Chapter 6 - THE PRICE OF INNOCENCE
The attack on the estate came at midnight. The bunker was buried deep beneath the mountain, soundproof and lined with steel. I sat in the corner, clutching Nico tightly as he slept against my chest. Every muffled vibration from above was an explosion, a gunshot, a life ending.
My mind raced back to the day I left him. I had convinced myself that Damiano was a monster, a man too steeped in blood to ever be a father. But sitting in the dark, knowing he was up there holding the line so we could breathe, the lines between monster and savior blurred.
Suddenly, the heavy vault door hissed. I aimed my stolen handgun at the crack, my heart pounding in my throat.
The door swung open, revealing Damiano. He was covered in soot and blood—none of it his own. He was breathing heavily, his suit ruined, holding a tactical rifle. He looked terrifying. He looked beautiful.
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"It's over," he breathed out, dropping the rifle to the concrete floor. "Marco is dead. The Vieri lieutenants are handled."
He fell to his knees in front of us, dropping his forehead against my shoulder, right next to our sleeping son. For the first time in his life, the impenetrable Don of the Rocca family let out a ragged, trembling breath of pure exhaustion.
