Chapter 6 - THE MIDNIGHT VISITORThe penthouse suite at the top of the Caruso estate was a fortress of glass, steel, and old-world luxury. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the glittering Manhattan skyline across the river, while reinforced security shutters remained locked tight against the outside world.
Elena tucked Sofia into a massive, velvet-lined antique crib in the adjoining nursery, smoothing the blankets over the little girl's shoulders. Sofia stirred, murmuring something incoherent before sinking back into a deep, peaceful sleep.
When Elena stepped back out into the dimly lit master study, she found Damian standing by the wet bar, pouring two fingers of amber bourbon into a crystal glass. He had discarded his suit jacket, his white dress shirt rolled up at the elbows to reveal thick, scarred forearms.
"She's sleeping," Elena said quietly, keeping her distance by the doorframe.
"Good," Damian murmured without turning around. He downed the bourbon in a single swallow, setting the glass down with a sharp clink. "She hasn't slept through the night without waking up screaming for months. Apparently, she was waiting for the right scent."
Elena crossed her arms, hugging herself against the chill that still lingered in her bones. "Why didn't you kill him?"
"Viktor?" Damian finally turned, leaning his hips against the marble counter. "Because killing him too quickly makes him a martyr to the old guard. He needs to stand trial before the syndicate council. When they see the financial records proving he sold out family secrets to fund his own offshore accounts, they'll execute him themselves. It’s about politics, Elena. In my world, you don't just spill blood; you prove a point."
"And what about me?" Elena’s voice rose slightly, the pent-up trauma of the last two years finally finding an outlet. "What's the political point of keeping a broke waitress and her stolen baby in your fortress? Am I a hostage? A trophy? A convenient cover story?"
Damian pushed off the counter and crossed the room with terrifying speed. Before Elena could react, he was standing right in front of her, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off his chest and smell that intoxicating blend of cedarwood and danger.
"If you were a hostage, Elena, you'd be locked in the basement with Viktor," Damian said, his voice dropping to a low, rough rumble that vibrated through the air. "If you were a trophy, I wouldn't have nearly broken my own hand keeping you safe tonight."
He reached out, his warm fingertips gently brushing against her jawline, tracing the path of a dried tear on her cheek. Elena froze, her breath catching in her throat. Every instinct screamed at her to step back, to run away from the raw, untamed power of the man before her. But her feet were glued to the floor.
"You're the mother of my child," Damian whispered, his dark eyes searching her face with an intensity that felt like a physical touch. "The only woman who ever broke through my walls without even trying. And if anyone thinks they can take you away from me again, they'll learn why they call me a monster."
Before Elena could form a reply, the security panel beside the heavy oak door of the suite flashed a blinding, pulsing red.
Warning: Perimeter Breach. Sector Four. North Balcony.
Damian’s expression hardened instantly. The tender moment vanished, replaced in a fraction of a second by the ruthless predator who ruled South Brooklyn.
He drew his Glock from his holster, shoving Elena behind him. "Stay in the nursery. Do not come out, no matter what you hear."
"Damian—"
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"Stay!"
He slipped out into the dark hallway just as the heavy glass doors of the balcony shattered inward with an explosive blast.
