Chapter 8 Damon
I can still smell the scent of her on my fingers as I move through the house, checking weapons and security systems. The way she looked up at me by the pool, the way she writhed under my hand while I finger fucked the living shit out of her to keep from pulling my cock out and taking her right there.
Jesus Christ. It's got me rattled in a way I can't afford to be.
Not when the stakes just got higher.
The call from my cousin was clear, someone tried to snatch little Sofia Bonacci from her private school.
Security footage showed three men in a black van, professional equipment, military precision.
They failed because her bodyguard was faster than they expected, but the message they left behind makes their intentions crystal clear.
"Tell Roberto we're not done. His daughter is next."
Not on my watch she isn’t.
I pull two Glocks from the safe in my office, checking the clips, making sure the safeties are off. Whatever game these people are playing, they escalated it from family business to targeting children. That changes everything.
"Damon?"
I turn to find Viviana standing in the doorway, watching me load weapons with wide eyes.
"Jesus, you're quiet," I mutter, sliding one of the Glocks into the holster under my jacket. "Thought I told you to stay in the living room."
"You did. I didn't listen." She steps into the office, her gaze moving from the open weapons safe to the extra magazines I'm stuffing into my pockets. "Are we in immediate danger?"
"We're always in immediate danger. That's the point of being here."
"That's not what I meant."
I know what she meant. She wants to know if the people who tried to grab her cousin are closing in on us, if our safe house has been compromised, if we're about to be under siege.
"No," I say. "This place is still secure. But the situation's changed."
"Because of Sofia."
"Because they're getting desperate, trying to grab kids. Desperate people do stupid things."
"Like what?"
"Like be ballsy enough to grab a ten-year-old girl in broad daylight." I close the weapons safe and lock it. "We’re dealing with fucking animals. Which means they're running out of time for whatever they're planning."
"What do we do?"
"We move up the timeline. I'm leaving for the meeting with your father in an hour."
"Okay." She nods, then pauses. "What should I wear?"
"What?"
"For the meeting. What should I wear? I want Papa to see that I'm okay, that you're taking care of me."
My chest tightens at the way she says it. Like she actually wants her father to think well of me, like it matters to her what Roberto Bonacci thinks about how I'm treating his daughter.
"Change of plans," I say, pushing that thought away. "You're not coming. You’ll be safer here."
"What?" The color drains from her face. "But you said—"
"I said we'd arrange a meeting. I didn't say you'd be there."
"But how will Papa know I'm safe?"
"You're going to record a video message. Time-stamped, personal details only you would know. I'll show it to him myself."
"A video? That's it? But I want to see him. I need to see him."
"No, you don't."
"Yes, I do!" Her voice rises, and I can see the desperation in her eyes. "I haven't seen my family in almost a week. I need to know they're okay, I need to tell Papa—"
"You need to stay alive," I cut her off. "And going to that meeting puts you at risk."
"But you'll be there to protect me."
"I can't protect you if we're all ambushed. I can't protect you if your father decides to take you by force. I can't protect you if this whole thing goes sideways."
"Papa wouldn't—"
"Your papa is desperate and angry and looking for someone to blame. Right now, that someone is me. You think he's going to let me walk away with you after he gets to see you're safe?"
She's quiet, processing this. "So, you're protecting me from my own father? That’s crazy!"
"I'm protecting you from everyone. Including your father."
"And you're protecting yourself too."
"Yeah, I am. I want to walk out of that meeting. Alive."
At least she's not naive enough to think this is all about her safety. She understands that I have skin in the game, that Roberto Bonacci would love nothing more than to put a bullet in my head and take his daughter home.
"Fine," she says finally. "But I want to say what I want to say in the video. Not some script you write for me."
"As long as you don't say anything that compromises our location or my family."
"I won't."
"And nothing about... this." I gesture between us.
"This?"
"Whatever's been happening between us. The attraction, the tension, whatever you want to call it. Your father doesn't need to know about that."
"There's nothing to tell him, right? Since this is just business."
The way she says it, with a hint of challenge, makes me want to pin her against the wall and show her exactly how much this isn't just business.
Instead, I grab my phone from the desk.
"Let's get this done," I say. "I need to leave soon."
She runs her hands through her hair, suddenly nervous. "What should I say?"
