I watched one nurse after another walk out of the mansion in tears because the dying mafia boss refused to let anyone near him. Then my deaf four-year-old daughter wandered into the one room everyone feared, placed her tiny hand on his chest, and somehow reached the ruthless man no one else could. When I finally found them together, the look in Damian Volkov's eyes made me question everything I thought I knew about monsters.

"Clara! Run!" Viktor yelled from below, firing back at Salvatore’s enforcers.

I didn't need to be told twice. I scooped Lila into my arms, spinning around to bolt back up the staircase toward the safety of the master suite.

But two of Salvatore’s hired thugs had already bypassed the lower foyer via the service stairs, cutting off our escape.

A large, burly man in a ski mask stepped out from the shadows of the second-floor landing, blocking the hallway, a heavy pistol raised in his fist.

"Well, look what we have here," the thug sneered, eyeing us with cruel amusement. "The boss's little pets."

My blood turned to ice. I stepped backward, shielding Lila with my body. I looked frantically around for an exit, but the windows were too high, the hallway too exposed.

Lila, sensing the danger, buried her face in my neck, her little hands gripping my shirt so tightly her knuckles turned white. Her hearing aid blinked rapidly in the dim emergency lighting.

The thug raised his pistol, aiming directly at me. "End of the line, sweetheart."

Before he could pull the trigger, a dark blur emerged from the service corridor behind him.

It was Damian.

He moved with terrifying, predatory speed. Before the thug could turn around, Damian slammed the heavy steel butt of his pistol into the back of the man's skull. The enforcer dropped like a stone, unconscious before he hit the carpet.

The second thug raised his weapon, shouting a warning, but Damian spun around, firing twice with absolute, ruthless precision.

The second man collapsed, clutching his leg.

Damian stood over them, chest heaving, his gun smoking in his hand. He looked down the hallway, ensuring no other threats remained, before turning his gaze toward us.

His hard, dangerous expression melted instantly when he saw Lila trembling in my arms.

He dropped his pistol into his holster, crossing the distance between us in three long strides.

"Are you hurt?" Damian demanded, his voice thick with panic as he grabbed my shoulders, checking me over before gently touching Lila’s cheek. "Clara? Did they touch you?"