The atmosphere in the village had changed. It was subtle at first—a sensation, an instinct lying deep within Dominic's core, the sort of awareness that always lingered for a man accustomed to life in the underworld. The peace in the village started to feel forced, unnatural, as if an unseen force was lurking just beneath the surface.
For weeks, Dominic had observed unfamiliar faces lingering near the cafés, strangers who lingered too long without making a purchase, their eyes scanning the streets as if they were surveying the landscape. The shopkeepers dismissed them as tourists, but Dominic had seen enough to know better. He had spent countless years orchestrating similar surveillance operations to not recognize one when he encountered it.
Enzo's influence had finally encroached upon his sanctuary.
Dominic was not a man who took risks, not anymore. The instant his instincts signaled that Enzo was watching, he took steps to ensure he wouldn't be caught off guard. If Enzo sought a confrontation, Dominic would be prepared.
The Precautionary Measures
Moving with quiet efficiency, Dominic took immediate action to bolster security around his villa—nothing extravagant, merely sufficient to deter any intruders. Cameras were subtly installed at strategic points, keeping an eye on any movement near his property. He had also devised an escape route leading from his villa into the dense woods beyond the village, should the situation deteriorate.
However, he understood that defending himself alone would not suffice. The village, these innocent individuals, remained intertwined with his past. He reached out to a handful of trusted allies, those loyal men who had stood by him and owed him favors. They were former operatives, security experts, and dependable associates who knew how to remain hidden until the moment they needed to act.
More crucially, he prepared Isabella—without revealing too much. He didn't want to alarm her, yet he needed her to remain safe.
"If anything happens," he told her one evening, his tone steady yet firm, "head straight to the art gallery. There's a back entrance leading to the old wine cellars beneath the building. Wait there until I come for you."
Isabella frowned but didn't argue. The rift between them following his confession was still raw, yet even amid her hesitation, she understood better than to challenge him in this state.
And so, Dominic waited. He had no idea when Enzo would strike, but deep down he sensed it was imminent. The waiting was always the hardest part.
The First Signs of Trouble
It began with a power outage.
Late one evening, as the sun sank below the hills, the entire village was shrouded in darkness. Streetlights flickered once, then extinguished. Dominic, sitting by his window with a glass of whiskey, barely reacted. His grip tightened around the glass, his instincts heightened.
It's beginning.
From the villa's vantage point, he noticed shadows moving in the distance—figures slipping through the streets, relying on memory. They were cautious, methodical, avoiding direct confrontation at first.
Then came the first explosion.
A small but effective blast at the local power station—intended not to cause devastation, but to instill panic. A warning shot.
Then, gunfire.
Dominic didn't hesitate. He was already in motion, seizing the pistol he had kept holstered under the dining table. His phone buzzed—one of his men stationed at the café sent a brief alert.
"Five confirmed. Moving in pairs. Looking for you."
Dominic exhaled slowly. Enzo's men weren't there to create chaos—they were there to hunt.
A Village Under Siege
The assault was precise. Enzo's men acted like seasoned professionals, sweeping through the village in groups, cutting off escape routes. They weren't interested in the locals; they wanted Dominic. But Dominic had chosen this village for a reason. It was now his home. His people. And he would not allow Enzo's men to turn it into a battlefield.
He navigated the darkened streets with careful precision, his steps silent against the cobblestones. His first encounter occurred near the bakery, where two men in dark attire approached the main square. They were armed but careless—mercenaries, not assassins.
Dominic moved like a shadow, creeping up behind them. A swift, calculated strike.
He seized the first man from behind, locking his arm around his throat in a chokehold. The man struggled, but Dominic was unyielding, applying pressure until the body fell limp.
The second man barely had time to react before Dominic disarmed him with a quick twist of the wrist and struck his elbow into the man's temple. The mercenary crumpled. Silent. Efficient.
Two eliminated.
But this was merely the start.
The Battle for the Village
The tranquility of the night soon exploded into chaos as the fight intensified. Gunfire reverberated through the deserted streets, sending villagers scrambling for safety. The few who dared glance out their windows only saw shadows colliding in the darkness.
Dominic's men had engaged Enzo's operatives in the southern part of the village, keeping them distracted. Dominic, however, had one goal—to neutralize the leader of this attack.
