Chapter 5 - Fire on the Gates
The battle for the Romano estate lasted less than forty-five minutes.
Frankie Sullivan had assumed that Damian Romano was weakened by his wound, that the estate was caught off-guard, and that a sudden, brutal assault would force the legendary mafia Don to negotiate.
He had calculated wrong.
Damian didn't fight like a wounded man; he fought like a demon protecting his home. Leading his elite security forces through the landscaped gardens and stone courtyard, Damian personally cut through Sullivan’s advance team with terrifying, surgical efficiency.
Inside the library, Hazel listened to the gunfire and heavy concussive blasts. She didn't hide in a closet. She stood near the heavy reinforced door, holding the same medical trauma kit she had used the night before, ready to heal him the moment he returned.
By 3:30 PM, the gunfire died down into a haunting, absolute quiet.
The heavy oak doors of the library swung open.
Damian walked in. His suit coat was gone, his white shirt sleeves rolled up to his forearms, covered in soot and gunpowder residue. In his right hand, he carried Frankie Sullivan’s gold-plated revolver—a war trophy.
Behind him, Marco gave Hazel a broad, triumphant grin before closing the doors, leaving the two of them alone in the vast, quiet room.
Damian tossed the gold revolver onto the desk. He looked at Hazel, standing near the window with the medical kit in her hands.
“Frankie Sullivan is gone,” Damian said, his breathing steady, his voice low and clear. “His organization has been completely dissolved. No one will ever threaten you again, Hazel. Not in Chicago, not anywhere in this country.”
Hazel dropped the medical kit onto a chair. She didn't care about Frankie Sullivan. She didn't care about the debt.
She ran across the room, throwing her arms around Damian’s broad neck, burying her face into his warm chest.
Damian let out a low, breathless gasp as his strong arms wrapped around her waist, lifting her slightly off her feet, pulling her so tight against his heart it felt like two pieces of a broken puzzle finally snapping back into place.
“You’re safe,” Damian whispered into her hair, his lips pressing repeated, fierce kisses against her temple, her cheek, her jaw. “You’re safe now, my sweet girl.”
Hazel pulled back slightly, looking up into his dark, beautiful eyes. “I don't want to be safe anywhere else, Damian. I want to be here. With you.”
May you like
Damian’s dark eyes flared with an intense, burning devotion.
He cupped her face in both of his broad hands and leaned down, pressing his lips onto hers in a deep, fiery, possessive kiss that consumed four years of cold isolation, four years of silence, and replaced it with an everlasting flame.
