Chapter 27
DAMIEN
Istand with my back to the wall across from Clara’s room, watching through the blinds. Alex waits down the hall where he can keep an eye on the elevator and the cross hallways. Orlov covers the far end. Two more of my men sit inconspicuously with paperbacks and roving eyes.
Security is in place. The floor is ours.
Clara looks small in the bed. She’s blonde and pale. Pretty in a pixie-like way. Where Cassandra is heat, curves, and fight, Clara is fine-boned, steely nerve.
Cassandra moves reverently, quietly. She smooths hair off her sister’s forehead, then leans down and whispers. A brief smile, then a deep shaky breath. She kisses Clara’s temple.
I watch long enough to know what I already knew—Clara is the center of her world. Not the house. Not the money. That’s a good thing. People with roots don’t blow away in a hard wind.
I back off. Privacy is part of the deal. It’s also part of the man I’m trying to be.
A minute later, Cassandra comes out. Her eyes are glossy. She sees me and straightens.
“How is she?” I ask.
She purses her lips and looks away, like she’s not sure how to answer that question.
“Good, I think. She’s been sleeping a lot. Doctor said that’s normal.”
“She’s going to need all the rest she can get. And she’ll have it.”
A quick soft smile and a nod, as if those were exactly the words she wanted to hear.
“I…” she trails off. “I think I need a few minutes.”
“Of course. Take your time.”
She nods and heads down the hall toward her room. Alex falls in behind her at the right distance. Protective, not intrusive.
When the hall clears, I go into Clara’s room. The lights are low.
I pull up a chair and sit, hands loose between my knees. Talking to sleeping people is not my habit. Pride is cheap, and I pocket it.
“Clara,” I begin, my voice quiet, “I’m Damien.”
She doesn’t move. I do not pretend she hears me.
“I’m the reason Cassandra has been living in a house that isn’t hers.”
Still, no response.
“I put her in a situation where harm came to her. That’s on me, not on her.”
The chair creaks as I shift my weight. I am not confessing. I’m making a promise.
“I will fix the part that is mine,” I continue. “I will end the people who put her life in danger. I will do whatever it takes to keep you and your sister safe. I vow it.”
My hands close, then open. I place them flat on my thighs. Steady.
“Cassandra is carrying more than herself,” I add. The words scrape my throat. “She hasn’t told you and I won’t. But I will keep both of them safe. I won’t let her be the price of my sins.”
A soft knock. The door opens halfway. Alex slides in sideways, making himself small. His eyes do a quick sweep.
“Report.”
“Perimeter clean,” he replies. “Two guards on the far stair. Cameras on the entrances. Red Hook lead still open. I’ll walk it at dawn.”
I nod. “Good work driving last night.”
He grins. “Got lucky with the shot.”
“You saw the angle,” I shoot back. “Luck is what cowards call a skill they don’t have.”
“Noted.”
He stands straight and quiet, ready to move.
“Thank you, Alex. You may very well have saved her life.”
He shifts from one foot to another. “Just doing my job.”
The door pushes open further. Alex catches it with a hand, but Ivan still pushes through on the second try. He smells like expensive cologne and alcohol.
“Brother,” he says too loud.
“Keep your voice down,” I hiss.
“Your men are playing army out there,” he says. “For what?” His eyes flick to Clara. “Because you’ve gone soft for a shopgirl?”
He’s provoking, trying to get me to lash out the way he would in my position. But I will not be taken in by his antics.
“Ivan, you’re going to leave right now,” I say quietly, calmly. “Right behind me is a young woman recovering from heart surgery. Your bullshit is the last thing she needs.”
“My bullshit,” Ivan snarls. “Your men are stepping all over my turf and you—”
“Ivan. Enough.”
Alex shifts one step. Ivan looks at me, then at his brother.
“Leave,” I say to Ivan.
He laughs. “War’s brewing out there,” he says.
“The Antonov boys are testing. Koretsky cousins are getting clever. Every old man eager to fatten his bank account is calling me nonstop, wondering how he can profit off the conflict ahead. And you’re in here visiting a sick girl.
” He leans on the plastic rail at the foot of her bed.
“You used to make the city sit up straight. What’s happened to you? ”
I stand slowly. Some people mistake slow for weak. It’s a useful mistake.
“Leave,” I say again.
“You going to make me?” he says, the edge of his mouth curling into a smirk.
“If I have to.”
He holds my eyes for two beats. The smirk drops and he backs away, hands up in a mock show of innocence. “Listen, I care about the Bratva,” he says. “About the business. About you.”
He’s lying about at least one of those things. Probably two.
“Go home,” I say. “I’ll handle my business.”
“You used to handle these matters quickly, decisively,” he replies, looking to Alex for a shared laugh. “People can sense the weakness that comes with this going straight bullshit. They can sense that you won’t do what needs to be done anymore.”
Alex’s face is expressionless. Good.
Ivan’s trying to test me, trying to get me to blow up. I don’t plan on giving him the satisfaction.
“I’m not going to ask you again.”
For a breath, I expect him to get ugly. He doesn’t. He backs through the door, tosses a “Merry Christmas” over his shoulder that means nothing, and disappears down the hall. Two of my men fall in behind him.
I watch him leave, then look at Alex. No bristle. No anger. Professional to the bone. I need him on point if it turns out Ivan is involved.
“If it’s him,” I say coldly, “I want evidence before knives.”
Alex doesn’t blink. “If it’s him, you’ll have to beat me to it.” He means it.
Cassandra’s voice cuts the air. “What is wrong with you?”
She storms in and plants herself between me and Clara. Eyes flashing, spine straight.
“You want to fight, go outside. She’s sleeping.” She points at Clara without taking her eyes off me. “She doesn’t need your testosterone-fueled bullshit right now.”
“Yes,” I say, “you’re right.”
Alex clears his throat. “I’m sorry,” he tells her.
“I came to tell her I won’t fail you again,” I murmur. “And I’m taking you home.”
“Fine.”
“Route,” I say to Alex.
“East exit. Car at the dock. Swap two blocks away. Second car to the bridge, third to the villa. I run lead, then tail.”
“Good,” I reply, then to Cassandra, “When you’re ready, we move.”
She turns to Clara and lightly touches her shoulder before turning back to me. “I’m ready. Doctors said I was fine to be discharged.”
We step into the hall. I pull the door until the latch catches and look at Cassandra. “She sleeps like a log,” I point out.
“She’s a champion sleeper. It’s her only luxury right now,” she replies solemnly.
We walk. Alex slides ahead, Orlov merges behind. A volunteer with a cart of paperbacks moves aside. We hit the elevator.
I study the three of us in the mirror. Me in a tailored charcoal suit. Cassandra in my coat with the collar up. Alex and Orlov all in black with stoic expressions. We look like a dysfunctional family portrait.
The numbers count down. My hand hovers an inch from Cassandra’s back, not touching. A barrier without pressure. A promise without claim.
Alex steps out first on the ground floor, lifting a hand in a lazy hello to the desk. After a few minutes of conversation with the nurse, Cassandra is discharged.
The doors open to cold air and soft snow. We cross to the dock where the car idles. Warm air spills out when Alex opens the doors. He sets Cassandra in the back like she’s made of glass. I take the passenger seat.
I look at her over my shoulder. “What?” she asks.
“I keep my promises,” I say. “You gave me terms that are now mine to own.”
She turns her face to the window. Snow falls, softening all the hard lines. Alex pulls us into traffic. The hospital gets smaller in the mirror.
Things are not solved. They’re just behind us—for now.