He moved toward the town square, maneuvering through alleys, his mind sharp and methodical. He could hear Gabrielle, Enzo's trusted lieutenant, barking orders in the distance, attempting to coordinate the assault.
"She's mine," Dominic muttered to himself, gripping his pistol tighter.
As he rounded the corner, he spotted her—Gabrielle, standing near a fountain, her gun raised, scanning the area for him.
Dominic didn't waver.
He fired a warning shot, forcing her to duck for cover. Then, he advanced. Swift. Precise. Unrelenting.
Gabrielle was skilled, but Dominic had fought in the underworld long enough to dismantle a professional. Their battle was fierce—a clash of expertise and skill. She lunged at him with a knife, but he evaded, grabbing her wrist and twisting it until the blade clattered to the ground.
"Where's Enzo?" Dominic demanded through clenched teeth, his knee pressing into her ribs.
Gabrielle smirked despite the pain. "Closer than you think."
Before Dominic could retort, a gunshot rang out—mere inches from his head.
Instinctively, Dominic rolled away as one of Enzo's men fired from a nearby rooftop. Gabrielle seized the moment to scramble to her feet, retreating into the shadows.
Damn it.
Dominic didn't waste time—he needed to regroup.
Protecting Isabella
His first thought was for Isabella.
If Enzo's men continued searching for him, they might target her to draw him out. He couldn't let that happen.
Rushing through the streets, Dominic reached the art gallery. The doors were locked—just as he had instructed. He knocked twice, the secret pattern they had established.
Moments later, Isabella opened the door, her face pale with fear yet determined.
"You're safe," he breathed.
"For now," she whispered, glancing behind him. "But this isn't over, is it?"
Dominic shook his head. "No. But I promise you, I'll put an end to it."
Isabella hesitated, then touched his face, her fingers trembling. "I don't want to lose you."
"You won't," Dominic assured her, pressing a quick, fierce kiss to her forehead. "But I need you to stay hidden until this concludes."
Reluctantly, she nodded, disappearing back into the gallery's shadows.
Dominic turned back to the streets, his mind focused, his body poised.
Enzo had sent his message. Now it was Dominic's turn to respond.
One final warning.
Come for me, and you won't live to regret it.
With that, he vanished back into the night, ready to finish what had begun.
The Aftermath
By dawn, the village was eerily quiet once more.
Enzo's men had retreated, their mission thwarted. The locals, though shaken, remained unharmed. But Dominic understood this wasn't the end; it was merely the beginning.
Enzo wouldn't stop until one of them was dead.
And Dominic?
He was done running.
A Glimpse into Darkness
The aftermath of the attack had left the village in uneasy silence. The echoes of gunfire had long faded, but the tension remained—a weight that clung to the air like the remnants of a storm. Saint-Rémy had been a sanctuary, untouched by Dominic's past, a place where he had believed—foolishly, perhaps—that he could carve out a different life.
But the illusion had shattered.
Dominic stood outside the remains of the town square, his body still humming with the adrenaline that had carried him through the night. The attack had failed. Enzo's men had retreated, broken and defeated. But Dominic knew the battle was far from over. Enzo was a man who did not tolerate failure. He would come again, stronger, with a greater thirst for blood.
And this time, Dominic intended to be ready.
But amidst the chaos, amidst the bodies left behind and the blood staining the cobblestones, one thing stood out above all else—the way Isabella had looked at him when she saw what he was truly capable of.
The fear in her eyes.
The horror.
And the undeniable realization that Dominic Valente—the man she had come to love—was not the man she thought he was.
The Weight of Violence
Isabella had known that Dominic was a man of shadows. She had always known.
There were things about him that never quite fit into the peaceful life he had attempted to create. The way he moved, too calculated for a man who claimed to be free. The way he observed everything, never fully at ease, even in the quietest moments. The way his presence demanded authority without ever raising his voice.
But knowing was different from seeing.
She had hidden in the art gallery's cellar, just as Dominic had instructed, her heart hammering in her chest as distant gunfire split the night. Every fiber of her being had wanted to run to him, to find him, to make sure he was alive—but she had forced herself to stay put.
Until the moment she couldn't anymore.
The fighting had moved closer. And then, through the narrow gap in the cellar doors, she had seen him.
