Under His Roof

Chapter Ten

The gates closed behind us with a heavy metallic sound.

I watched them through the rear window until they disappeared from sight.

Only then did I realize I was still holding Damien's hand.

His thumb rested against the back of mine.

Neither of us had mentioned it since the attack.

I slowly pulled my hand away.

He let me.

No question.

No protest.

That somehow made the gesture feel more intimate than if he'd held on.

I looked toward the shattered rear window.

"That was your idea of keeping me safe?"

Damien's mouth tightened.

"No."

"It didn't feel very safe."

"It wasn't."

"At least you're honest."

"I told you I'd protect you. I didn't tell you nothing would happen."

I turned toward him.

"That's supposed to make me feel better?"

"No."

I almost smiled.

For a man who was supposedly impossible to read, Damien had become surprisingly predictable.

He didn't lie.

He didn't soften reality.

And he certainly didn't apologize for being who he was.

The SUV stopped in front of the mansion.

The door opened.

Damien stepped out first.

Then he offered me his hand.

I stared at it.

I could get out myself.

I knew that.

But after everything that had happened, I took it.

His fingers closed around mine.

He helped me down.

For a second, we stood facing each other.

His gaze moved over me.

"Are you bleeding?"

"No."

"Let me see."

"I'm fine."

"Lena."

There was something in his voice that made me stop arguing.

He gently moved a strand of hair away from my face.

His fingers brushed my temple.

I flinched.

Not from fear.

From the strange awareness that appeared every time he touched me.

His eyes narrowed.

"You're shaking."

"I was shot at."

"I know."

"I think I'm allowed."

He almost smiled.

"Yes."

I looked away.

"Where's my father?"

"They've taken him to the medical wing."

"Can I see him?"

"After the doctors finish."

I nodded.

Then I noticed the blood on Damien's shirt.

My stomach dropped.

"You're hurt."

He looked down.

"It's not mine."

I stared at him.

"How do you know?"

"Because I wasn't hit."

"That doesn't mean the blood isn't yours."

He looked at me.

"You worry too much."

"And you apparently don't worry enough."

His eyes stayed on mine.

Something shifted between us.

Then a voice interrupted.

"Boss."

Victor approached.

"The men who attacked us got away."

Damien's expression immediately changed.

"Who?"

"We don't know."

"Find them."

"We're working on it."

"That's not good enough."

Victor nodded.

"I know."

Damien turned to me.

"Go inside."

"I want to know what's happening."

"You don't need to."

"I was in the car."

"Exactly."

"I'm part of this."

His eyes hardened.

"No."

"I am."

"You were dragged into it."

"And now I'm here."

He stared at me.

Then nodded.

"Fine."

Victor looked between us.

Damien continued.

"They knew our route."

Victor's expression darkened.

"Which means someone gave it to them."

"Yes."

"Inside the organization?"

"Maybe."

I felt a chill.

"One of your men betrayed you?"

Damien looked at me.

"Possibly."

"How many people know where you go?"

"Very few."

"And one of them is working with the people who attacked us?"

"That's what I'm trying to find out."

I crossed my arms.

"Then don't trust anyone."

His gaze sharpened.

"Good advice."

He turned toward Victor.

"Double the security."

Victor nodded.

"And nobody enters the east wing without my permission."

"Understood."

Damien looked at me.

"You're staying there."

"With my father?"

"Your father will be nearby."

I nodded.

"Okay."

I followed him inside.

The mansion felt different now.

Before, it had seemed intimidating.

Now it felt like a fortress under siege.

Men moved through the halls.

Phones rang.

Doors opened and closed.

Nobody spoke loudly.

Everyone seemed to understand that something had changed.

Damien led me upstairs.

We stopped outside a bedroom.

"This is yours."

I looked inside.

My mouth fell open.

It was larger than my entire apartment.

A huge bed.

A sitting area.

A private bathroom.

A balcony overlooking the gardens.

And clothes.

Dozens of dresses hung inside the wardrobe.

I turned around.

"When did you do this?"

"You agreed yesterday."

"Yesterday?"

He nodded.

"You're very fast."

"I like things done."

I walked toward the closet.

"These are my clothes."

"Yes."

"I didn't choose any of this."

"You will."

"What?"

"If you don't like something, replace it."

I looked at him.

"You bought all this without asking me."

