The night air was thick with the scent of blood and gunpowder as Damien carried Luca in his arms, his grip unyielding despite the sharp, throbbing pain of the three bullets lodged in his body. His entire focus was on the delicate figure in his arms—his Luca, exhausted and trembling, his face pressed into Damien’s chest, his breathing shallow but steady.

Damien didn’t care about his own wounds. Pain was nothing. He had endured worse. The only thing that mattered was Luca. He had almost lost him. That thought alone was enough to push Damien back into a near-murderous frenzy. He would never allow such a thing to happen again.

As they stepped into the estate, the scent of antiseptic and clean linen did nothing to soothe Damien’s bloodlust. His men hovered nearby, tense and awaiting orders, but he ignored them. His world had narrowed down to the fragile boy in his arms, his Luca—his obsession, his reason for breathing.

Luca stirred slightly, his voice hoarse, barely above a whisper. “Damien… you’re hurt…”

Damien shushed him, pressing his lips to the crown of Luca’s head. “Don’t speak. Sleep.”

“But—”

“I said sleep, sweetheart.” His voice was softer now, but it carried an edge of finality that Luca was too weak to argue against. He simply curled into Damien’s warmth, his fingers gripping weakly at Damien’s shirt before his breathing evened out, his body giving in to the exhaustion.

Damien carried him to their bedroom, settling him onto the bed with utmost care, as if he were made of glass. He sat beside him, tracing Luca’s delicate features with his fingers—his soft lips, his closed eyes, his tear-streaked cheeks. He had been so strong… so brave… yet so fragile.

A dark smirk pulled at Damien’s lips.

“I’ll kill them all,” he whispered, his voice laced with an almost inhuman possessiveness. “Every last one of them.”

His fingers curled into a fist as the images of Mikhail and his men flashed in his mind. They had dared to touch what was his. They had dared to take Luca from him. And for that, there would be no mercy.

His vision darkened with the promise of carnage. He would find Mikhail. He would make him suffer in ways no man had ever suffered before. He would erase his existence so completely that even the thought of betraying Damien would become a whispered nightmare among those who lived in the underworld.

His Luca would never know fear again.

Gently, Damien pulled Luca into his embrace, resting his chin atop his soft hair. Luca let out a small sigh in his sleep, unconsciously nuzzling closer to Damien’s warmth. The innocent gesture sent a deep, possessive ache through Damien’s chest.

Mine.

He tightened his hold, his lips ghosting over Luca’s forehead. “You’re mine, sweetheart. And no one—no one—will ever take you from me again.”

****** ---

As Damien stepped through the grand doors of his estate, the weight of Luca’s body still secure in his arms, he felt an overwhelming sense of possession, of relief, of absolute, unshakable devotion. Luca had barely stirred the entire drive home, his exhaustion keeping him in a deep slumber, face tucked into Damien’s chest like he belonged there.

The moment they entered, a small figure came rushing down the hall.

“Papa! Luca!” Ava’s wails echoed through the marble corridors, her little feet running as fast as they could. Her face was wet with tears, her cheeks flushed from crying too long.

Damien tightened his hold on Luca as he hushed her softly. “Ava, sweetheart, hush—”

But she didn’t listen. She threw herself into his leg, gripping him tightly before her tiny hands reached up to Luca’s limp arm. “Luca!” she sobbed, shaking him gently. “Wake up! I love you! I missed you so much—so much!”

Luca groaned slightly, his eyelids fluttering open just enough to register her presence. His lips, cracked and dry from everything he had endured, parted in a sleepy murmur. “Ava…”

She sniffled and clung to him tighter. “Don’t leave again…please…”

A faint, tired smile crossed Luca’s lips as his head lolled against Damien’s chest. “I won’t…” he whispered. “I love you both…”

Damien’s breath hitched. Something about hearing those words, so soft, so natural, after everything—after the blood, the fire, the pain—made his chest tighten in a way nothing ever had.

Ava pressed her forehead to Luca’s arm, her little sobs muffled, and Damien, the cruelest, most ruthless man in the underworld, felt something inside him break.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. He simply carried Luca to their room, with Ava following close behind, refusing to let go of Luca’s hand.

And as he laid Luca down, pulling the blankets over him, his daughter curled up at his side.

For the first time in days, Damien volkov let out a slow breath and allowed himself to feel something other than rage.

This was his. His family. And he would kill anyone who ever dared take them away again.

---

---

The room was bathed in the soft glow of the early morning sun, but it did nothing to mask the scene of absolute carnage.

Luca stirred, his body aching from exhaustion, his head still heavy with sleep. His fingers curled against the silk sheets, the familiar scent of Damien surrounding him, grounding him. But as his vision cleared, his breath hitched at the sight beside him.

Damien was a bloody mess.

His shirt was stiff with dried blood, his torso still riddled with bullet wounds that hadn’t been properly treated. Crimson stained the sheets, dark and ominous, soaking into the mattress beneath him.