Dominic, standing over a man, his gun pressed against the mercenary's forehead.
The man—wounded, bleeding—had pleaded. Begged for mercy.
Dominic had given none.
A single shot.
A ruthless, calculated execution.
Isabella had gasped audibly—not loud, but loud enough that Dominic's head had snapped up, his eyes locking onto hers for the briefest, most damning second.
She had seen him. The real him.
And Dominic had seen everything in her eyes.
Shock.
Disbelief.
Fear.
He had wanted to look away, wanted to shield her from this moment, but it was too late.
She knew now.
The man she loved was a killer.
A Distance Between Them
In the aftermath of the battle, Isabella had retreated.
Physically, she was there—tending to the villagers who had been injured, helping to clean up the wreckage left behind. But with Dominic, she was distant. She barely spoke to him. When their eyes met, she would look away too quickly, as though afraid of what she might see in him now.
Dominic felt the shift between them like a blade to the chest. It was subtle but devastating.
She had touched him differently before—light, affectionate, without hesitation. But now?
Now, when he reached for her, she flinched.
The warmth that had existed between them just days ago had cooled, replaced by something unspoken but undeniably present. A wariness. A hesitation.
And it was breaking him.
That night, as he approached her in the quiet of her studio, she didn't turn to greet him like she normally would. She kept her back to him, staring out of the window, arms crossed tightly over her chest.
Dominic exhaled slowly. He had faced death a thousand times. Had stared down the barrel of countless guns, had walked through blood and fire. But this?
This was a different kind of pain.
Finally, Isabella spoke. Her voice was quiet. Strained.
"I saw you."
Dominic closed his eyes.
He had known this conversation was coming. Had dreaded it.
Slowly, he stepped closer, but he kept a careful distance, giving her space. "Isabella…"
She turned then, her eyes burning with emotion—fear, anger, something he couldn't quite place. "I saw what you did, Dominic."
The name—his real name—hung between them like a noose.
He had never heard her say it before. She had always called him Antonio. But not now.
Not anymore.
"I had no choice," Dominic said finally, his voice rough. "He would have killed me."
Isabella let out a breath that sounded almost like a laugh—but there was no humor in it. Only disbelief.
"And that justifies it?" she whispered.
He held her gaze. "Yes."
Her expression shattered.
Dominic took a step forward, but this time, she took a step back. The rejection was like a bullet to the gut.
"You don't understand, Isabella," he said, his voice quieter now, almost pleading. "This is who I am. Who I've always been."
She shook her head. "No. I refuse to believe that. You told me you were trying to change."
"I am." His jaw clenched. "But change doesn't erase the past. And it sure as hell doesn't change the fact that in that moment, I had to pull the trigger."
Isabella's breath hitched. She wanted to understand. She wanted to see past what she had witnessed, to believe that Dominic was different, that he was more than the violence that clung to him like a second skin.
But all she could hear was the sound of that gunshot.
All she could see was the ruthless, unflinching way he had killed.
Her voice broke when she finally spoke again. "Did you even hesitate?"
Dominic was silent.
And that silence was her answer.
Tears burned in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. "I don't know if I can do this, Dominic."
Dominic felt something inside him fracture.
"I don't know if I can love someone who kills so easily."
A knife straight through the heart.
He should have known this would happen. Should have known that a woman like Isabella—pure, good, untouched by the darkness of his world—wouldn't be able to accept what she had seen.
But he had let himself believe that maybe, just maybe, he could have her without destroying her.
Now he saw how foolish that had been.
"I never wanted you to see that side of me," Dominic admitted, his voice raw. "But now you have."
Isabella looked at him for a long moment, searching for something in his face—redemption, regret, humanity.
She didn't know if she found it.
Finally, she whispered, "I need time."
Dominic nodded slowly, though every fiber of his being wanted to pull her into his arms and beg her not to leave.
"Take as much time as you need," he murmured.
She gave him a long, last look before turning away.
And Dominic was left standing there, alone, with the weight of the man he had always been.
A Love at War
The days that followed were quiet. Too quiet.
Isabella kept her distance.
And Dominic?
Dominic prepared for war.
Because if Enzo wanted to tear apart his life, he would have to face a man who had nothing left to lose.
And that was the most dangerous kind of man.