Chapter 19

Damien’s POV

It was time to finally go back to my high-rise apartment in the heart of Manhattan. Three days in that safehouse had been long enough. The walls were thick, the floors cold, and the air smelled like dust and secrets, but it wasn’t the place that made it unbearable. It was her.

Aria had moved like a shadow those three days she was quiet, careful too careful. She spoke only when I asked, ate only when I ordered, slept curled up on the edge of the bed like a ghost who didn’t want to touch the living. I had questioned her, once, twice, too many times, and she gave me nothing but silence and soft words that tasted like lies. So I stopped asking.

Silence tells me more than begging ever will.

She sat beside me in the car now, seatbelt cutting across the gold of her dress, her hands folded too neatly in her lap. The city stretched outside the tinted glass gray streets, distant sirens, a sun that couldn’t decide if it wanted to shine. Her reflection in the window looked like a woman already halfway gone.

I let the engine hum fill the silence for a while before I spoke. “You’ve been quiet for three days,” I said finally. “That’s not discipline, Aria. That’s hiding.”

Her head turned just slightly, enough for me to catch her profile. “I don’t know what you mean.”

I gave a small laugh that didn’t sound like one. “Don’t you? You saw Mateo at that gala. He led more men from Rivera to attack us. You kissed me like a shield. Since then, you’ve barely breathed unless I told you to. That’s not coincidence. You know something

Her fingers twitched against her thighs. “I’ve told you…”

“You’ve told me nothing,” I cut in, my voice calm but cutting through the space between us like wire. “And now I’m done asking. But don’t mistake my silence for forgiveness. I’ll get it out of you soon enough .”

She turned her face back to the window, jaw tight.

Good. Let her sit with that.

The convoy rolled behind us, two cars heavy with men who knew better than to speak unless I spoke first. The Riveras had gone quiet. Too quiet. But that was fine. Quiet makes men lazy. Quiet makes them bleed slower.

My phone vibrated against my palm. Christiano’s name flashed across the screen.

I answered. “Talk.”

“We got him,” he said, voice steady but low. “Mateo side docks at the Warehouse six.”

My fingers stopped against the leather armrest. “Alive?” I asked, my voice low and steady even though my jaw had already locked tight.

The line went silent, and it wasn’t the kind of silence that left room for hope, it was the kind that pressed against your chest and made the air feel heavy, the kind that told you the answer was already bad.

“No,” Christiano said finally. “One of the boys was too quick. Took him out before we got what you wanted.”

I let out a slow breath through my nose, not loud, not angry, just enough to keep the pulse in my neck from showing. “Send me confirmation.”

“Already on your screen, boss.”

The car ahead turned before my driver even asked, and the whole line behind us followed. Aria turned her head quick, her eyes locking on my face like she was trying to catch something before I hid it. There was a question sitting behind her eyes, tight and sharp.

“Do I have to go?” she asked, her voice so low it almost disappeared in the hum of the tires.

“Yes,” I said. “I won’t let you out of my sight again.”

She bit her bottom lip until it turned pale, her fingers pressed into her thighs, nails biting through the fabric like she was holding herself still with pain. Her knee moved once, then stopped. She didn’t speak again.

The streets outside changed as we drove. The glass and clean lights of the city slid away, turned into steel fences, old brick walls, boarded-up windows and the smell of rust and cold river air. Street signs leaned like no one cared if they fell. It was the kind of place where screams didn’t echo far and where men went when they didn’t plan to come back.

She didn’t move closer to me, but I saw the way her breath changed. It came shorter, sharper. Her shoulders rose slow and stayed high. Her hands never left her lap, but her thumbs kept rubbing the edge of her fingers like she had to feel something real. Her eyes didn’t stay on one thing; they moved window, floor, the reflection of my hands, then back to the window.

I didn’t say a word. She didn’t either. But I could feel it in the air between us her mind was running fast, and every turn the car made only wound her tighter.

The warehouse was a block of rusted steel and broken glass when we pulled up. Two of my men were outside, one smoking, one watching the street like a dog that already smelled blood. They stood straight the second they saw me.

“Stay in the car,” I said, opening my door.

I left her door unlocked. I walked slow enough for her to follow if she wanted. I wanted her to see this. I wanted her to know what happened to men who aimed their guns too close to me.

Inside the warehouse the air was colder, thicker. It smelled like saltwater, old oil, and iron that had dried into the floor a long time ago. Mateo lay on the concrete. His body was twisted wrong. There was dark blood under his head. One of his boots was gone, like someone had dragged him and didn’t care if he left whole. His eyes were still open, staring at the roof that didn’t stare back.

I stood over him with my hands in my pockets. Dead men don’t talk. Dead men don’t confess. Dead men don’t whisper a woman’s name.

“Who fired?” I asked, not lifting my head.

“Luis,” one of my men said. “He reached for his piece. Luis didn’t wait.”

I nodded once. My eyes went to the doorway.

She was there. Aria. One step inside, her arms locked across her chest like a shield that didn’t fit her. Her fingers dug into her own elbows, her shoulders pressed forward like the air was too cold to breathe.

“This is what happens,” I said, my voice flat, even, “to men who use my city to send messages.”

Her lips parted, her chin twitched like a word wanted to come out, but it didn’t. Her feet shifted back, then forward again like she didn’t know which way to run.

I walked closer Just enough for the smell of blood to reach her skin, enough for her to taste the iron on her tongue if she breathed too deep.

Her eyes went past me, to the body, then to the floor, then anywhere that wasn’t my face. Her throat moved as she swallowed.

“You thought I was the worst thing out here,” I said, quiet, close enough for my breath to touch her cheek. “You haven’t seen what waits when I’m not the one holding the leash.”

She flinched small and quick, like she didn’t want me to notice. Her hands gripped her elbows tighter. The blanket she had wrapped around herself in the car slipped down one arm, but she didn’t fix it. Her lips pressed shut until they turned red

“Back in the car,” I said.

The ride back was heavy. The city passed by in pieces She sat stiff,. I didn’t ask what she was thinking. I already knew.

Christiano called again. “Mateo’s people know,” he said. “Word’s spreading fast.”

“Let it spread,” I said. “Let them choke on it.”

He hesitated. “And the girl?”

My eyes flicked to her. She was staring straight ahead now, face calm, but her thigh trembled against the seat.

“She’s right where I want her,” I said, and ended the call.

The rest of the drive was silence. Not empty. Loaded.

When we finally pulled up to the tower, the city looked the same, but she didn’t. Her face was pale, her mouth tight, her hands still clenched like she was holding onto a secret that might cut her open if she let go.

I stepped out first, buttoned my jacket, and didn’t offer her a hand. She followed anyway.