Chapter 25 Daisy
Soft murmurs and dim light soaked my father’s restaurant; cigar smoke tangled with the scent of roasted meat in the air.
Mafiosi clustered at scattered tables, voices pitched low.
My gaze swept the room and snagged on a group near the entrance.
Tristan sat at the center—listening more than speaking, leaning back, arms loose, his posture saying: I’m here, but I don’t belong to you.
When he noticed me, he barely lifted his chin. A small nod. Calm. Almost careless. Yet his eyes stayed a beat too long—deliberate, not accidental.
One of my father’s bodyguards appeared at my side and gave a curt gesture, guiding me toward the back.
At the table, my father rose—smiling too bright, too warm.
“Daisy, my darling, I’m so glad you came. Let me introduce you to a close friend, a man who is part of our family.” He gestured toward a figure with his back to me. “Il Lupo. The Wolf. But I think you already know him.”
My heart stopped. The room emptied of air. The name split something open in me—too familiar, too impossible. The Wolf turned, and I was staring into Damian Miller’s face. The face I thought I knew. My body locked; breath caught. Inside, everything screamed—and nothing came out.
“Hello, Daisy,” Damian said softly. Low. Almost gentle. And under it—the fracture. The thin edge of regret.
My father sat again, satisfied, as if this were nothing at all.
“I suppose you’ve met Damian Miller a few times in New York. He was your boss, wasn’t he? A few days ago, I called him and told him you were here. He was worried. He said you’d asked him for some time away.”
Frozen. Damian. Here. In my father’s restaurant. Not just as Damian Miller—but as Il Lupo. The Wolf. Not just an antiques dealer. Not fate.
Planned. Controlled. Intended.
“Daisy, please, sit,” my father said, motioning to the chair across from Damian.
I sank into it, dazed, my heart thundering like it might tear free.
“What are you doing here?” I managed at last, raw.
He didn’t answer. His eyes locked on mine and held. Invisible wire tightened between us—charge humming through questions, accusations, and the ache that wouldn’t die. The air thickened until it hurt to breathe. I couldn’t look away. Neither could he.
“Damian is here because you uncovered a forgery,” my father said, almost casual.
“What?” The room tilted.
“The seal Damian and I acquired together. You discovered it was fake.”
“Your father and I have known each other a long time,” Damian said evenly.
My father’s hand landed on my shoulder—steadying, anchoring. “Damian and I have worked together for years. We’re close friends. When you moved to Cold Spring and needed work, I asked him to hire you—to keep an eye on you. He agreed immediately.”
For one fragile second, I wanted to believe it was harmless. Protection, nothing more. But the thought died on contact. It wasn’t only a job. It wasn’t only safety.
I had given him my heart—blind—never knowing I’d been caught in a net from the beginning. Every step, every word, maybe every touch, predetermined. Nothing between us had ever been untouched or truly ours.
And worst of all—Damian didn’t stand apart from this world.
He belonged to it.
I had never been free. I had never truly chosen.
I’d been moved across a board—a pawn.
The ground split under me. I no longer knew who I was, or who I could ever trust. The chair scraped as I shoved it back and stood.
“Please tell me I’m about to wake up from this nightmare.”
No one contradicted me. No one even bothered to lie. In Damian’s eyes there was only bitter, unflinching truth. I stepped back instinctively, as if distance could save me.
I stared at him, breathless, unable to understand how he could sit so calm while my world collapsed. His gaze stayed on mine—steady, relentless—and that made it worse.
My father sighed. “Daisy, we live in a dangerous world. I have enemies everywhere. The illegal antiques trade is more than business—it’s a threat.
I wanted to protect you. Damian was the only one I trusted.
And he kept his word, Daisy. The men outside the shop…
they were his. They have been watching over you since the day he hired you.
” Damian’s gaze flickered away for a heartbeat, as if the truth carried a weight he didn’t want me to read in his eyes.
“The… illegal… antiques trade?” My voice cracked.
“Am I in the wrong movie? What the hell is going on?” I shook my head.
“You abused my trust,” I snapped at my father—then cut my eyes to Damian.
“Both of you.” The man I had loved was just another mask in my father’s empire. And I’d fallen for the mask.
“Please, try to—”
“You know what? I won’t make a scene. But I won’t stay here another second. I’m going home. We can talk later. Or better—never.”
I turned and walked out, desperate for air that didn’t taste like lies.
“Tristan, go with her,” my father’s voice followed.
“Daisy!” Tristan called. I stopped, turned just enough.
“I have to go with you,” he said.
“Don’t you have anything better to do than play babysitter?” The lash of it surprised even me.
His brows rose.
“I’m sorry,” I exhaled. “That was mean. It’s not your fault.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.”
A thousand thoughts tore through me. Damian knew my father—worse, he was one of them. I hadn’t stumbled into the job. I’d been placed. The realization gutted me.
We walked in silence. At my door, I gave Tristan a quick goodbye and went in alone.
