Epilogue
DAMIEN
The private dining room at Marcellino’s is the kind of upscale spot where the menu doesn’t have prices and the staff materializes only when needed. Perfect for Killian’s celebration, though I catch Morgan fidgeting with her clutch as we walk in.
“Relax, princess,” I murmur against her ear. “They’re gonna love you.”
Basia waves from across the room, already seated next to a massive dude with dark hair and shoulders that could block a doorway. Caleb. Good to see Ward cleaned up for the occasion.
“Damien!” Emily rushes over, practically bouncing. Her engagement ring catches the light as she pulls Morgan into an enthusiastic hug. “I’m so glad you could both come!”
Killian appears behind her, smirking. “Congrats on not scaring this one off yet, D.”
“Night’s still young,” Ethan calls from his seat. He’s leaning back in his chair, looking thoroughly pleased with himself, while the blonde next to him—Emily’s best friend—radiates irritation.
“Do you have to breathe so loud?” she snaps at him.
“What are you, a bat?” Ethan shoots back.
“That’s Barbara,” Emily whispers to Morgan with an apologetic smile. “She’s... actually really sweet once you get past the—”
“The fact that she wants to stab Ethan with a fork?” Killian finishes.
Barbara’s eyes narrow. “I’m considering it.”
“Kinky,” Ethan grins. “Didn’t know you were into blood play, Barbie.”
“Call me that again and you’ll find out.”
I steer Morgan toward the table, catching Caleb’s eye. He gives me a subtle nod, then turns his attention back to Basia, who’s explaining something with animated hand gestures. Ward’s face stays carefully neutral, but I notice how he shifts his chair closer to hers.
“So this is Morgan,” Killian says, extending his hand. “Heard you survived Damien’s cooking. That’s true love right there.”
“I make excellent eggs,” I counter.
“You burn water.”
Morgan laughs, the sound genuine and light. Some of the tension leaves her shoulders.
Emily touches Morgan’s arm, drawing her attention away from our exchange. “Don’t worry about them. They’re always like this.”
“Like what?” Killian feigns innocence.
“Bickering like an old married couple.” Emily rolls her eyes fondly. “You get used to it. They love each other really.”
“I tolerate him,” I correct.
Morgan’s shoulders shake with silent laughter. She glances between us, a warmth settling in her expression. The wariness that’s been her constant companion since we walked in fades a few degrees.
“Damien got me through some rough patches during deployment,” Killian says, his tone shifting to something more serious. “He and Ethan both.”
“And Caleb,” Ethan adds, lifting his glass toward Ward.
Caleb grunts in acknowledgment, still focused on whatever Basia’s saying.
“They’re insufferable together,” Emily continues, squeezing Killian’s hand. “But it’s kind of sweet once you realize they’re just terrible at expressing emotion like normal humans.”
“We express emotion,” I argue.
“Violence isn’t an emotion, Damien,” Morgan quips.
Barbara snorts into her wine. “I like her already.”
“Naturally,” Ethan mutters. “You both enjoy being wrong.”
“And you enjoy the sound of your own voice,” Barbara says.
“It is a pleasant sound.”
Morgan leans closer to me, her lips quirking. “Are they always like this, too?”
“Worse,” Killian and I say in unison.
Emily laughs, the sound bright and infectious. “See? You’re already part of the family. Fair warning, though—dinners get loud, everyone has opinions about everything, and Ethan will try to hack your social media by dessert.”
“Already done,” Ethan announces cheerfully. “Morgan Cole, amateur artist, terrible at poker, based on your college photos, and you have questionable taste in true crime podcasts.”
Morgan stiffens slightly.
I level Ethan with a look that makes him raise his hands in surrender.
“Right. Boundaries. Got it.”
Emily waves her hand dismissively. “Ignore them both. Come sit, I’m starving and they won’t bring appetizers until we’re all settled.”
Morgan’s expression softens. She likes Emily—I can see it in the way her posture relaxes, how her smile reaches her eyes. Emily has that effect on people. Genuine warmth without the edge most of us carry.
Basia jumps up from her seat, nearly knocking over her water glass.
“Morgan!” She pulls Morgan into a tight hug.
“Thank you so much for setting this up. I had absolutely nothing planned for New Year’s Day, and—” She pulls back, glancing at Caleb with exasperation.
“—this one’s already driving me insane.”
“I’m doing my job,” Caleb says, not looking up from his phone.
“He started this morning,” Basia continues, dropping back into her chair. “This morning, Morgan. And he’s already told me I can’t go to the bodega on my corner, I can’t take my usual subway route, and apparently my building’s fire escape is a ‘security nightmare.’”
“It is,” Caleb confirms.
“I’ve lived there for two years!”
“And you’ve been lucky for two years.”
Basia throws her hands up. “See? Stifling.”
Morgan slides into the seat beside me, amusement dancing across her face. “He’s just being thorough.”
“Thorough would be appreciated. This is suffocating.”
Caleb finally looks up, his expression flat. “You hired me to keep you safe. That’s what I’m doing.”
“I hired you because my stalker is escalating. Not because I need a shadow.”
“Your stalker is escalating,” Caleb repeats slowly, “which is exactly why you need a shadow.”
Basia opens her mouth, then closes it. Huffs out a breath.
“He’s got a point,” I offer.