Luca's heart pounded in panic.

“Damien!” His voice was hoarse, panicked, as he pushed himself up despite his own exhaustion. His hands trembled as they touched Damien’s chest, feeling the sticky warmth of blood beneath his fingertips. “You’re still bleeding—you idiot! What the hell is wrong with you?!”

Damien groggily opened his eyes, a slow smirk tugging at his lips as he gazed at Luca, completely unaffected by the concern in his voice. “Mmm… good morning to you too, sweetheart.”

Luca’s panic turned into pure frustration. “Don’t ‘sweetheart’ me, you psycho! You have bullets in you! Why the hell didn’t you get treated?!”

Damien chuckled, the deep sound raspy yet amused. “I’ve had worse.”

Luca’s eyes darkened with pure fury. “That’s not the point! I swear, if you die from blood loss like some reckless idiot, I’ll—”

“Kill me?” Damien teased, raising a brow. “That’d be ironic, considering you’re the one in my bed.”

Luca scowled, his hands pressing against Damien’s chest as if he could physically will him to stay alive. “Shut up. You’re getting treated right now.”

Damien’s smirk widened, something dark and amused flickering in his eyes as he reached up, cupping Luca’s cheek with his bloodstained fingers. “You’re so cute when you worry about me.”

Luca slapped his hand away, his pulse racing. “I’m not cute—I’m pissed! Now shut up and let me help you!”

Damien exhaled a low, amused breath but didn’t argue. He simply watched Luca, obsessed with every little expression that flickered across his face. His anger. His worry. His stubbornness.

Luca was his. And he’d let him scold him a million times over if it meant having him like this—tender, fierce, alive.

As Luca grabbed the first aid kit with shaking hands, Damien chuckled again. “You’re really serious about this, huh?”

Luca glared at him. “Yes. Now let's go in bathroom I’ll actually kill you.”

And for the first time in his life, Damien obeyed someone else’s command.

Because it was Luca.

And Luca owned him.

---

---

Steam curled in the air, thick and warm, as water cascaded into the marble bathtub. The scent of soap and faint traces of blood lingered, mixing with the heat.

Luca sat on the edge, his lips pressed into a thin line as he watched Damien peel off his ruined shirt, exposing the deep wounds littering his body. Bullet wounds. Gashes. Bruises already forming, dark and violent against his pale skin.

Luca’s chest tightened.

“Damien…” His voice wavered, eyes burning.

Damien barely glanced at him, instead reaching for Luca’s own torn clothing, effortlessly pulling his shirt over his head. “You’re hurt too,” he muttered.

“I’m not the one who took three bullets, it's just minor cuts and bruises from ropes ” Luca snapped, hands clenching. “How the hell are you even standing?!”

Damien smirked, tugging Luca closer, pressing their bare chests together as he whispered against his ear, “Because I still have unfinished business.”

Luca shuddered. “You’re insane.”

“And you love me.”

Luca swallowed hard, refusing to respond, instead focusing on guiding Damien into the tub. The warm water immediately darkened with blood as it washed over them. Luca winced, his fingers trembling as he reached for a washcloth, carefully running it over Damien’s wounds.

Damien sighed, eyes half-lidded as he watched Luca tend to him. He let him fuss, let him panic, let him press gentle fingers against his injuries, his lips trembling with unsaid words.

It was intoxicating.

But as much as he loved seeing Luca like this—worried, desperate, doting—he couldn’t ignore the absolute rage boiling in his veins.

Mikhail had dared to put his filthy hands on Luca.

Had dared to bruise what was his.

Had dared to make Luca afraid.

Damien’s jaw clenched. His grip on Luca’s wrist tightened. “I swear on every drop of blood in my body, I’ll kill Mikhail,” he growled, his voice dripping with violence. “I’ll make him suffer for every bruise he dared put on you.”

Luca’s breath hitched. “Damien—”

“He thought he could take you from me,” Damien continued, voice low, dark, lethal. “Thought he could lay a finger on my angel and walk away breathing.”

Luca exhaled shakily, shifting closer, his hands moving to Damien’s jaw, forcing him to look at him. “You need to focus on getting better first,” he murmured. “You’re no use to anyone dead.”

Damien chuckled, the sound rough. “Sweetheart, I’m not that easy to kill.”

Luca scowled, grabbing a washcloth and pressing it hard against one of Damien’s bullet wounds.

Damien hissed. “You little—”

“Shut up and let me take care of you.” Luca’s eyes burned, his touch firm yet unbearably gentle as he continued cleaning Damien’s wounds, rinsing away the blood, his fingers lingering over every bruise.

Damien’s rage momentarily subsided, replaced by a deep, obsessive warmth.

Luca was his.

His to protect.

His to love.

His to worship.

And nothing—nothing—would ever take him away again.

--