Chapter Eight
Lily
I step out of the exam room with Mrs. Sutter and her spaniel Brooklyn in tow.
At reception, I briefly explain the care plan to Laura, the receptionist, then bend down to pet Brooklyn, praising her for being a brave girl.
She is such a sweet little thing, with soft, trusting eyes and an endearing nature.
When I straighten up, Laura casually informs me, “Oh, Lily, your next appointment is here, and two friends of yours are waiting to talk to you for a minute.”
I frown, puzzled, and turn toward the waiting room.
And my jaw almost hits the floor.
As if they had absolutely nothing better to do, Damiano and the man who chased and dragged me back to the office that fateful night are draped over waiting room chairs like they own the place.
Now, in the light of day, I recognize the second man from the few times I’ve seen him from afar.
He is the Santaluccia second-in-command and Damiano’s ever-present shadow, Lucas.
They’re both looking straight at me. And Damiano, Il Demonio himself, has the audacity to smile.
Like it is his damn business to be here, in my life, in my clinic. As if barging into my world, my normal, safe life, is simply part of his daily schedule. This is not his world—this is mine.
How dare he intrude into my life like he owns it? Like he has every right to be here?
Shock crashes into fury, and I have to clench my fists to keep from shouting in front of poor Glenda and her cat Pixie.
I square my shoulders, plaster on the coldest, most professional expression I can manage, and walk toward the waiting room.
I give Glenda a tight nod and mumble something vague like, “Just a moment, I’ll be right back,” then turn my full attention to the intruders.
“This way, please,” I say, voice cool and clipped as I tilt my head toward the hallway. Then I turn and walk off, fully expecting them to follow, because honestly, at this point? Yelling feels less dangerous than giving them any more power over my space.
They file into my examination room without a word, and I move to the far side of the room, deliberately putting the table between us like it’s some kind of shield.
Damiano strides in first, unapologetically taking up space, planting himself right in front of the exam table.
Lucas lingers behind, closing the door with a soft click before casually leaning against it, wearing a bored expression like this is merely another day of murder and mayhem.
A wave of déjà vu crashes over me.
Has this room always been this small? Suddenly it feels like the walls are inching closer, the air getting thinner with every second. I inhale deeply, forcing my lungs to cooperate, forcing myself to stay grounded.
“To what,” I say coolly, “do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”
Lucas snickers. I shoot him a glare sharp enough to peel paint.
Damiano doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even blink. “I want to invite you to dinner tonight.”
For the second time today, my jaw hangs open and my brain scrambles for words.
What in the ever-loving…
“No!” The word is out of my mouth before I can think and I cross my arms over my chest. Damiano raises a brow.
“I m-mean…” I stammer, grasping at straws, “I am sorry but I have, uh…things to do. Important things.”
“Cancel them.”
Is he for real? My anger is boiling over and I know I am flushing. I inwardly count to five before I counter, “No, thank you. I will not go out to have dinner with you, not today, not any day.”
There! Now take the hint and leave already!
“It’s only dinner.”
I shake my head and he lets out an annoyed huff.
“Fine, we will stay here until you can make yourself available.”
I open my mouth but nothing comes out. I must look like a fish out of water as they exit the room. Don’t they have better things to do? Doom and destruction? Souls to reap? Do they really think I’ll change my mind? I snort.
Ha! Good luck with that!
I take a minute to collect myself, then I go back to the waiting room to get my next patient, not sparing the intruders a glance.
* * * *
When we come out, I am dumbfounded to find them in animated conversation with a group of men and women in the waiting room.
Lucas seems to enjoy himself immensely, saying something that makes the room erupt in boisterous laughter.
For God’s sake, those men could as well have “Mortal Danger” tattooed across their foreheads. Why can’t anyone see it?
Damiano’s eyes are already locked on me as I step closer. “Ah, Lily,” he greets me, his smile predatory. “We’ve been chatting with these lovely folks here. I must say, I’m really starting to get fond of everyone.” He gestures toward a woman in her sixties sitting to his left.
“Mrs. Dawn here—”
“Call me Betsy,” the woman interrupts, playfully swatting his arm.
I grit my teeth, bracing myself for some outburst, maybe her head exploding or something. But Damiano simply gives her a flirtatious wink, and I swear, I’ve somehow been catapulted straight into the Twilight Zone.
“Betsy here,” he continues smoothly, “has a little trouble with her new neighbor. You won’t believe it, but this punk blasts his music so loud that everyone in the building can hear it.”
Betsy nods, a pleased look on her face.
“So what does she do?” Damiano’s voice drops in faked sympathy. “She has to take walks with her dachshund to avoid losing her mind. Can you imagine? Always outside in the park, even in the evenings and late at night, when it’s not safe for such a lovely lady to be out there.”
She preens at the compliment, but my blood runs cold.
Damiano tuts, shaking his head. “Someone really ought to do something about this guy.”
“Believe me, no one dares talk to him. I’m sure he’s a druggie, a criminal,” Betsy adds in a conspiratorial whisper.
“Those criminals are everywhere,” Damiano mutters, his gaze holding my eyes captive, the sinister edge to his voice sending chills down my spine.
“Promise me, Betsy, that you’ll be careful. Misfortune strikes every day in this city.”
He wouldn’t dare. Would he?
His smirk deepens, and I know he’s read my thoughts perfectly. Nausea crashes through me like a tidal wave, and my hands go clammy with the cold sweat of dread.
“And this here is Mike who lives near South End and—”
“A word please, Mr. uh…Saint,” I cut him off.
He follows me again to my examination room and goes to lean against the exam table. “Mr. Saint?” he asks, clearly amused.
“Well, I wasn’t going to call you by your real name in front of them and risk their lives,” I snap. I glare at him. “What is your game?”
“No game, I swear.” He gives me one of his boyish smiles, dimple and all. I want to stab him with the nearest sharp object.
“Agree to have dinner with me tonight and we will be out of this building in no time.”
What are my choices? Of course, I could tell him no and wait for him to grow bored.
But the Devil always gets what he wants, doesn’t he?
And, if I’m being honest, a tiny part of me is curious to know what it would be like to be with him. I exhale sharply, the weight of my decision pressing down on me.
“Okay. Just dinner,” I say, holding up my pointer finger for emphasis. “And only tonight.”
His smile widens, predatory and knowing, and I immediately regret my decision.
“Wise choice.” His voice is a little bit too smooth. “My driver will pick you up at seven from your father’s.”
Before I can even protest he’s gone, leaving nothing but the faint scent of citrus and cedarwood and my heart fluttering in my chest like a caged bird.
* * * *
Damiano
Luc puts the key in the ignition and turns to me with a smirk.
“Sweet and gentle, huh?”
We both chuckle.
My little flower definitely has thorns. Tonight is going to be interesting.