Chapter 34
CASSANDRA
The ride home is quiet.
I heave a sigh of relief when Orlov glides the SUV into the garage. My palms are scraped, my arm is throbbing, and my brain is doing the high-pitched buzz of adrenaline coming down.
Beneath all of that, a mantra sneaks in—baby, baby, baby.
Damien walks me to the east suite, his hand warm at the small of my back. Just inside my doorway, he stops. He checks the ribbon at my wrist and kisses my temple.
“Shower. Sleep,” he says. “You’re safe.”
As he walks away, I know he’s already planning the next ten steps.
I try to peel off the day with a hot shower and lavender soap. Afterward, I pull on my favorite sleep shirt and crawl beneath the duvet, eager for sleep to come.
That’s when I hear it. Clink. A beat then again. Clink. It rides the vent.
I could lie down and be a good girl, or I could admit what being “his” actually means for me. I need to know what it includes.
I tug on a pair of lounge pants and soft shoes and slip into the hall.
I follow the sound, finding a side staircase. At the bottom there’s a door propped open. I slowly descend, quiet as a mouse. The hallway beyond smells like bleach and old water. Somewhere ahead, I hear a male voice speaking low. Another answers through what sounds like clenched teeth.
I come to a windowless room, bright and simple on purpose. Poured concrete floor with a drain. Fluorescent lighting hanging from above. A small metal table. A chair bolted to the floor with wide straps and large, thick zip ties.
In the chair sits one of the men from the street.
I recognize him as the E-bike guy. His left cheek is swollen, lip split.
Eyes wide and mean when they can spare it, scared when they can’t.
Damien stands in front of him, coat off, cuffs rolled, gloves on.
Orlov leans against the wall by the door, face flat, eyes emotionless.
I step in before anyone can stop me. “Damien.”
His eyes flick to me, surprised, then a quick flash of regret that makes my chest hurt for reasons I don’t have time to unpack. He doesn’t bark. He doesn’t try to hide anything. He just turns toward me, his voice even.
“Cassandra.”
“What is this?” My voice comes out firm and steady, making myself proud.
“Insurance,” he says.
“This is torture.”
“This,” he retorts cooly, “is necessary.”
Without another word, he turns back around, confronting the man.
He doesn’t hit him. He’s not swinging chains or playing movie monster.
He’s precise. He asks the same three questions in different orders.
He pauses until fear does the talking. Several jugs of cold water sit in a rubber bin nearby.
When the answers stall, he pours it slowly over the man’s head, letting the chill inspire.
On the table sits a phone and an open map.
“Enough,” I say, stepping closer until I’m two paces from Damien and one from the man. I put my palm up like that would stop him.
Damien looks at my hand, then at me. “You don’t need to be down here,” he says calmly. “Go upstairs. I’ll be there soon.”
An ugly growl comes from the chair. The man’s eyes cut to me like knives. He spits. It lands on my shoe and slides like an insult. The chair lurches with intent.
Damien moves fast. He steps over and wraps his hand around the man’s throat—not crushing, just stilling. Orlov takes a step forward, but Damien halts him with a wave of his hand.
“I don’t want to watch this,” I say.
“You shouldn’t,” he says. “But you need to understand something. He knows our routes. He’s seen your face. If he leaves here breathing, someone buys what he says.”
“There are police,” I shoot back.
“Police can be bought.”
“Damien,” I try again. “Please don’t.”
He looks at me for a beat, then at the man, then at the floor. It could turn into mercy. It doesn’t.
He draws, aims, and fires one clean round into the man’s heart. His body jerks, then sags. The room gets smaller around us.
I flinch at the noise and then freeze. My hands instinctively go to my belly. My ears ring. Anger arrives heavy and hot.
Damien turns back to me. He does not apologize. He does not pretend it was something it wasn’t.
“I will do whatever it takes to keep you safe,” he says, his voice like steel. “To keep our family safe. To keep my empire alive.”
I take a step back. He reaches forward and my hand moves without thought. I slap him.
His head turns a degree with the impact. For a long second, we just breathe.
“I don’t ever want to see anything like this ever again,” I say, firm and clear. “Not here. Not with me in the room. Not if you want me to stay.”
He nods. There’s no argument. He takes off the gloves slowly and looks me in the eye.
“Understood,” he says. Then, quieter, “I will never cross that line with you again.”
He turns to Orlov. “You know what to do.”
Orlov nods. There are people working for Damien who have specific roles. I don’t want to meet the ones for this. I don’t have to. That’s one of the rules I just wrote.
“To bed,” he says to me. “I’ll walk you upstairs.”
We walk in silence. He keeps a respectful half pace.
“If you make me part of that world,” I finally say on the stairs without looking at him, “I leave.”
“You won’t be,” he says. “Not again.”
“I mean it.”
“I heard you.”
He stops at my door but doesn’t enter. He knows better. He looks at me and says, “You are safe here. You decide the pace. If you need me, call. If you don’t, I will still be here.”
I nod because I know I’ll start to cry if I try to speak. I step inside and close the door with a soft click.
In the bathroom, I hold my palm under cold water until the sting and the redness fade away.
I take off the ribbon. I do not want it on my wrist tonight. Not after that room. The diamond bracelet joins it.
I put a hand over my belly. “You’re okay,” I whisper. “We’re okay.”
My phone buzzes.
I’m outside if you need me.
I don’t text back.
I take another hot shower and pull on a soft cotton sleep shirt that smells clean, not like gunpowder. I crawl into bed and breathe deeply.
Thoughts begin to line up.
He saved me tonight.
He killed tonight.
Though both are true, I have to draw a line. And my line is no performance violence in my home or in my sight.
He agreed to that, without argument.
I fall into sleep faster than I expect, jaw unclenched for the first time since the street.
I dream about nothing, which is a gift.