Damien Volkov’s POV

The night smelled of salt and gasoline. The docks were silent, save for the rhythmic crashing of waves against the concrete, but Damien knew better. Silence was always a lie.

He exhaled the smoke from his cigarette, watching as his men loaded the last of the crates into the cargo containers. Inside them? Millions of dollars’ worth of weapons and high-end military tech—equipment that could tip the scales of a war.

And someone had tried to steal it.

Damien’s expression was unreadable as he turned toward the man kneeling before him, blood pooling beneath his broken body. The fucker had been fast, slipping past three layers of security, almost smart enough to disappear before anyone noticed. Almost.

But Damien was faster.

A hand reached down, grabbing the man by his hair, forcing his battered face upward. Swollen eyes blinked at him in agony, lips trembling, a mix of saliva and blood dripping down his chin.

“Who sent you?” Damien’s voice was calm—too calm. That was when he was at his most dangerous.

The man coughed, choking on his own blood. He tried to speak, but all that came out was a wheeze.

Damien sighed.

He grabbed his knife and plunged it into the man’s thigh, twisting it slow.

A gurgled scream tore through the air.

“I’ll ask again,” Damien murmured, his grip tightening as he yanked the knife out, blood splattering across the ground. “Who. Sent. You?”

The man whimpered, his body convulsing from the pain. He tried to push himself away, but Damien pressed a boot to his chest, pinning him down.

“T-Telkov,” the man finally gasped, his voice barely above a whisper. “Mikhail’s man—p-promised me protection—”

Damien clicked his tongue. “Protection?” He crouched down, resting his arms on his knees as he studied the pathetic excuse for a thief. “Does this look like protection to you?”

The man’s breathing was ragged, sweat dripping down his face.

Damien leaned in closer, his voice dropping to something almost intimate.

“Tell me, did Mikhail warn you what happens to people who steal from me?”

The man swallowed hard, his whole body trembling now. “P-Please—”

Damien grinned. “No.”

And then he slit the bastard’s throat.

A wet, gurgling noise filled the air as the man’s eyes rolled back, his body twitching before finally going still. Blood poured onto the dock, staining the concrete in a thick, dark pool.

Damien stood, wiping his blade clean on the dead man’s shirt. His men watched in silence, waiting for their orders.

He turned to one of them, flicking the cigarette from his fingers. “Burn the body. Make sure there’s nothing left.”

“Yes, boss.”

As his men got to work, Damien pulled out his phone, dialing a familiar number.

The line clicked, and a cold, amused voice answered.

“Calling so late, Volkov? Miss me already?”

Damien smirked, his blood still thrumming with the thrill of violence.

“Tell Mikhail I’m coming for him.”

******

Retribution was an art. And Damien was a fucking artist.

The scent of gasoline filled the air, thick and intoxicating, mingling with the metallic tang of blood. The abandoned warehouse was filled with crates of weapons, stacks of dirty money, and Mikhail’s men—or what was left of them.

Damien stood in the center of the carnage, rolling his shoulders as he wiped a splatter of blood off his sleeve. His men had already secured the exits, ensuring no one could escape. Not that they would.

Not after what he had planned.

A man whimpered at his feet, clutching his gut where Damien had stabbed him moments ago. The knife was still lodged in his flesh, buried deep, the dark stain of his own insides spreading across his shirt.

“P-Please…” the man gasped, blood bubbling between his lips. “I—”

Damien crouched, yanking the knife out without warning. The man screamed, body convulsing as more blood gushed out, pooling beneath him.

Damien smirked, twirling the blade between his fingers. “Please what?” His voice was smooth, almost amused. “Please spare you? Please let you run back to your boss with your tail between your legs?” He leaned in, whispering mockingly, “Or please make it quick?”

The man’s breath hitched.

Damien chuckled darkly. “No.”

And with a swift motion, he slit the man’s throat, watching as he gurgled and thrashed before going still.

Pathetic.

He stood, wiping the blood off his blade with a crisp hundred-dollar bill he’d taken from one of Mikhail’s crates. Around him, his men were already dousing the warehouse in gasoline, the acrid scent seeping into every crack and crevice.

One of his men, Viktor, approached with a lighter. “Everything’s set, boss.”

Damien glanced around the warehouse one last time, taking in the sheer scale of the destruction he was about to unleash. Millions in cash, crates of illegal weapons, all of it would be reduced to nothing.

He took the lighter from Viktor’s hand and flicked it open, watching the small flame dance in the darkness.

Then he turned to the last remaining survivor—Mikhail’s second-in-command, bound and gagged, his terrified eyes darting between Damien and the spreading gasoline.

Damien crouched beside him, gripping his chin so their eyes met. “Tell Mikhail , Volkov says fuck you.”

And with that, he tossed the lighter.

