𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐅𝐔𝐋 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐎𝐒 | SPINOFF

CHAPTER TEN

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MARCELLA
CRIST

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I tiptoed through my house past midnight, trying to stay as quiet as possible. But then I heard a voice. A voice I could recognize even in the middle of a crowd—low, growling, and haunting. Damon Lars. What was he doing here? I crept closer, my heart pounding, until I was behind the curtain near the balcony that overlooked the backyard. His silhouette stood against the dim light, phone pressed to his ear.

"I don't care. Kill him." His voice was flat, emotionless. "Those were my father's orders. Now, do the fucking job and kill the motherfucker."

My breath hitched, and I froze, fingers trembling. What was he saying?

"This is the mafia, dude. No one fucking cares. Do the job or I will—I already killed his son, you do the father."

I gasped before I could stop myself, the sound slipping from my throat like a sob. Tears pricked my eyes. Damon... those rumors... they were true. Damon Lars' father was involved in something darker than I could have imagined. The mafia. I couldn't believe it. Did my father know? Did my brother know? My whole body was trembling.

Before I could turn to escape, Damon's head whipped toward me. His eyes, cold and calculating, narrowed in the darkness as he spotted my shadow. Panic surged through me, and I spun around to run, but before I could take two steps, a hand clamped over my mouth, yanking me backward.

I was thrown onto the couch, my body landing with a soft thud as I whimpered under the pressure of his hold. "I won't tell anyone," I whispered desperately, tears blurring my vision. "Please, don't kill me." My voice cracked.

Damon towered over me, his face a mask of fury. "I should've fucking killed you long ago," he spat, his voice low and lethal. He leaned down, his leather jacket brushing against my legs as he got closer, his breath hot on my face. "Whatever you heard was just a joke. You hear me? Get it out of your head. Now." His voice was a command, sharp and deadly.

I shook my head, my chest heaving with fear. "Everyone knows," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "I just... I didn't believe it. Your father is a monster, Damon." The words tumbled out before I could stop them, and I could see the shift in his eyes—rage flickering like a flame about to consume me.

In an instant, Damon's hand was gripping my jaw, hard. He forced my face upward, making me look at him. His dark eyes bore into mine, every inch of him radiating danger. "You don't talk about my father," he growled, his voice filled with venom. "You don't talk about any of this unless you want to find out just how much of a monster I can be."

Oh, my God. Damon. Only nineteen, killed someone before. I liked a killer. I was inlove with a killer.

My breath caught in my throat. I could barely move under the weight of his threat. "Do your friends know?" I whispered, my voice shaking, as his cold fingers continued to hold my face captive. His touch was terrifying, but part of me—the sick, twisted part of me—wanted to feel more of it.

"I don't owe you answers." His voice was sharp as a blade.

My lips trembled as tears threatened to spill over again. "Oh my God... my brother... does he know you're in the mafia? Does he know what you're involved in? If my brother gets hurt because of you..." I couldn't finish the sentence. My heart was pounding so hard I thought it might break.

"Shut up," Damon snapped, his voice low and dangerous. His fingers dug into my skin, and I flinched, nodding as the tears streamed down my face.

I obeyed, because in that moment, I knew Damon Lars wasn't just the rumor. He was the nightmare. And I had walked right into it.