin, but the burn of his touch lingered. "You're safe now," he said. The lie was smooth, practiced, but his tone was something else entirely…raw, almost pleading.
Isabella turned to the dark windows, watching the city lights blur past. Safe. The word felt hollow.
Because safety didn't exist in Damian Moretti's world. Only cages. Only wolves.
And somewhere, a traitor was waiting to strike again.