The storm hadn’t finished echoing across Manhattan when Wolfe Tower erupted into chaos. Word traveled faster than gunfire: the Syndicate blamed Damian for the bombing, and a faction of the families—jealous, angry, terrified—had decided he was no longer fit to lead. The fact that Damian was still standing at all was a miracle. The fact that he was still willing to fight made everyone afraid.
Aria felt that fear too.
She bolted awake in Damian’s bed, heart pounding, the sheets tangled around her legs. She had no memory of falling asleep—only of Damian sitting beside her while exhaustion dragged her under. Now, the bed was empty. The room was cold. Her stomach twisted.
He was gone.
“Damian?” she whispered.
No answer.
Then the shouting started.
Heavy boots slammed against marble. Men barked orders. Someone cursed about “coup protocol.” Aria pushed herself off the bed, stumbling toward the door. She opened it—and stopped.
Damian stood at the center of the penthouse, shirt discarded, shoulder wrapped in fresh white bandages that were already soaked in red. He was arming himself. Guns laid out on the table. Knives. Ammo. A Kevlar vest. Dark fury radiated off him like heat from a wildfire.
Aria’s breath caught.
He looked like a war god preparing to kill.
“Damian…” she whispered.
He didn’t hear her at first. His hands shook—but not from pain. From rage. From fear. From what he was willing to do next.
Jaxon slammed through the elevator doors. “Boss, we need to move. Council troops are forming on Seventh Street. Three of the families have already declared for the coalition.”
Damian didn’t even raise his head. “Let them come.”
“Damian—” Jaxon tried again.
But Damian finally turned.
His eyes found Aria.
Everything else in the world disappeared for him the second he saw her.
Her hair still wet from the panic shower the nurse forced on her, her eyes swollen from crying, her body wrapped in his shirt because she had nothing else—and he froze, like he was afraid of what she might say.
“Aria,” he breathed. “You should still be sleeping.”
“You left,” she whispered, voice cracking. “I woke up and you—”
“I didn’t go far.” His throat bobbed. “I wouldn’t.”
Something inside her softened. Something inside him hardened.
She crossed the room slowly, stepping between the scattered weapons until she stood right in front of him. He smelled like smoke and steel and fury, but beneath that—something she only ever sensed when they were alone. Something vulnerable.
Her fingers brushed his hand.
He jerked like she’d shocked him. “Don’t.”
“Damian—please. Let’s just… stay here. Just for today. Don’t go out there.” Her voice broke. “Not like this.”
His jaw clenched so tightly she could see the muscle twitch. “I don’t get to stay. They’re challenging my crown, Aria. If I don’t go out there, they’ll put a bullet in Jaxon’s head. Rina’s. Every loyal soldier.”
“You’re hurt—”
“I’m breathing,” he snapped. “That’s enough.”
“It’s not.” Tears gathered in her eyes. “I can’t lose you.”
The room went silent.
Jaxon sucked in a sharp breath. Even the guards at the door stiffened.
Damian looked down at her slowly, like he wasn’t sure he heard her correctly. His hand lifted—hesitant, trembling—and cupped the side of her neck, thumb brushing her pulse.
“Don’t say things like that,” he whispered. “Don’t give me reasons to come back.”
“Damian—”
“I mean it.” His forehead dropped to hers. His breath trembled against her lips. “If I know you’re waiting for me… I’ll kill them all. Every last one.”
Aria’s heart hammered. “Then come back alive.”
His lips brushed hers.
Not a kiss. A warning. A promise. A surrender.
He exhaled harshly, like he was breaking apart. “Aria…”
She grabbed his shirt with shaking hands and pulled him down.
The kiss hit them both like a detonated bomb.
Damian crushed her to him as if she were oxygen. Aria clung to him like he was the only solid thing left in a collapsing world. His hands framed her face, desperate, trembling, sliding into her hair, pulling her closer. Her lips parted under his, and Damian groaned—a low, broken sound he couldn’t hold back. He kissed her like a starving man, like someone terrified he’d never have another chance.
It wasn’t gentle.
It wasn’t soft.
It was devastating.
It was everything they’d been trying not to feel—erupting all at once.
His injured shoulder throbbed, blood blooming anew across the bandage, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. His mouth moved against hers with all the fury and fear he tried to hide. Aria melted against him, her fingers trembling as they gripped his jaw. Damian deepened the kiss with a raw, aching hunger he’d held back for far too long.
When he finally tore away, he was breathing like he’d run miles. Their foreheads stayed pressed together, breaths tangled, hearts pounding like war drums.
Her voice was barely a whisper. “Damian…”
“I shouldn’t have done that,” he said hoarsely. “I shouldn’t want you this much.”
“But you do.”
He closed his eyes, tortured. “God help me, Aria. I do.”
Another explosion shook the lower floors.
Jaxon cursed. “Boss—now. We have to move.”
Damian opened his eyes. The storm in them was darker and deeper—but there was something else now. Something softer. Something dangerous.
He kissed her again—one last time, rougher, faster, burning.
Then he tore himself away like it physically hurt him.
He grabbed his gun. His vest. His fury.
At the door, he turned back to her.
“I swear on my father’s grave—” His voice shook. “I’m coming back to you.”
Aria stepped forward desperately. “Damian—”
“Stay alive.” His gaze locked onto her like she was the single thread tying him together. “If anything happens to you, Aria…” His voice cracked. “I won’t survive it.”
And then he was gone.
Jaxon followed with a grave look, whispering, “He’ll kill anyone who gets between him and you.”
The doors slammed shut.
Aria collapsed to the floor, shaking.
Below her, the tower roared with the beginning of war.
And above her heart, Damian Wolfe’s kiss still burned like a mark she would never escape.