The flames roared to life instantly, racing across the warehouse, devouring everything in their path. The heat was immediate, the air thick with smoke and burning money.

As the fire spread, consuming Mikhail’s empire piece by piece, Damien stepped out into the cool night air, lighting another cigarette as he watched the inferno rage behind him.

Viktor smirked. “Mikhail’s gonna lose his shit when he finds out.”

Damien exhaled a slow stream of smoke, eyes gleaming with amusement. “Good.”

Because this was only the beginning.

****** Luca’s POV

Luca was curled up on the couch, half-asleep with Ava sprawled on top of him like a tiny, warm blanket. She had passed out hours ago after forcing him to watch some ridiculous princess movie—one that, admittedly, he had enjoyed more than he would ever admit.

The sound of the front door unlocking made him crack one eye open.

Damien stepped inside, rolling his shoulders like a man thoroughly satisfied with himself. There was a faint scent of smoke clinging to him, and his shirt sleeves were pushed up, revealing the faint smear of blood near his wrist.

Luca sighed dramatically. “Let me guess. You’re in such a good mood because you killed people.”

Damien smirked, tossing his jacket onto a chair before stalking toward him with that lazy, predatory grace. “You know me so well, printsessa.”

Luca wrinkled his nose. “Gross.”

Damien only chuckled, plopping down beside him on the couch. He stretched his arms along the backrest, his body radiating warmth. “I had a productive night.”

Luca eyed him suspiciously. “By ‘productive,’ you mean you burned things down and probably traumatized some poor bastard?”

Damien tilted his head, considering. “Well, I definitely burned things down. And I suppose some men screamed a bit. Not sure if they were traumatized, though.” He flashed a sharp grin. “Didn’t really give them time to process it.”

Luca groaned, rubbing his temples. “You’re actually insane.”

Damien hummed, shifting closer until their thighs brushed. “Yet you love me.”

Luca rolled his eyes. “You’re getting ahead of yourself, Mr. War Criminal.”

Damien chuckled, leaning in, voice dropping to a teasing whisper. “Say it again. Slower.”

Luca shoved a pillow in his face. “Go take a shower, you smell like arson and sin.”

Damien caught the pillow before it could properly hit him, laughing as he tossed it aside. “Fine, but when I get back, you owe me cuddles.”

Luca scoffed. “I owe you nothing.”

Damien only smirked, standing up. “We’ll see .” then Damien grabs him and forcefully took him to bathroom with him.

Damien Volkov was going to be the death of him.

*****

The warm steam curled around them, fogging up the glass as water poured down in steady streams. Damien stood behind Luca, his arms braced against the tiled wall, effectively caging him in.

Luca rolled his eyes. “You’re doing that thing again.”

Damien’s lips curled lazily. “What thing?”

“Standing too close like some obsessive bodyguard.” Luca flicked water at him, grinning when Damien didn’t even flinch. “I thought we were showering, not playing ‘who can invade personal space the most.’”

Damien hummed. “I don’t know, printsessa—seems like you enjoy it.”

Luca groaned, turning his back to him as he worked shampoo into his hair. “Ugh, why do you always make everything weird?”

Damien chuckled, stepping closer. “Why do you always complain and then let me do whatever I want?”

Luca huffed but didn’t argue. He focused on rinsing his hair, enjoying the warmth of the water, while Damien—true to form—refused to stop hovering.

As Luca massaged conditioner through his strands, he sighed. “You know, I was reading this article earlier about how goldfish can recognize faces. Which is wild, right? Like, imagine being a tiny fish with two-second memory, but you still remember some guy’s face.”

Damien leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching him intently. “Mm.”

Luca continued, oblivious to the dark-eyed fixation. “And then I went down a rabbit hole and read about how pigeons can identify paintings by different artists. Like, why? Who tested that? Who thought, ‘Hey, let’s give this bird some Van Gogh and see if it reacts differently to a Monet?’”

Damien smirked. “Fascinating.”

Luca narrowed his eyes. “You’re not even listening.”

Damien tilted his head. “I’m listening to you.”

Luca faltered for half a second before scoffing. “Gross.”

Damien only grinned. “Go on. I want to hear more about your deep, intellectual thoughts on goldfish and pigeons.”

Luca squinted at him, suspicious. “Why are you being nice?”

Damien leaned in, his voice a smooth murmur. “Because when you talk, you’re so fucking cute.”

Luca immediately smacked a handful of water into his face. “Nope! Nope! Absolutely not!”

Damien laughed, shaking his head as droplets scattered from his wet hair. “Admit it. You like when I listen.”

Luca turned away with a huff. “I take back everything. You have the attention span of a brick.”

Damien only smirked, pulling him close. “And yet, here I am, obsessed with every damn word you say.”

Luca’s face burned. “I hate you.”

Damien’s smirk deepened. “I know.”