Page 23 of The Brat's Bargain

Damien shook his head. "No. You're Antonio Lombardi, through and through. But the threat of those photos coming to light... it's been hanging over your family for decades."

Antonio's mind reeled, trying to process this new information. It explained so much—his mother's coldness, the pressure she'd always put on him to be perfect. But one thing still didn't add up.

"If you knew all this," he said slowly, "why keep the photos? Why not destroy them?"

Something dark and haunted flickered in Damien's eyes. "Because they're leverage. Insurance, in case Vivian ever decided to come after us for what Marco did."

"Us?" Antonio's voice cracked on the word. "You're not... you're not like him, are you?"

Damien's expression softened, a vulnerability Antonio had never seen before crossing his face. "No, baby. I'm not. But I've done things... terrible things, to protect what's mine. To build something separate from Marco's legacy."

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "When I first brought you here, it was about gaining an advantage over the Lombardis. But now..."

Antonio's heart raced, hope and fear tangling in his chest. "Now what?"

Damien's gaze was intense, filled with an emotion Antonio wasn't ready to name. "Now, I can't imagine letting you go. You've become... important to me, Antonio. More than I ever intended."

The admission hung heavy in the air between them. Antonio wanted to believe him, wanted to throw himself into Damien's arms and forget about the outside world. But the weight of everything he'd learned held him back.

"I don't know if I can trust you," he said softly. "How do I know this isn't just another manipulation?"

Damien's jaw clenched, frustration clear in the set of his shoulders. "What do I have to do to prove myself to you? To show you that what we have is real?"

Before Antonio could respond, the sharp crack of gunfire shattered the tense silence. Damien was on his feet in an instant, pulling Antonio behind him as he reached for his weapon.

"Stay close to me," he growled, all traces of vulnerability gone. He was the dangerous mob boss once more, eyes hard and predatory.

They made their way cautiously to the door, the sounds of a firefight growing louder. Damien cracked it open, peering out into the hallway.

"Rizzo," he spat, fury clear in his voice. "The bastard's made his move."

Antonio's blood ran cold. "My family?—"

"Will be fine," Damien cut him off. "I've got men watching them. Right now, we need to focus on getting out of here."

As if on cue, the door exploded inward in a hail of splinters. Damien's reaction was instantaneous, his body moving with practiced efficiency. He shoved Antonio to the ground, the force of it knocking the breath from the younger man's lungs. In the same fluid motion, Damien's gun was in his hand, his broad frame shielding Antonio as he returned fire.

The world narrowed to a cacophony of violence. Gunshots cracked through the air, deafeningly loud in the confined space. Bullets whizzed overhead, embedding themselves in the wall with dull thuds. The acrid smell of cordite filled Antonio's nostrils, mixing with the musty scent of disturbed plaster dust.

Antonio's heart hammered against his ribs, each beat a frantic tattoo of fear and adrenaline. He clung to Damien, fingers digging into the older man's shirt, desperate for any anchor in the chaos. His face was pressed into Damien's back, nose filled with the familiar scent of expensive cologne now mingled with gunpowder and sweat.

Despite the danger, despite the anger and hurt still simmering between them, Antonio couldn't help but feel safe. Damien's body was a solid wall of muscle above him, warm and alive and fiercely protective. Each movement, each subtle shift as Damien took aim and fired, sent sparks of awareness through Antonio's body.

A stray bullet shattered a nearby vase, sending shards of porcelain raining down on them. Antonio flinched, a whimper escaping his throat before he could stop it. Damien's free hand found his, squeezing reassuringly even as he continued to return fire.

"I've got you, baby boy," Damien growled, his voice a low rumble Antonio felt more than heard. "Just stay down. I won't let them hurt you."

The words, rough with emotion and determination, sent a shiver down Antonio's spine. He wanted to be angry, wanted to hold onto his hurt and betrayal. But in that moment, with death and danger so close, all he could feel was an overwhelming surge of need. Need for Damien's touch, his protection, his fierce possessiveness.

As if sensing Antonio's thoughts, Damien glanced down at him. Their eyes met, and the world seemed to pause. Gunfire faded to a dull roar, time slowing to a crawl. In Damien's gaze, Antonio saw a maelstrom of emotions—fear, anger, determination, and something deeper, something that made his breath catch in his throat.

"When this is over," Damien said, voice low and intense, "we're going to have a long talk, you and I. About trust. About loyalty. About what you really mean to me."

Before Antonio could respond, the moment shattered. A fresh volley of gunfire had Damien turning away, his focus once more on the threat at hand. But the weight of his words, the promise in his eyes, left Antonio reeling.

He pressed closer to Damien's back, breathing in the scent of him, letting it calm his racing heart. Whatever happened next, whatever revelations or dangers awaited them, Antonio knew one thing for certain:

He was exactly where he belonged. In Damien's arms, under his protection. And God help anyone who tried to tear them apart.

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