Chapter 18 Viviana
For a moment, my brain refuses to process what I'm hearing. The sharp crack-crack-crack cutting through the quiet sounds wrong, out of place in this peaceful house where I've felt safer than anywhere else in the world.
Then Damon is moving beside me, grabbing his gun from the table in one fluid motion.
"Stay down," he orders.
"What's happening?"
"Vergas found us." He's checking his weapon. "How many shots did you hear?"
"I’m not sure. A lot."
More gunfire erupts from somewhere outside, closer this time. The sound of automatic weapons mixed with the sharp crack of pistols. A full-scale assault.
"Fuck." Damon moves to the window, staying low, peering through a gap in the curtains. "At least six vehicles. Maybe more."
"What do we do?"
"We get you out of here."
Outside, the gunfire is getting closer and I can hear shouting.
"Where are the bodyguards?" I ask.
Damon's expression goes dark. "Probably dead."
More men died because of me. Because I'm here, because someone wants me dead badly enough to wage war for it.
"This is my fault."
"This is the Vergas' fault." He's back at the window, assessing the situation. "They want to eliminate both our families. You're just the excuse they're using."
A window explodes on the other side of the house.
"Upstairs bedroom. Now. Go!”
I run up the stairs into the bedroom, with Damon close behind me, giving me cover. He grabs a duffel bag from under the bed, checking his backup weapons.
"There's a window that leads to the roof. We go out that way."
We move quickly down the hallway, keeping low. A loud crash explodes from downstairs as they shatter another one of the windows. The sounds are getting louder, furniture overturning, doors slamming, loud voices calling out in rapid Italian.
"Kill him and find the girl!" someone shouts.
"They know I'm here," I say.
"They know someone's here. Doesn't mean they know it's you."
But we both know that's not true. This attack is too coordinated, too specific. Someone told them exactly where to find me.
We reach the back bedroom, and Damon immediately goes to the window, working the locks. "This leads to the garage roof. From there we can drop to the ground and make it to the tree line."
"What about your car?"
"Keys are downstairs. We're going on foot."
The window slides open as we hear footsteps on the stairs. Heavy boots, moving methodically, checking each room.
"Ladies first," Damon says, helping me through the window onto the slanted roof.
The air is cold against my skin, and the roof tiles are slippery. I can see the forest beyond the garage, dark and thick, offering cover if we can reach it.
Damon follows me through the window, moving more carefully because of his size. That's when the bedroom door explodes inward.
"Here!” someone shouts.
Gunfire erupts behind us as Damon throws himself flat against the roof, pulling me down with him. Bullets whine overhead, chipping chunks of tile that rain down around us.
"Move!" he shouts. “Run for the trees!”
We scramble toward the edge of the roof as more shots ring out. The garage is about a ten-foot drop to the ground, manageable if we're careful.
I swing my legs over the edge, preparing to drop, when the window behind us explodes outward in a shower of glass and wood.
Damon grunts, stumbling.
"Are you hit?"
"I'm fine. Go!"
But I can see blood on his left arm, dark against his shirt. A piece of glass from the explosion caught him, leaving a gash that's bleeding freely.
"You're hurt."
"Move!"
I drop from the roof, landing hard on the grass, my knees buckling. Damon follows a second later, landing with more control despite his injury.
"The trees," he says, grabbing my hand. "Run! Don’t look back! Keep running no matter what!"
We sprint across the open ground between the garage and the forest. Behind us, I can hear more windows breaking, more shouting. Someone's figured out which way we went.
The trees close around us as the first shots ring out from the house. Bark explodes from a pine tree inches from my head.
"This way," Damon says, pulling me deeper into the woods.
We run through the forest, branches catching at our clothes, roots trying to trip us. I can hear pursuit behind us, at least three men, maybe more, crashing through the undergrowth.
"There!" someone shouts. "I see them!"
More gunfire. A bullet whines past my ear.
Damon suddenly changes direction, pulling me down a steep slope toward what sounds like running water. A creek, narrow but deep enough to hide our tracks.
"In the water," he says. "Follow the current downstream."
The water is shockingly cold, soaking through my shoes immediately. But it muffles our movement, and the sound of the current will help mask any noise we make.
We wade downstream for what feels like hours but is probably only twenty minutes. The gunfire behind us fades, then stops altogether. Either they've given up, or they've spread out to cover more ground.
"There," Damon says, pointing to a cluster of large rocks that form a kind of natural shelter. "We can rest for a bit."
We climb out of the creek and collapse behind the rocks. For the first time since this started, I get a good look at Damon's arm.
The cut is about four inches long, running from his elbow toward his wrist. It's bleeding steadily but doesn't look too deep.
"Let me see that," I say.
"It's nothing."
"It's not nothing. You're bleeding all over the place."
I tear a strip of fabric from the bottom of my shirt and move closer to him. "Hold still."
"Viviana—"
"I told you to be still."
He lets me examine the wound, clean it as best I can with creek water, and wrap it with the makeshift bandage. My hands are shaking, but I manage to get it tight enough to slow the bleeding.
"There," I say. "Not professional, but it'll do until we can get you real medical attention."
"Thank you."
"Don't thank me. This is my fault. If I wasn't here, they wouldn't have attacked. Your men wouldn't be dead. You wouldn't be hurt."
"If you weren't here, the Vergas would have found another way to start this war. At least this way, we know who we're fighting."
"Do we? Because it seems like we're fighting everyone."
"Not everyone. Just the people who want us dead."
"What do we do now?" I ask.
"We find somewhere safe to hole up while I figure out our next move. I know a place. About two miles from here. Old hunting cabin my uncle used to use. It's not much, but it's off the grid."
"Can you make it two miles?"
"Sure, I can."
But see the pain in his eyes, and how he's favoring his injured arm. The cut might not be serious, but it's going to slow him down.
"Damon."
"Yeah?"
"When those men broke into the bedroom, when the window exploded..." I take a shaky breath. "I was terrified."
"That's normal. Anyone would be scared."
"No, not scared for me. Scared for you." I look into his dark eyes. "I was terrified something would happen to you."
He goes very still. "Viviana—"
"I know we said this was just physical, but that was a lie. Wasn't it?"
"Yeah," he admits quietly. "It was a lie."
"So, what is this?"
"Something more than we planned on."
I think about that. About how much has changed since that first night, about how different everything feels now.
"Do you regret it? Getting involved with me?"
"No." The answer comes immediately, certain. "Do you?"
"No. Even with everything that's happened, even with people trying to kill us, I don't regret it."
He reaches out with his uninjured hand and touches my face. "I don't know what this is, Viviana. Where it leads or how it ends. But I know I'm not ready to walk away from it."
"Even though it complicates everything?"
"Especially because it complicates everything."
"Damon—"
"We need to move," he says, standing up and offering me his hand. "Before they pick up our trail again."
"What comes next if we find a safe place?"
He looks at me, and I see something in his eyes that looks like determination mixed with something darker.
"We end this. We find out who's been feeding the Vergas information, we eliminate the threat, and we make sure no one ever tries to hurt you again."
"And then?"
"We’ll figure that out if we make it that long."
"Is that possible?"
"I don't know. But I'm willing to find out if you are."
I look at this dangerous man who's promised to protect me with his life, who's admitted that keeping me safe is all that matters to him, and I know there's only one answer I can give.
"Yes. I'm willing to find out."
Because whatever comes next, whatever we have to face, I want to face it with him.
Even if it kills us both.