Chapter 5 5

Chapter five

Damian's POV

There are days when nothing makes sense and you just want to punch something...or someone. This night is one of those nights-days

I was late. Business. Always business. A shipment had gone sideways at the port, and I'd spent hours reminding men twice my age that "losing track of containers" isn't an accident, it's an invitation for bullets. By the time I slid back into my car, my tie felt like a noose and my patience was already dead.

Marco had insisted on handling the follow-up here at the club. He liked the chaos, the music, the women laughing too loudly. Said it kept us human. Me? I preferred silence, whiskey, and enough distance to hear myself think. But Marco was the boss, at least officially. I let him have it.

So when I walked into the club tonight, I expected to find him holding court in the VIP lounge, laughing with the same warmth that had carried me through childhood. Instead, the booth was empty. Not a trace of him. Just spilled liquor and some idiot already passed out.

My jaw ticked. He was late sometimes, but never absent. Not without a word.

And her... The Siren. My Siren. The one reason I didn't fight Marco harder about coming here. She wasn't on stage. No masked figure, no tattoo flashing under neon lights, no body moving like sin dressed in silk. Just another dancer swaying under the lights, and the crowd half-heartedly cheering.

Something was wrong.

I leaned back against the bar, drumming my fingers against the wood. "Where the hell is everyone?" I muttered. The bartender blinked like he didn't know whether to answer. Smart man-he didn't.

I scanned the floor again, irritation rising. No Marco. No Elena. It was like the universe wanted to test how far my temper would stretch before snapping.

Spoiler: not far.

I pushed away from the bar, deciding I'd track Marco down myself. He had a habit of slipping into side corridors, meeting contacts away from curious eyes. I stalked toward the back, the pulse of bass fading with each step.

And that's when I saw her.

Elena's POV

I hadn't wanted this life. The stage lights, the mask, the way men looked at me like hunger had teeth. But Marco, that's what they call him, had been the first one to soften that edge.

I remembered the night we met him leaning back in the velvet chair like he owned the room, eyes warmer than I expected from a man with his reputation. He wasn't like the others. He didn't leer, didn't throw money just to watch me crawl for it.

He'd asked my name. Not the Siren's. Mine.

And when I'd hesitated, stumbling over a half-truth, he only smiled and said, "Come dance for me."

No mask, no negotiations, no suspicion. Just yes.

He didn't make you fight for his attention. He gave it freely, and that made it all too easy. Too easy for me to slip into his orbit. Too easy for me to agree when the men in the alley whispered their threats, when they dangled Clara's safety like a blade against my throat.

If Marco hadn't said yes so easily that first night, maybe none of this would have unfolded. Maybe I wouldn't be standing here now, mask slipping, heart hammering, knowing I was leading both brothers to ruin.

And yet, some traitorous part of me still remembered the kindness in his eyes. The way he'd believed in the mask without tearing it off. The way he'd made me feel seen.

Marco had trusted me. That was his mistake. And now it was the weight I couldn't set down.

I danced and hurriedly go outside to get air it was as if I hadn't breathed throughout the whole dance.

I shouldn't have been there. Every nerve in my body told me to go home, hide, pretend the shadows from earlier weren't still chasing me. Clara was safe for now, I told myself. They'd promised. If I just did what they asked, she'd stay untouched. That was the deal.

But deals like that always taste like poison.

I hadn't danced tonight. Couldn't. My stomach twisted too much, my head full of voices that weren't mine. So I lingered in the wrong corridor, hugging the wall like it could hide me, waiting for a chance to slip out without questions. had to put my mask on so as not to be seen but it failed me today of all time

I bumped into something hard, I turned and froze.

There he is.

Ocean eyes locked on me, sharp and merciless even in the dim light. For a heartbeat, I thought the mask was still on, that he couldn't see me. But it had slipped, dangling from my fingers, leaving my face naked to the world. Naked to him.

Panic surged like fire under my skin. I turned my head sharply, trying to hide, but it was too late. His gaze had already branded me.

"Hey," he said, voice low, curious. Dangerous. "It's you."

No disguise, no performance, no mask. Just me.

I bolted.

---

Damian's POV

I swear time slowed when she turned her face away, but not fast enough to stop me from seeing.

Her face, her secret.

Not the Siren, not the untouchable mask, but a girl. A real girl. And Christ, she was beautiful in a way the mask had only hinted at. Vulnerable, furious, fragile, strong. All at once.

"Wait-" I reached for her, fingers brushing empty air as she twisted and sprinted down the hall. "Siren!"

But she was gone before the name had fully left my mouth. Gone like smoke, leaving nothing but her mask in my hand.

I stared at it, stunned. The thing felt heavier than gold. She'd run, sure, but she'd left me this proof she was real. Flesh and blood. No longer just an obsession behind glass.

And for a man like me? That was more dangerous than any bullet.

I shoved the mask inside my jacket and stormed forward. Enough games. Marco first, then her. Tonight I'd have answers.

---

Elena's POV

My chest was burning as I ran. The club's back door was a blur, and I burst into the night air like I'd been drowning inside.

He'd seen me. Damian had seen my face.

The one man I couldn't afford to get close to the one whose eyes already followed me through my sleep. And now he knew.

Tears threatened, but I shoved them down. I couldn't crack. Not yet. Clara's face flashed in my mind. Her laugh. Her safety. That's why I'd said yes to the men in the alley. That's why I'd walked straight into this nightmare.

But running into Damian hadn't been part of the plan.

I bit my lip hard enough to taste copper. I had to get out. Before it all fell apart.

---

Damian's POV

It was the scream that cut through everything.

High-pitched. Raw. Followed by another. And another.

Chaos.

I broke into a run, instincts screaming louder than the music. Dancers scrambled past me, glitter smeared down their arms, mascara running. Strangers shoved each other toward exits, the word murder crackling through the air like a curse.

My gut twisted before I even saw it.

The crowd had circled, then splintered. And at the center, sprawled on the floor, was Marco.

My brother.

Blood seeped beneath him, too red, too much, spreading across the tiles like it wanted to swallow him whole. His shirt was torn, his chest heaving once, twice then stilling. A knife glinted where it had been left in his side, obscene, wrong.

"Marco!" My voice tore itself from my throat. I dropped to my knees, my hands pressing hard against the wound, useless against the flood. "Stay with me, damn it. You don't get to die, don't you dare leave me like this!"

His eyes flickered, faint, searching. And for a second, just a second, he looked at me like he always did. Like I was still his kid brother.

Then the light went out.

The world tilted. Silence roared. My hands were red, my suit ruined, but I couldn't feel anything except the hollow shattering inside me.

They'd taken him.

Someone had taken my brother.

And they were going to pay.

*****

Elena's POV

The screams chased me even outside. I'd made it half a block before they pierced through the air, because I stopped in a corner to breathe recovering from the encounter with the devil, before the panic spilled out into the streets.

I didn't have to turn back to know.

Something had happened. Something irreversible.

And in the pit of my stomach, I already knew the truth. The men in the alley, their orders, the poisoned drink I'd been too afraid to question it hadn't been about me. I was just a pawn on their board.

But the blood was on my hands now, not literally but whether I touched it or not.

Clutching my bag to my chest, I ran harder, tears blurring neon into nothing.

I ran, knowing Damian had seen my face. Knowing his brother was dead.

And knowing when he came for revenge he'd come for me.