Chapter 4 - The War in Chicago
By 2:00 PM, the quiet, secluded estate had transformed into a fortress preparing for an offensive.
Hazel sat in the grand library on the second floor, wearing a soft cream cashmere sweater and tailored trousers provided by Damian’s personal staff. A tea tray sat untouched on the mahogany table beside her.
The door opened, and Damian walked in. He had washed away the blood and dirt from the night before, dressed in an immaculate charcoal-grey Italian suit.
He set a heavy manila folder onto the table in front of her.
“What’s this?” Hazel asked softly.
“Frankie Sullivan’s financial ledger,” Damian said, taking a seat across from her. “And your ex-boyfriend’s location.”
Hazel’s eyes widened. “You found Mark?”
“My men found him in a gambling house in St. Louis three hours ago,” Damian said calmly, taking a sip of his black coffee. “He confessed on tape that he forged your signature on the sixty-thousand-dollar loan note to clear his own horse-racing debts. He was planning to let Frankie take you so he could walk away clean.”
Tears of anger and betrayal welled in Hazel’s eyes, but she forced them back. “What did you do to him?”
“He is currently in the custody of the Missouri state police, facing twenty years for identity theft, bank fraud, and extortion,” Damian replied smoothly. “I prefer legal torture for small men.”
Hazel looked at Damian, her chest tightening with an intense, overwhelming warmth. For six months, she had been drowning alone in a dark sea of fear, hunted by monsters, abandoned by the man she had trusted. And in less than twelve hours, Damian Romano had dismantled her nightmare with a single phone call.
“Why are you doing this for me, Damian?” she whispered, using his first name for the first time. “I’m just a girl who cleaned your floors.”
Damian set his coffee cup down. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, bridging the space between them.
“For four years, Hazel,” Damian said softly, his dark obsidian eyes searching her face, “I lived in a cold, empty house. I thought that keeping everyone away was the only way to keep my soul intact after my father was murdered. I built walls so thick no one could break them.”
He reached out, his warm, strong hand reaching across the table to gently cup her cheek, his thumb tracing her cheekbone with profound tenderness.
“And then last night,” he continued, his voice dropping into a breathless whisper, “a shy girl with brown eyes held my wound together while I bled. And when she fell asleep in my arms, I realized my house wasn't a fortress anymore. It was just a cage. And you are the key.”
Hazel leaned into his touch, her heart soaring with a sweet, soaring emotion she had never known existed.
Before she could speak, the heavy glass windows of the library rattled.
Distant explosions boomed from the south gate of the property. Black smoke began rising into the clear afternoon sky.
Marco burst into the library, his assault rifle slung across his chest. “Don Damian! Sullivan brought fifty men! They’ve breached the outer wall with armored trucks! They’re demanding the girl!”
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Damian didn't flinch. He didn't take his hand off Hazel’s cheek. He pressed his lips gently to her forehead, lingering for a sweet, electrifying second.
“Stay in this room, Hazel,” Damian whispered against her skin. “When I come back... we’re going to discuss our future.”
