Chapter 6 - Thorns in the Dark
Living with Damiano Moretti was like living with a thunderstorm that had learned how to wear a suit.
For three days, Khloe stayed inside the penthouse. Damiano was rarely there during the day; he was waging a silent, brutal war across the five boroughs, systematically cutting off the Lucchesi family’s supply lines, their safe houses, and their bank accounts. When he returned at night, he looked exhausted, his tie loosened, the scent of stress clinging to him.
But the moment he saw her, the tension would drain from his face.
On Wednesday night, Khloe couldn't sleep. She walked down into the massive kitchen to make some chamomile tea. She found Damiano sitting at the kitchen island, a glass of dark scotch in his hand, staring out at the city lights. His jacket was off, his white shirt sleeves rolled up, revealing thick, powerful forearms covered in old battle scars.
“You should be resting,” she said softly, stepping into the kitchen.
Damiano didn't startle; he had likely heard her footsteps from the hallway. “I don't sleep well when the world is loud.”
“Is it loud tonight?”
“The Lucchesis are backed into a corner,” he said, taking a slow sip of his scotch. “Thursday is tomorrow. The deadline for the ransom. They think I am going to show up at Pier 17 with bags of cash.”
Khloe sat on the stool next to him. “Are you?”
“I am showing up with sixty men and enough ammunition to sink the pier,” Damiano said coldly. “I don't negotiate with people who threaten what is mine.”
Khloe’s heart skipped a beat at the phrase what is mine. She reached out, her smaller, softer hand covering his scarred knuckles. “Damiano... be careful. Please. I’ve grown used to you coming into my shop every Friday. I don't want to have to find a new regular customer.”
Damiano turned his hand over, lacing his fingers through hers. He looked at her curvy figure in the soft silk pajamas he had ordered for her, his eyes darkening with an entirely different kind of hunger.
“Khloe,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “If anything happens to me tomorrow... the penthouse, the shop, the accounts... they are all taken care of. You will never have to worry about rent again.”
“Don't talk like that,” she said, her voice breaking. “I don't want your money, Damiano. I want you. Thorns, suits, mafia drama, and all. I’ve fallen for you, you idiot.”
Damiano froze. The Devil of New York looked entirely stunned.
Before he could speak, Khloe leaned in and pressed her lips to his.
May you like
The kiss began gently, a soft testing of boundaries, but the moment Damiano realized she was real, his control snapped. He pulled her onto his lap, his large hands anchoring her hips against him as he kissed her with a fierce, desperate passion that left them both gasping for air. It was a promise, a vow, and a declaration of war all wrapped into one.
When he finally pulled back, his gray eyes were burning. “I will come back to you tomorrow, Khloe. And I will bring you the head of anyone who ever made you afraid.”