Something was wrong. The air felt colder, heavier, as if the walls were holding their breath. Dread coiled low. I went to the kitchen, pulled a glass from the shelf, grabbed a bottle of wine from the fridge.
“Hello, Daisy,” said a voice I knew too well.
The bottle slipped, shattered. Wine bled across the tiles like spilled blood. I turned slowly. Damian leaned in my bedroom doorway, arms crossed—casual posture, eyes burning. A dark smile played on his lips.
“Damian—what the hell are you doing here?” My body didn’t know whether to run or to fall into him.
“Did you miss me?”
I edged around the counter, keeping my eyes on him. “You can’t just come into my house.”
“As you see, I can.” He dangled a set of keys, then slid them into his pocket. “Spare key from your father. For emergencies.”
I would be having words with my father.
Damian pushed off the frame and came toward me—unhurried, deliberate. “You knew I’d find you sooner or later.” His tone was calm—too calm—the kind of calm that comes after the decision to destroy something. His eyes held me—fire and shadow, desire and danger.
“I wanted time to think.” My mouth was dry, pulse pounding.
“And what conclusion did you reach?” Another step. My chest tightened.
“I missed you, Damian. Every damn day. I thought of you; I ached for you. I love you. I love you so much that not one moment passed when I didn’t want to touch you, kiss you, feel you inside me.
But I don’t want to forgive you. I can’t.
We will not go on as if nothing has changed.
And now—this with my father?” My voice broke.
“Why did you lie to me? You’re a damn mafioso. ”
“I didn’t lie. I left out a few things.” Another step—an arm’s length.
“A few things? You work for my father.” My hands curled into fists. “He calls you Il Lupo. The Wolf.”
“I work with him, not for him,” he said evenly. “We’ve been friends for years.”
He closed the last of the distance, his dangerous presence filling the room.
“I understand how you feel. Your father wanted you safe. Beatrice was moving to Switzerland; I agreed to take you at my shop. What I couldn’t have known was how much you’d undo me.
” His hand lifted, fingers brushing my bare shoulder, sliding my dress strap back into place. “How much I’d end up wanting you.”
“Damian,” I breathed—and my voice failed when he leaned closer.
“I can’t trust you anymore,” I whispered. “What else don’t I know? Who are you? I can’t be with you. You destroy me.”
“I know,” he said—and kissed me.
His mouth was demanding, relentless, tasting like sin and heaven. Doubt burned to ash. I knew I should resist; I couldn’t. I loved him—too much. His heat, his strength, his dominance. He was carved like a god and alive like danger.
His scent wrapped around me like fog, numbing everything else. My breath quickened as his hand moved—slow, tormenting—over my chest, up to my throat, where it lingered. He broke the kiss, eyes locked on mine.
Gently, but with unmistakable authority, his fingers curled around my neck.
Thoughts scattered, feral and panicked. Air thinned.
And still, he held me—bound me—saved me and ruined me in the same breath.
He was the wound that wouldn’t stop bleeding.
I would have given up everything for him; I already was.
I had never been closer to him than in that moment—and never further from myself. Terror bloomed with the wanting.
Tears gathered—hot, heavy. It felt like he was breaking me, destroying me, and still I wanted to stay.
But something had to change. I would not share him.
With anyone. He had hurt me—the lies, the betrayal.
I’d found him with another woman in his office.
If I had truly mattered, he never would have done it.
He hadn’t even tried to win me back. He’d let me go.
Damian would never change. He would keep hurting me.
His grip tightened, as if punishing me for the war inside him. Something else flickered there too—desperation, barely leashed. He closed his eyes, as if he had to wrestle his own violence down.
“The thought of you leaving me forever… of someone else touching you…” His voice dropped, darker. “I couldn’t take it. Not ever. I wouldn’t survive it. I’d burn the world down before I let someone else have you.”
There was a terrifying resolve in his eyes.
“You see? That’s what you do to me. You have me in your hands. You… destroy me.”
The words landed like a curse. But when I looked again, I saw only the cold, merciless dark.
His hand clamped harder. Sharp pain speared my throat as air cut off. Panic detonated—wild, blinding. I clawed at his arms. Steel. The room blurred at the edges.
“Damian—please.” The plea rasped out of me. A dull pounding filled my ears; my lungs screamed. Tears burned and spilled.
No mercy in his gaze. Light dimmed. Color drained. My lungs burned; every breath stayed trapped, agonizingly close and unreachable. For a heartbeat, something cracked in his eyes—pain—a fissure in the armor. Then it vanished, swallowed by the dark.
Suffocation wrapped my brain in ice, dragging me toward the bottomless. And still, as he destroyed me, I wanted to save him. I wanted to be the one he loved.
Black spots scattered across my vision, devouring the last of the light. His face remained—cold, fierce, unwavering. That terrible darkness—the same one that shattered me—was the thing that bound me to him.