Chapter 8 - The Ghost From The Past
“You look breathtaking,” Damian said softly, pulling out her chair.
“You clean up nicely for a man who took a bullet on Tuesday,” Elena replied with a quiet smile, taking her seat.
Damian sat across from her, pouring the coffee himself. “The doctor said my shoulder will be completely healed in two weeks. Mafia bosses tend to have thick skin.”
“Is that what you are?” she asked, meeting his gaze. “A mafia boss?”
“I am whatever this city requires me to be to maintain order,” Damian said frankly. “I have killed men, Elena. I have destroyed families who threatened my people. I will never lie to you about what I am. But to you, I will never be anything other than your shield.”
Elena looked at the steam rising from her cup. “Why me, Damian? You could have any woman in the country. Women with bloodlines, wealth, and power. I walked into your building with forty-three dollars and an eviction notice.”
Damian reached across the table, taking her hand gently. “Because they look at my power and see something to exploit. You looked at my darkness and saw a man who needed someone to brew his espresso correctly. You smiled when I threatened your life. You have a spine of titanium, Elena Marlo. I don't need a queen with money; I have enough wealth to buy small nations. I need a woman who cannot be broken.”
Before Elena could answer, Gerald Chen entered the solarium, his expression unusually grim. He carried a tablet computer and a thick manila envelope.
“Pardon the intrusion, Boss,” Gerald said quietly. “We have an unexpected visitor at the ground-floor security checkpoint.”
Damian’s eyes narrowed into slits of ice. “Who dares come to my building on a Sunday?”
Gerald hesitated, glancing nervously at Elena. “A man named David Vance. He claims he has an urgent personal matter with Ms. Marlo.”
Elena’s blood turned cold. David.
Damian didn't look surprised. In fact, a dark, dangerous smirk touched the corner of his lips. “Send him up to the private conference room on the fifty-ninth floor. Let’s see what the rat has to say.”
“Damian, no,” Elena said, pulling her hand back. “I don't want to see him. He took everything from me. I never want to hear his voice again.”
May you like
Damian rose from his chair, walking around the table until he stood beside her. He reached down, gently lifting her chin until she met his eyes.
“You spent eight months running from the ghost of this man, Elena,” Damian whispered, his voice steady and empowering. “Today, you watch him beg. And then, you leave him in the dust forever.”
