9. Revelations

CHAPTER 9

REVELATIONS

Antonio's fingers flew over the keyboard, his heart pounding as he dug deeper into Damien's files. He knew he was playing with fire, but the thrill of defiance, of finally having some control, was intoxicating.

"Come on, you bastard," he muttered. "What are you hiding?"

As if in answer, a folder labeled "Lombardi" caught his eye. Antonio's breath hitched as he clicked it open, revealing a treasure trove of information about his family. Financial records, surveillance photos, even personal details he'd never known.

But it was a file titled "Vivian_leverage" that made his blood run cold. With trembling hands, he opened it, and his world shattered.

Photos. Dozens of them. His mother, young and vulnerable, in compromising positions with a man Antonio recognized as Marco Benedetti—Damien's father.

"No," he whispered, bile rising in his throat. "This can't be real."

"Find what you were looking for, pet?"

Antonio whirled to find Damien leaning against the doorframe, his expression unreadable. Anger and betrayal surged through him, overpowering his fear.

"You knew," he spat, gesturing at the screen. "This whole time, you knew about... about this."

Damien's eyes narrowed as he took in the open laptop. "Snooping through my personal files? That's a dangerous game you're playing, baby boy."

"Don't call me that," Antonio snarled, shoving away from the desk. "Don't you dare act like you care about me when you've been holding this over my family's head."

Something flashed in Damien's eyes—regret? Guilt? It was gone too quickly for Antonio to be sure. "It's not that simple," Damien said, his voice low and intense. "There's more to this than you understand."

"Then explain it to me," Antonio demanded, chin lifted in defiance. "Tell me why I shouldn't walk out that door right now and never look back."

For a long moment, Damien just stared at him, conflict clear on his face. Then, with a heavy sigh, he crossed to the bar and poured two generous measures of whiskey.

"Sit down," he said, holding out a glass to Antonio. "It's time you knew the truth."

Antonio hesitated, wariness warring with curiosity. But the pull of answers was too strong to resist. He took the offered drink and perched on the edge of the leather sofa, every muscle tense.

Damien settled into an armchair across from him, taking a long swig of whiskey before speaking. "Those photos... they're not what you think. Your mother wasn't Marco's lover. She was his victim."

Antonio's grip tightened on the glass, knuckles turning white. "What are you saying?"

"Marco was a monster," Damien said, his voice hard. "He used those photos to blackmail Vivian, to keep her under his thumb. It's why she married your father—to protect herself and her unborn child."

The implications hit Antonio like a punch to the gut. "Are you saying... am I...?"

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.

When the shooting finally stopped, Damien hauled Antonio to his feet. "We need to move," he said urgently. "There'll be more coming."

They made their way through the chaos of the penthouse, stepping over bodies and debris. Antonio tried not to look too closely at the carnage, focusing instead on the solid warmth of Damien's hand in his.

Just as they reached the emergency stairwell, a new volley of gunfire erupted. Damien cursed, shoving Antonio behind a overturned table for cover.

"Stay here," he ordered, eyes blazing with protective fury. "I'll draw their fire. When it's clear, run for the stairs. Don't look back, don't stop for anything. Understand?"

Antonio's eyes widened in panic. "No! I'm not leaving you?—"

Damien cut him off with a bruising kiss, pouring all his desperation and unspoken feelings into it. When he pulled back, his expression was fierce. "You have to. Please, baby. I can't lose you."

Before Antonio could protest further, Damien was gone, drawing the attackers' attention with precise shots. Heart in his throat, Antonio waited for his chance.

The moment came sooner than he'd expected. As the gunfire moved further away, he made a break for the stairwell. He was almost there when a meaty hand clamped down on his arm, yanking him back.

"Well, well," a gravelly voice chuckled. "Look what we have here. Benedetti's pretty little boy toy."

Antonio struggled, but the man's grip was like iron. "Let me go, you fucking?—"

A sharp crack, and Antonio's world exploded in pain. As consciousness faded, he caught one last glimpse of Damien, eyes wide with horror as he realized what was happening.

"Antonio!" Damien's anguished roar was the last thing he heard before darkness claimed him.

***—

Damien stood in the wreckage of his penthouse, fists clenched at his sides as he surveyed the damage. But it wasn't the destroyed furniture or the blood-stained carpet that held his attention.

It was the empty space where Antonio should be.

"Find him," he snarled at Gina, who hovered nearby. "I don't care what it takes. Tear this city apart if you have to, but bring him back to me."

Gina nodded, her expression grim. "We'll get him back, boss. I promise."

As she hurried away to coordinate the search, Damien allowed himself a moment of vulnerability. He sank into his chair, head in his hands, the weight of his failure crushing down on him.

"Antonio," he whispered, the name a prayer and a curse on his lips. "I'm so sorry, baby boy. I should have protected you better."

The memory of Antonio's terrified face as he was dragged away haunted Damien. He'd never felt so helpless, so utterly powerless. It was a feeling he despised, one that brought back dark memories of his own past.

A past he'd sworn Antonio would never have to face.

With a growl of frustration, Damien surged to his feet. He couldn't afford to wallow in self-pity. Not when Antonio needed him. Not when his boy was out there, scared and alone, at the mercy of animals like Rizzo.

The thought of what they might be doing to Antonio, to his sweet, bratty little prince, made Damien's blood boil. He'd tear the city apart brick by brick if that's what it took to get him back.

As he strode towards the door, purpose renewed, Damien's phone buzzed. An unknown number. With a feeling of dread, he answered.

"Benedetti." Rizzo's oily voice slithered through the speaker. "I believe I have something of yours."

Damien's grip tightened on the phone, plastic creaking under the pressure. "If you've hurt him, I swear to God?—"

"Now, now," Rizzo chuckled. "No need for threats. Your pretty little pet is unharmed... for now. Whether he stays that way is entirely up to you."

"What do you want?" Damien bit out, struggling to keep his voice level.

"Simple. I want what's mine. The territory you've stolen, the respect you've taken. And most of all..." Rizzo's voice hardened. "I want you to suffer, Benedetti. To know what it feels like to have everything you love ripped away."

There was a shuffling sound, then Antonio's voice came through, weak but defiant. "Don't listen to him, Damien! Don't you dare give this asshole anyth?—"

The sound of a slap cut off Antonio's words, followed by a pained whimper that made Damien's heart clench.

"You have 24 hours," Rizzo said coldly. "Meet my demands, or I start sending your boy back to you in pieces."

The line went dead, leaving Damien trembling with rage and fear. He wanted to scream, to break something, to unleash the violent storm building inside him.

But he couldn't. Not now. Not when Antonio needed him to be strong, to be the powerful, unshakeable mob boss who always had a plan.

Taking a deep breath, Damien forced himself to focus. He had work to do, a war to plan, a boy to save.

His boy. His Antonio.

And God help anyone who stood in his way.

As Damien strode out of the penthouse, barking orders into his phone, one thought burned in his mind:

He was going to get Antonio back. And then he was going to burn Rizzo's entire fucking world to the ground.