“Don’t encourage him,” Basia mutters, but there’s less heat in it.
Morgan reaches for her water glass, her knee brushing mine under the table. The contact sends a jolt through me—that constant awareness I have of her, sharper in a room full of people.
“How bad is it?” Emily asks Basia, her brow creasing with concern.
“Bad enough that I’m tolerating Captain Overbearing here.”
I watch Morgan lean forward to catch something Basia says, her dark eyes bright with genuine interest. She nods, asks a follow-up question that makes Basia laugh. The sound wraps around the table, pulling everyone in.
This. This is what I wanted without knowing I wanted it.
Morgan fits here. Between the chaos of Ethan and Barbara’s bickering, Caleb’s gruff protectiveness, Killian and Emily’s easy affection—she belongs. No forcing it, no awkward silences. She just... settles into the rhythm like she’s always been part of my world.
Emily refills Morgan’s wine glass, saying something about how they should get lunch sometime. Morgan agrees, her smile unguarded in a way I’ve never seen before. Not even with me.
My chest tightens.
I slide my hand onto her thigh under the table, fingers tracing slow circles against the fabric of her dress. She falters mid-sentence, a slight hitch in her breath. The flush starts at her collarbone, spreading upward across that beautiful, dark caramel skin.
“You okay?” Emily asks.
“Fine,” Morgan manages, her voice steadier than I expected. “Just—warm in here.”
I press my fingers a fraction higher, watching the way her jaw tenses. She reaches for her water glass with carefully controlled movements, not looking at me.
Basia launches into another story about her stalker, something about flowers delivered to her work. Caleb’s expression darkens, his questions clipped. Morgan listens, contributes a comment about workplace security protocols, all while that blush deepens across her cheeks.
Killian catches my eye from across the table, his smirk knowing. I don’t care. Let him notice. Everyone here already knows I’m gone for her.
What they don’t know is how deep it runs. How I’d burn the world down if it meant keeping her exactly like this—safe, laughing, surrounded by people who’d protect her the same as I would.
Morgan shifts in her seat, her hand dropping below the table to catch my wrist. She doesn’t push me away, simply holds on, her thumb brushing against my pulse point.
I lean closer, my lips brushing the shell of her ear. The conversation around us fades to white noise.
“You have no idea what you do to me,” I murmur, keeping my voice low enough that only she hears. “Sitting here with my hand on your thigh, watching you smile at my friends like you’ve always belonged in my life. Like you were made specifically to fill every empty space I didn’t know existed.”
Her breath catches. I feel it more than hear it.
“I’ve spent years thinking I understood control,” I continue, my thumb tracing lazy patterns against her skin.
“Discipline. Order. Then you walked into my world and shattered every carefully constructed wall I built. You’re the chaos I never knew I needed, princess.
The only beautiful thing in a life that’s been stained with blood and darkness. ”
Morgan’s fingers tighten around my wrist.
“I want to take you home right now,” I breathe against her neck, “lay you out on my bed and worship every inch of that perfect body until you forget your own name. Want to hear you scream mine instead while I make you come so hard you see stars. Want to fill you so completely there’s no question who you belong to. ”
She shifts in her seat, a small movement that betrays how affected she is.
“But more than that,” I press a soft kiss just below her ear, “I want this. You here, laughing with Emily and Barbara. My brothers are accepting you without question because they see what I see—that you’re extraordinary. That you’re mine in every way that matters.”
“Damien,” she whispers, my name barely audible.
Her dark eyes are wide, glassy with emotion.
“And tonight,” I add, my voice dropping to something darker, “when we get home, I’m going to show you exactly how deep that love goes.”
Morgan turns her head, and her lips find mine before I can process the movement. The kiss starts soft but deepens fast, her hand sliding up to cup my jaw. I taste wine on her tongue, feel the slight tremor in her fingers.
Heat floods through me. I angle my head, taking control of the kiss, swallowing the small sound she makes. Her mouth opens for me, yielding in that way that drives me wild.
“Get a room,” Ethan calls out.
I pull back just enough to break contact, keeping my forehead pressed to Morgan’s. Her eyes stay closed for a beat, her breathing unsteady.
“I love you,” she whispers.
“I love you too.”
Every time she says those words, they stun me.
I never thought I’d love anyone. Never thought I was capable of it after what I’d seen, what I’d done. Love was for people who hadn’t watched their mother bleed out on the kitchen floor. For people who didn’t spend their nights hunting monsters and disposing of bodies in industrial crematoriums.
I’d convinced myself that the capacity for that kind of feeling had died with her. That my father had killed more than just my mother that night—he’d killed whatever softness might have existed in me.
Then Morgan happened.
She looked up at me with those dark eyes during a panic attack, vulnerable and terrified, and something dormant cracked open inside my chest. Every carefully constructed wall I’d built crumbled the moment I touched her.
The conviction that I was too damaged, too broken, too stained with blood to deserve anything good—she shattered it without even trying.
She saw the darkness in me and didn’t run. Watched me torture Marco to death and asked to stay. Accepted every twisted, violent part of who I am and still whispered that she loved me.
I brush my thumb across her bottom lip, watching the way her pupils dilate.
“Say it again,” I murmur.
“I love you, Damien.”
The words settle into my bones, filling spaces that have been hollow for over twenty years.
Thank you for reading My Masked Savior, our first co-write novella!