Morning sunlight streamed through the heavy curtains, casting a warm glow over the massive bed. Luca stirred slightly, feeling the weight of something soft and warm curled against him. A tiny giggle broke through his sleep-fogged mind, followed by an excited squeal.

"Papa! Luka! Wake up!" Ava's voice rang out as she bounced between them, her small hands pressing against their faces as she squirmed into the space between them.

Luca groaned softly, trying to bury his face in the pillow, but Ava was relentless. She nuzzled against his chest, her tiny fingers curling into the fabric of his sleep shirt as she hummed happily.

"You're so warm, Luka! I love sleeping with you!" she giggled, rubbing her cheek against his shoulder like a content kitten. "And Papa! You were hugging us all night! So tight!"

Damien let out a low chuckle, his voice rough with sleep as he propped himself up on one elbow. His dark eyes gleamed with amusement as he glanced at Luca, whose face had turned a deep shade of red.

"Of course, I was holding you both," Damien rumbled, a smirk tugging at his lips. "How else would I keep my little treasures safe?"

Ava gasped dramatically, turning her wide, adoring eyes to Luca. "Did you hear that, Luka? We're Papa's treasures!" She clapped her hands excitedly, then planted a wet kiss on Luca's cheek before giggling. "You're my treasure too!"

Luca's heart clenched, caught between overwhelming fondness and his usual shyness. He felt the heat creeping up his neck as he hesitantly reached out, smoothing down Ava's messy curls. "You're my treasure too, Ava," he murmured softly, unable to deny the warmth he felt for the little girl.

Damien watched them with dark, unreadable eyes, but when Luca hesitated to meet his gaze, the older man reached out and brushed a strand of hair behind Luca's ear with deliberate slowness. "And what about me, Luka?" Damien teased, his voice dropping into that low, velvety tone that always made Luca's stomach tighten. "Am I not your treasure?"

Luca's breath hitched as he quickly averted his gaze, mumbling something incoherent under his breath. His flustered reaction only made Damien's smirk widen.

"No answer?" Damien chuckled, leaning closer, his lips dangerously near Luca's ear. "That shy little expression of yours is adorable, but you should know by now—I always get an answer."

Ava, oblivious to the tension crackling between them, suddenly threw herself into Luca's arms and started wiggling playfully. "Come on, Luka! Let's go eat! I want pancakes!"

Luca exhaled sharply, grateful for the distraction. He quickly scooped Ava up into his arms, avoiding Damien’s amused stare as he stood from the bed. "Alright, let’s go before someone gets grumpy from hunger."

Damien let out a deep, knowing laugh behind them, stretching out lazily before following them toward the kitchen. His gaze never left Luca’s back, filled with dark amusement and possessive warmth.

****

After few minutes, Damien stepped into the kitchen, his shirtless form radiating dominance as he scanned the room. The maids, recognizing the glint in his eyes, scattered instantly, not daring to question his unspoken command. He had no patience for their presence—not when his mind was still filled with last night’s events, with Mikhail’s audacity, with the way Luca had cried himself to sleep. And the morning warmth.

But the moment his eyes landed on the sight before him, his entire being stilled.

Luca stood at the counter, his delicate hands working to mix pancake batter, his soft lips curved into a rare, serene smile. Beside him, Ava perched on a stool, giggling as she tried to mimic his movements, smearing flour across her tiny fingers. The sight was almost too pure, too painfully domestic. It was something he had never imagined himself witnessing—let alone wanting.

His grip tightened around the edge of the marble counter.

Luca belonged here. Like this. In his home. In his grasp. And if anyone dared to take this from him, he would drown the world in blood.

He watched, silent and predatory, as Ava tugged at Luca’s sleeve, beaming up at him with adoration. “Luca, look! I made a heart-shaped pancake!”

Luca laughed softly, ruffling her hair. “That’s perfect, Ava. You’re getting really good at this.”

Damien’s chest clenched.

He should be used to this—this all-consuming obsession, this unnatural hunger. But it was worse now, seeing Luca so effortlessly woven into this life, into his daughter’s affection, into his home like he had always been meant to be here. His cruel heart swelled with something unfamiliar, something dark and possessive.

