CHAPTER 10: A DEBT IN BLOOD

 The first scream sliced through the night like a blade.

As he stepped out of his car, the penthouse above him, Damien's phone buzzed. 

The instant he looked at the caller ID, his stomach turned to stone.

Jax.

Even before he answered, his instincts screamed.

"What happened?" Damien's voice was low, and dangerous.

Jax's tone was clipped. "It's Mara."

The world slowed.

Mara Kingston. The closest thing to family Damien had ever known. She had been the assistant to his father — loyal, incisive, and the only person in his life who had ever given a rat's ass about him when the world crashed to pieces.

After his father died, she stayed on, overseeing the humanitarian divisions of Cross Enterprises. 

She had never participated in the war. She had never played the game.

And now…

Damien clinched his phone tighter. "Where is she?"

Jax's voice was grim. "They discovered her in her apartment. It's bad, Damien."

For the first time in years, something splice and cold pierced him. Not rage.

Not vengeance.

Fear.

He was in motion already, forcing the car door open, the city lights swirling by as he barked commands. 

"Get her to Sinclair Memorial. Call in Ashford — he's the best surgeon we have on retainer."

"She may never get into surgery." Jax hesitated. 

"You have to witness this for yourself."

The words struck him like a shot in the ribs.

Damien thrust his phone into his pocket, and his driver was already half-heartedly darting him across the city.

***

 He arrived at the apartment just on time, the scene already being managed as his men surrounded the tomblike building, the scent of blood rising acridly in the air.

He stepped inside.

And for the first time in a long, long time—Damien Cross was scared.

Mara had collapsed on the floor, her shallow breaths visible as a pool of blood spread beneath her. 

The message painted in blood across the wall made his blood bathe in murderous clarity.

STAY IN YOUR LANE.

Richard's men hadn't merely issued a warning.

They had made it personal.

And now?

Damien was going to reciprocate the favor.

***

 The blood coating the walls was a noose tightening around Isla's neck.

She'd come to Mara's apartment just a little too late, a little too late to see Damien standing there — him looming over the carnage made something inside of her chest feel like it was pulling.

She had never known him like this.

Silent. Still. A hurricane deterred by pure willpower.

But his eyes…

His eyes were a promise of something brutal.

She stepped closer, cautiously, her tone gentler than she had meant. 

"Damien."

He didn't move.

She wasn't even sure he heard her.

So she gave it another shot, this time putting a hand on his arm. 

"Damien."

That did it.

His head turned slowly; his eyes met hers.

And, for the first time, Isla saw how dangerous he really was.

Not because of his power. Not because of his wealth.

But because right now, he was free to fly.

"This is my fault," she said quietly.

His jaw clenched. "No."

She swallowed. "It is. My father—"

"If they're right, your father just made the worst mistake of his life."

The finality of his voice sent chills down her spine.

Damien angled away from her, his phone already out. 

"Jax. Call in the team. Everyone." A pause. 

"We hit back. Tonight."

Her stomach tightened. "What does that mean?"

Damien's eyes shot to hers, cold steel and burning fire.

"It means," he said slowly, "that Richard Lancaster just declared war."

***

 Within an hour, Isla was in a position she'd never dreamed she'd be in — Cross Enterprises' underground operations center.

She had glimpsed Damien's power from afar. The horse-trading, the hardball deals. But this?

This was a whole different thing.

At the front of the room, a mammoth screen showed Lancaster Corporation's vulnerabilities in real time. Offshore accounts. Shell companies. Security weaknesses.

In the center, Damien barked orders like royalty readying for war.

Jax leaned over the table. "We have two plays. But first, we cut off their financial support — freeze the accounts before Richard can transfer his assets."

Damien nodded. "And the second?"

Something dark curled Jax's lips. "We hit him where it hurts. His distribution centers. His offshore connections. We expose everything."

Isla inhaled sharply. "You're talking about dismantlement of his whole network."

Damien's eyes flicked to her. "Yes."

A beat of silence.