"Tell him you're safe. Tell him you're being treated well. Tell him a fact only you would know, something that proves this video was made today."
"Like what?"
"A personal family joke, shared memory, whatever."
She thinks for a moment, then nods. "Okay. I'm ready."
I open the camera app on my phone, making sure the timestamp is visible. "Go."
She looks directly into the camera, and her whole demeanor changes. The vulnerability, the uncertainty – it all disappears, replaced by the composure of a woman who was raised in this world, even if she doesn't fully understand it yet.
"Papa," she says calmly. "It's me. It's Tuesday, eight-thirty PM, and I'm safe. I know you're worried, I know you're angry, but I need you to listen to me."
She pauses, gathering her thoughts.
"I'm being treated well. I'm not hurt, I'm not scared, and I need you to know that Mr. Lombardi saved my life. The people who attacked our family, who killed Tony and Frank and the others – they would have killed me too if he hadn't gotten me out of that club."
Mr. Lombardi. Not Damon, not even his first name. Keeping it formal, respectful. Smart girl.
"I know this is difficult," she continues.
"I know you want me home. But I need you to trust that I'm safer here than I would be anywhere else right now.
And Papa?" Her tone softens. "Remember what you used to tell me when I was little and I'd have nightmares?
You'd say that sometimes the monster under the bed is actually there to protect you from the real monsters. "
A family saying. Personal, intimate, a fact only Roberto would understand. Perfect.
"I love you, Papa. Tell Mama and my brothers that I love them too. And please don't do anything stupid while I'm gone. I need you all to be safe so I can come home to you."
She looks directly into the camera for another moment, then nods at me. I stop the recording.
"Good?" she asks.
"Perfect."
And it was perfect. The right tone, the right message, the right balance of reassurance and information. She managed to humanize me without compromising anything, managed to ask her father not to retaliate without sounding like she was under duress.
"Will you tell him I said that? About you saving my life?"
"If it comes up."
"It should come up. Because it's true."
I save the video and slip the phone into my jacket pocket. "I'll be back in a few hours."
"What if Papa doesn't believe the video, or what if the people who tried to grab Sofia find you?"
"Calm down, nothing's going to happen."
"You don't know that."
She's right. This meeting could go sideways in a dozen different ways, and if it does, she'll be stuck here alone with no way to contact anyone and no way to get home.
"There's a safe in the master bedroom," I tell her. "Behind the painting of the sailboat. Combination is your birthday – month, day, year. Inside there's cash, a clean phone, and a gun."
"My birthday?"
"I memorized your file."
"Oh." She looks oddly touched by this, like the fact that I know her birthday means more than basic intelligence gathering. "What else do you know about me?"
"Enough. Like you're scared but trying not to show it. Like you're tougher than your father gives you credit for. Like you're attracted to things that are bad for you."
"Am I bad for you?"
The question hangs in the air between us, loaded with implications and possibilities and dangers I can't afford to think about.
"Yeah," I say finally. "You are."
"Good."
"That's not good, Viviana. That's the opposite of good."
"Why?"
"Because I don't have room in my life for complications."
"What if I'm something else besides a complication?"
"Like what?"
“Something worth the risk."
And there it is.
The thing I've been trying not to think about since the moment I saw her in that club. The possibility that this isn't just physical attraction or proximity or adrenaline. The possibility that Viviana Bonacci might actually be worth upending my entire life for.
Which is exactly why I need to get the hell out of this house and away from her before I do something we'll both regret.
"I have to go," I say, heading for the door.
"Damon."
I stop but don't turn around.
"Be careful."
"Always am."
"I mean it. Come back."
The way she says it, like it matters to her whether I make it back alive, like she'd actually miss me if something happened – it hits me harder than it should.
"I'll be back."
"Promise?"
"I already told you, I don't make promises."
"Make one anyway. This one time."
I turn to look at her one last time before I leave. She's standing by my desk, hands clasped in front of her, looking young and innocent and worried about a man who's supposed to be her enemy.
"I'll be back," I say again.
It's not a promise, exactly. But it's as close as I can get.
Because the truth is, I want to come back. I want to come back to her, to this house, to whatever the hell this thing is that's been building between us.
Which means I’m completely fucked.