“Calm down. I’m here to help you.” Those were the first words I said after finding Chicago’s most feared mafia boss half-dressed, bleeding, and barely conscious behind the one bedroom door no servant was ever allowed to open

Damon's lips twitched into a genuine, breathtaking smile—the first real smile I had ever seen on his face.

"You really are Nikolai's daughter," he murmured, his gaze lingering on mine with a mixture of awe and fierce pride.

"We have less than five minutes before Vane's men reach the main house," I said, checking the magazine of the pistol just like my father had taught me when I was a child. "Where is the rest of your loyal security?"

"Kirill sent them to the south docks under false orders," Damon explained, strapping a tactical knife to his boot. "It’s just you, me, and Sloan."

"Sloan is in the kitchen," I said, my heart spiking with worry.

"We get her, then we take the underground tunnel to the garage," Damon decided smoothly. He stepped close to me, his broad frame towering over mine, his hand reaching out to gently tilt my chin up. "Listen to me, Alina. If anything goes wrong... if we get separated..."

"We won't get separated," I interrupted firmly, wrapping my fingers around his forearm. "You kept me safe for three years. I'm not leaving your side now."

Damon searched my eyes, his intense gaze darkening with a sudden, overwhelming emotion. Without another word, he pulled me against his chest, his mouth descending onto mine in a fierce, possessive kiss.

It was hot, demanding, and filled with years of unspoken longing. I wrapped my arms around his neck, melting into his warmth, feeling the thunderous beat of his heart against my palms.

When he finally pulled back, both of us were breathless.

"I should have done that the first day you spilled my coffee," Damon whispered against my lips, his voice husky.

"You would have fired me," I teased softly, a faint blush warming my cheeks despite the danger surrounding us.

"Never," he growled playfully. "Now stay behind me."

We moved through the dark executive hallways like twin shadows. The estate had fallen completely dark as Vane's men cut the main power lines, plunging the grand mansion into midnight blackness illuminated only by flashes of lightning outside.

We reached the kitchen service stairs just as heavy footsteps echoed through the dining hall above.

"In here," Damon whispered, pulling me into the pantry corridor.

Sloan was crouching behind the stainless-steel island, holding a massive butcher knife like a sword. When she saw us, she nearly let out a scream of relief.

"Thank God!" Sloan squeaked, ducking down as a spotlight swept across the high kitchen windows. "There are men with rifles in the garden!"

"They're clearing the perimeter first," Damon assessed coolly, glancing out through the blinds. "They think we're hiding in the reinforced safe room in the basement. That gives us two minutes to reach the subterranean tunnel."