Then Isla straightened. "Then I have something you need to see."

She furrowed her brow, fumbled into her purse, retrieved a flash drive.

Damien arched a brow. "What is it?"

"Proof." Her pulse hammered. 

"That my father is not only laundering money — he's working with them."

Jax's expression darkened. "Them?"

Isla swallowed. "The Bratva."

The temperature in the room felt like it dropped ten degrees.

Damien's whole attitude changed.

The Russian mafia. The final group anyone should be in with Richard Lancaster.

Jax let out a low curse. "This is about to get a lot more complicated."

Damien grabbed the flash drive from Isla, their fingers grazing. 

"You could have told me earlier."

Her throat tightened. "Would you have believed me?"

For a long, unreadable moment, his gaze met hers.

Then, quietly—"Yes."

Something inside her cracked.

For the first time, Isla understood that no matter what …

He was the only person who had never lied to her.

And now she was about to betray everything she knew — because if her father was in bed with the Bratva, this wasn't just Damien's war anymore.

It was hers, too.

***

 The air that night was heavy with blood and gasoline.

By the time Damien arrived at the hospital, Mara was already in surgery. Above him, the fluorescent lights buzzed, too bright, too sterile, but nothing could dull the rage rising within him.

Jax stood near the waiting room, arms crossed, jaw clenched. 

"She lost a lot of blood. They say if she makes it through the night …" He hissed out a breath. 

"It's bad."

Damien nodded, not much in the way of breath.

Then his phone buzzed.

Unknown number.

He replied, squeezing the device harder. "Cross."

A familiar voice broached the line — low, gravelly and full of mischief.

"Quite the mess you've gotten yourself into, malyshka."

Damien's blood ran cold. He knew that voice.

Sergei Ivanov.

Bratva.

"What do you want?" Damien's vocals were razor-thin.

Sergei chuckled. "So impatient. So very… American." A pause. 

"I just wanted to give you a courtesy call with a warning." 

"My business associate: Richard Lancaster. And you? You're becoming a problem."

Damien's pulse pounded. "I don't care who he works with."

"If you come between me and him, you won't like what comes next."

A low, amused hum communicated across the line. 

"Well, what confidence," Sergei found himself saying. 

"But even a king can get deposed if he's not careful."

Damien closed his jaw, his patience fraying. 

"You called for a reason. Get to it."

Sergei chuckled again, slow and careful. "Your little exhibition at the gala was quite a spectacle. You hurt Richard, yes — but wounded animals are the most dangerous."

Damien already knew that. Richard wasn't one to meekly accept humiliation. He'd known to get his revenge, hit from the shadows.

"I'm listening," Damien said, with a voice of ice.

"Richard came to me. He wants protection. Leverage." A pause. 

"And he gave me something very interesting in return."

Damien clutched the phone more tightly. He knew what was coming before Sergei had finished saying it.

"He offered me Isla."

Something inside Damien broke.

His peripheral vision dimmed, rage clawing its way up his throat.

"That's not going to happen," he replied, deadly and calm.

"Ah," Sergei sighed. 

"But you know, malyshka, business is business. And Isla? She's pretty much invaluable."

Damien's muscles coiled, like a predator preparing to attack. He didn't care what deals Richard made, what desperate alliances he forged—how he was Isla's to give.

"I would advise you to reconsider your decision," Damien said, his voice laced with quiet menace.

Sergei chuckled. "Or what? You'll come for me too?"

A pause.

Then Damien spoke, his voice a knife against the throat.

" I'm not coming for people, Sergei. He drew out the silence, thick and menacing. 

"I bury them."

Sergei drew a quick breath, the merriment in his eyes finally gone. 

"Careful, Cross." His voice dropped lower. 

"You might believe you're untouchable, but even you have weaknesses."

The line clicked dead.

Damien slowly lowered the phone, his pulse a constant, deadly tattoo.

Richard had made his move.

Now, it was Damien's turn.

And this time he wasn't just going to take down Richard Lancaster's empire.

He was going to set it ablaze.