"Yes."

I sighed.

"You're impossible."

"So you've said."

He started to leave.

"Damien."

He stopped.

"Thank you."

He looked back.

"For what?"

"For saving me."

His expression softened almost imperceptibly.

"You don't need to thank me."

"I want to."

He nodded.

Then left.

I closed the door.

For the first time since the shooting, I was alone.

I walked toward the balcony.

The gardens were enormous.

Lights illuminated the paths.

Security guards stood at strategic points.

Everything was beautiful.

And completely impossible to escape.

I rested my hands against the railing.

A soft knock sounded.

I turned.

Damien stood in the doorway.

"Your father is awake."

I rushed past him.

He followed.

The medical wing was on the first floor.

When I entered, my father was sitting slightly upright.

His eyes found me.

"Lena."

I smiled.

"Hi."

He looked past me.

Damien entered.

My father's expression hardened.

"You're still here."

Damien nodded.

"I'm staying."

My father looked at me.

"You shouldn't."

"I don't have a choice."

"You always have a choice."

I sat beside him.

"Maybe."

He squeezed my hand.

"Listen to me."

"I'm listening."

"That man..."

He glanced at Damien.

"He's dangerous."

"I know."

"More dangerous than you think."

Damien said nothing.

My father looked at him.

"You'll destroy her."

Something flashed in Damien's eyes.

"No."

My father scoffed.

"You destroyed everything you touched."

Damien's jaw tightened.

"I didn't come here to argue with you."

"Then leave."

"I can't."

"Why?"

Damien looked at me.

The answer was quiet.

"Because she's my responsibility."

My father shook his head.

"No."

Damien's gaze hardened.

"Yes."

I looked between them.

"Stop."

Both men looked at me.

"I don't want to hear you fighting."

My father's expression softened.

"Sorry."

Damien nodded.

I sat there between them.

For the first time, I realized something.

My father hated Damien.

Damien respected my father.

And neither of them trusted the other.

But both were trying to protect me.

It was the strangest triangle I'd ever been trapped inside.

That night, I couldn't sleep.

I kept replaying the attack.

The gunshots.

The glass.

Damien covering me with his body.

His hand holding mine.

I turned over.

Then back again.

Finally, I got out of bed.

I needed water.

I opened the door.

The hallway was dark.

I walked downstairs.

The kitchen was enormous.

I found a glass and filled it.

"Can't sleep?"

I jumped.

Damien stood in the doorway.

He was wearing black sweatpants and a dark T-shirt.

No suit.

No watch.

No polished appearance.

For the first time, he looked almost normal.

Almost.

"You scared me."

"Sorry."

I stared at him.

"Did you just apologize?"

"Don't get used to it."

I smiled.

He walked into the kitchen.

"You should be sleeping."

"So should you."

"I have work."

"At two in the morning?"

"Yes."

"What kind of work?"

He looked at me.

"The kind you don't want to know about."

I leaned against the counter.

"Fair."

Silence settled between us.

Then Damien asked:

"Are you still afraid of me?"

The question caught me off guard.

I looked at him.

"Yes."

He nodded.

"Good."

I frowned.

"But less than before."

His gaze sharpened.

"Why?"

I thought about it.

"Because you had a chance to hurt me."

"When?"

"In the car."

He looked away.

"You didn't."

"No."

"Why?"

He was silent.

Then he said:

"I don't know."

I studied him.

"You really don't?"

"No."

I took a sip of water.

"You're confusing."

"So you've said."

I smiled.

He looked at me.

For a few seconds, neither of us spoke.

Then he stepped closer.

Not enough to touch.

Just enough for me to feel his presence.

"You should go back upstairs."

"Are you ordering me?"

"Yes."

I rolled my eyes.

"There he is."

"What?"

"The terrifying mobster."

His mouth twitched.

"You're getting brave."

"Maybe."

"That's dangerous."

"So are you."

He looked at me for a long moment.

Then he stepped back.

"Goodnight, Lena."

"Goodnight, Damien."

I watched him leave.

And for the first time, I realized I wasn't thinking about the murder.

I wasn't thinking about the marriage.

I wasn't even thinking about the danger.

I was thinking about the way he'd looked at me in the kitchen.

And that frightened me more than anything.

Because I was beginning to see the man beneath the monster.

And I wasn't sure I wanted to stop.