Chapter 8 Daisy #2
His gaze was black glass—without depth, without light, without mercy. “Sit. Down.”
And something in his tone left me powerless. My knees obeyed before my mind caught up, my body falling back into the chair as if the command had gone straight into my bones.
The waitress returned then, her timing grotesque in its normalcy. “And what can I bring you to eat?” she asked brightly.
“Nothing.”
“The menu,” he said at once. “We’ll both have the menu.”
The waitress hesitated, her eyes flicking between us, then walked away.
“You need to eat. We have a long day ahead.”
“The hell I do.”
Damian leaned forward, his voice low but edged with steel. “Daisy, what did I tell you about me?” he asked. “You knew who I was. You wanted the darkness. Now you’re sitting at the table with it.”
One sentence—razor-sharp, impossible to refute.
He had warned me from the beginning. No mask, no sweet lies.
And I had still said yes. I had wanted him, all of him.
Even the part that now cut me open. But knowing what you were stepping into didn’t make it easier when the cold finally sank its teeth in.
My pride flared, my heart screamed. But I stayed silent.
There was no answer—nothing that could undo his truth.
“You know what? You’re right. I’m sorry for acting like this. You made it clear who you are, what you want, and what you don’t. Let’s just have lunch in peace. I don’t want to fight.”
Damian studied me for a long beat. “You look beautiful.”
“When do we meet the archaeologist?”
“After lunch we’ll drive to Latina—about two hours. We’ll spend the evening there.”
The waitress returned with small plates: carpaccio, oysters, lobster salad, truffle risotto.
“Tell me about him—how do you know this man?” I asked, picking up my fork.
“His name is Professor Giovanni Bellini, one of the most renowned archaeologists and historians in Italy. I met him years ago at a conference in Rome.”
“And what makes him exceptional in your eyes?”
“Bellini doesn’t just have immense knowledge of ancient cultures. He has an uncanny intuition for artifacts—for their meaning. He’s worked on some of the most significant excavations in Italy and Egypt. His research has led to discoveries that changed everything.”
“That does sound impressive.”
“I want him to examine the Phoenix and give us his verdict. Bellini is one of the very few people I trust, especially with something of this value. His eye for detail could give us the decisive answer.”
“I see.” I took another bite, acutely aware of Damian’s gaze fixed on me. “I’m curious what he’ll say about the pendant. My gut tells me it’s the original.”
“After this meeting, we’ll know.”
Mr. Bellini’s estate was tucked into the streets of Latina—a grand, timeworn beauty ringed with flowers: roses, lavender, jasmine spilling from every corner. Gravel crunched underfoot as we parked and stepped out.
On the wide terrace stood Mr. Bellini—an older gentleman with white hair and glasses—flanked by a lady and a strikingly handsome young man in loose linen trousers and a white shirt.
Damian turned to his driver and bodyguards. “I’ll call when we’re ready to be picked up.”
The men nodded and drove off.
“Welcome to my humble home,” Bellini greeted, shaking Damian’s hand warmly. “It’s been too long.”
“You’ve gotten old,” Damian remarked without ceremony.
Bellini chuckled. “Yes, yes. Time doesn’t stop.”
Damian shifted, gesturing toward me. “This is my employee, Daisy Elfhorn. Thanks to her sharp eye, we’re here today.”
Bellini clasped my hand and brushed a gentleman’s kiss across my knuckles. “An honor, Miss Elfhorn.” He motioned to the young man beside him. “This is my son, Aleandro. And next to him, our housekeeper, Maria.”
Maria gave a polite nod, and we returned it.
“Aleandro,” Damian said with a crooked grin, “hardly recognizable. You’ve grown.”
“That I have.”
“He turned twenty-two this weekend,” Bellini added.
“Happy birthday,” Damian and I said together.
Aleandro was striking, dark brown hair falling in soft waves around his face, eyes the green of polished emerald, his smile brimming with confidence. He took my hand with elegant ease and brushed a polite kiss across my fingers.
“The honor is mine.”
“Come inside. I’m eager to hear your story.”
The housekeeper opened the door, and Bellini gestured warmly for us to follow.
The foyer was awash in sunlight pouring through tall windows.
Shelves groaned under the weight of antique books and artifacts.
A vast fireplace dominated the living room, and dozens of paintings adorned the walls.
The air carried the scent of fresh coffee and warm pastries.
“Please, have a seat,” the archaeologist said, pointing to an inviting sitting area. “I hope you find it pleasant here.”