A future flashed before his eyes.

Luca standing in this very kitchen, swollen with his child, cooking breakfast just like this. A toddler clinging to his leg, another cradled in his arms, and Ava beside him, calling him ‘mama’ with the same innocent joy she had now. Luca would be his in every way—body, soul, blood. His last name would be Luca Volkov, etched permanently into every document, every reality.

Ava’s laughter snapped him out of his thoughts. He smirked, approaching with slow, purposeful steps. Luca noticed him first, his body tensing ever so slightly, his fair skin dusted with flour.

“You want to eat?,” Luca murmured, avoiding his gaze, that shy, flustered expression only fueling Damien’s hunger.

Damien leaned against the counter, crossing his arms, his dark gaze sweeping over Luca’s face, then drifting lower, tracing the delicate curve of his neck. “ofcourse ,” he said smoothly, voice low, edged with something dangerous. “What are you making ?.”

Luca swallowed hard, but before he could respond, Ava beamed up at Damien. “Papa! Look, I’m cooking too!”

Damien’s gaze softened for a fraction of a second. He ruffled Ava’s dark curls, the gentleness in his touch a stark contrast to the storm raging inside him. “I see that, princess. You’re doing well.”

Luca looked away, his cheeks slightly pink, as if trying to hide how much Damien’s approval affected him.

Damien tilted his head, amusement flickering in his eyes. “What about you, moya lyubov?” he murmured, the Russian endearment slipping from his lips like silk. “Are you doing well?”

Luca hesitated, his breath catching, his fingers tightening around the spatula. “I… I suppose.”

Damien smirked, leaning in closer, his voice a deep whisper only for Luca to hear. “That’s not an answer.”

Luca shivered, eyes darting away. “I’m fine, Damien.”

“Mm.” Damien’s smirk widened. “We’ll see about that.”

Ava, oblivious to the tension between them, giggled. “Papa, help us cook!”

For a moment, the world narrowed to this—Luca, flushed and beautiful, Ava, innocent and happy, and Damien, standing at the precipice of something dangerous and consuming.

And for the first time in his life, he wanted it all.

Forever.

***** The kitchen smelled of butter and fresh bread, a stark contrast to the blood and gunpowder Damien was used to. He leaned against the doorway, arms crossed over his bare chest, watching the scene before him with something almost foreign to his nature—contentment.

Luca stood at the counter, sleeves rolled up, flipping pancakes with a grace that made Damien’s chest tighten. Beside him, Ava giggled, her little hands eagerly pressing down on cookie dough. She looked up at Luca like he was the sun, and for once, Damien understood the feeling.

With a smirk, he pushed off the doorway and strode in. “Move.”

Luca turned, startled. “What?”

“You’re making a mess,” Damien said gruffly, stepping beside him. He grabbed a knife and began slicing fruit with precise, practiced movements. It was a rare sight—the brutal king of the underworld assisting in the kitchen like a common man. Ava squealed in delight.

“You know how to cook?” Luca teased, raising an eyebrow.

Damien shot him a look. “I know how to survive.”

Ava clapped her hands. “Papa, make heart-shaped pancakes!”

Damien narrowed his eyes at the ridiculous request, but when Luca turned to hide a smile, something inside him gave way. With an exaggerated sigh, he reached for the batter and carefully shaped a lopsided heart on the pan. Ava squealed in delight, throwing her arms around him, and for the first time in years, Damien Volkov—ruthless, bloodstained, feared by all—let out a quiet chuckle.

******** From the hallway, a pair of furious eyes watched the scene unfold.

Natalya stood in the shadows, her face still swollen, a reminder of Damien’s unforgiving wrath. Her fingers curled into her dress, nails digging into her own skin. She had endured his cruelty, his indifference, his punishments. But this—this was unbearable.

He had never once looked at her like that.

Never once softened for her.

And that pathetic wretch, that little lawyer, was stealing everything she had fought to keep.

Her hatred curdled inside her, dark and venomous. If Damien wouldn’t punish Luca, she would. If she couldn’t have Damien, she would make sure no one else could.

A slow, cruel smile spread across her bruised lips.

Let the games begin.