Damian and I settled onto a sofa while the housekeeper offered coffee and delicate, artfully arranged cookies.
“Your home is wonderful,” I told him sincerely.
“You like it?” Damian asked.
I turned to him. “I don’t think I’ve ever stepped into a more beautiful house. It must feel extraordinary to live here.”
Bellini smiled modestly. “It has its advantages. But the true gift is the peace—it leaves space to think, to work.”
Damian, carrying the artifact in a bag, set it carefully on the table. He spoke briefly, then withdrew the Phoenix pendant and placed it in Bellini’s hands. The older man studied the piece intently, peering over his glasses before rising to his feet.
“I believe you are both correct in your assumption,” he said in a reverent whisper. “Please, follow me.”
Damian slung his laptop bag over his shoulder, and together we followed Bellini and his son.
The professor’s research room was a strange harmony of relics and technology.
Towering shelves brimmed with prehistoric bone fragments, ancient ceramics, and weathered statues from forgotten civilizations.
At the center, a massive worktable was buried beneath maps, books, sketches, magnifying glasses, and brittle manuscripts.
The walls were layered with site maps and photographs; in one corner, a computer and printer waited among the ruins of the past. Even the air seemed to whisper the stories of lost ages.
Damian opened his laptop on the worktable.
The screen woke and filled with documents and photographs from recent expeditions.
Mr. Bellini lowered himself into a chair, eyes bright as he scrolled through the digitized reports.
With deliberate care, he lifted the Phoenix to the light, matching its details against the images on the screen.
His expression tightened, then he reached for several old books on a nearby shelf.
“I’d like to check a few more things,” Bellini said. “That may take some time.”
While he worked, his son stepped toward me. “Would you like to see my father’s collection? We have some remarkable treasures.”
“I’d love to.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Damian’s jaw harden. I answered with my most dazzling smile and followed Aleandro out of the room.
He led me to a smaller, climate-controlled building beside the main house.
Inside, the variety of carefully displayed artifacts stunned me.
Glass cases and shelves held ancient pottery, finely carved figurines, fragile scrolls.
Soft lights played over the relics until the remnants of history gleamed as if they were breathing.
I could hardly believe my eyes. This collection felt like the accumulation of a lifetime spent hunting the past.
Aleandro spoke with fervor, guiding me from piece to piece. His enthusiasm hooked me; soon I was absorbed, hanging on the stories behind each object. There was an easy rhythm between us as he showed me his favorites and I listened, intent.
We’d just burst into laughter over a bizarre excavation anecdote when Damian appeared in the doorway—sharp, tense. His eyes locked on me, and my heartbeat skipped.
“Aleandro, your father needs you for a moment,” Damian said flatly.
“Of course. Daisy and I were just admiring the collection. You should look too—new pieces may have been added since your last visit.”
“Maybe later,” Damian replied curtly. “I’ll follow with Daisy in a moment.”
“No problem.”
The instant Aleandro turned, Damian grabbed my arm and pulled me closer.
“I can’t stand it when another man looks at you like that.” His voice was controlled, his gaze fixed on me with a dangerous intensity.
“You’re overreacting.” I tried to smile—thin, shaky—but it died before it reached my lips. My voice betrayed me with a tremor. “Let me go.”
“I think you still don’t understand,” he murmured. “You want me. You want what I am. And that means you want me on my terms.”
His eyes held no rage, only an unnerving calm, as if the outcome had already been decided.
“Then you’ll learn what it means to belong to me.” His words slid across my skin like ice.
“No,” I said—softly at first, then louder. “As long as I don’t have all of you, I will never belong to you. I’ll do what I want. If I decide to let Aleandro fuck me, you have no right to stop it.”
Damian froze. For a heartbeat I thought he would erupt. Instead, he smiled—cold, and a little unhinged.
“No, you won’t.” He pressed his forehead to mine, and it felt like he was fastening a chain around me. “I don’t tolerate competition. Not with you.”
I pulled back. “You push me away. You sleep with others, then cling to me when it suits you. One day you’re irresistible, the next you shut me out. I never know which version of you I’ll get.”
“Then tell me I’m wrong. Tell me you don’t want me. Tell me to let you go, and I will. Right here. Right now. One sentence—and you’re free.”
One sentence—so simple.
But the words stuck. They would have been a lie.
My heart already belonged to him.
I was already caught in his web.
Then Aleandro returned, smiling. “My father has good news for you.”