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I don’t think he even knows. That mask is probably second nature to him at this point.
When our eyes meet across the crowd, he gives me the slightest wink and nod, letting me know I’m doing well so far. My cheeks warm, and I force a tight smile in return, my stomach churning with nerves despite the awe I feel at witnessing Damian operate in his natural element.
My musings are interrupted as a couple of older men approach Edo and me. Edo deftly steers the conversation, giving short replies that don’t invite any questions directly to me. I keep my head down, trying to fade into the background.
Eventually—to my horror—Edo is pulled away, leaving me alone by the ornate French doors that open onto the back patio area. I press myself against the wall, hoping to remain unseen and inconspicuous. This world terrifies me and I have no desire to draw any attention.
This shadowy Mob world that Damian and his family inhabits is so far removed from anything I’ve ever known. The opulence, power, and underlying threat of violence are utterly terrifying to an outsider like me.
Can I ever truly be part of this life? Over the past few weeks, Damian has let me see glimpses of his softer, more vulnerable side outside of the family business. The kind, thoughtful, even tender man he can be when we are alone together. That is the Damian I am slowly but surely developing deeper feelings for.
But here, at Carmine’s funeral viewing, I see the other side of him on full display. The powerful, imposing boss radiating a cold, ruthless intensity. An untouchable prince holding court over his criminal empire. This side of Damian terrifies me, if I’m honest. Can I ever become accustomed to his harsh, uncompromising edges, the constant perceived threats and need for a protective mask?
Could a relationship between us ever truly work? Even if Damian somehow returns my feelings, being with him means being permanently entangled in the dangerous underworld he presides over. Do I have the courage for that kind of life? I was trying to escape Mark and the Carters when I somehow got ensnared with Damian. Do I want a life of always watching my back, never feeling safe?
I know I care for Damian. I can see myself loving him, too. But loving him means loving all of him—including the sinister, brutal side of his existence. Can I reconcile those two warring realities? I couldn’t for Mark.
Damian isn’t Mark, though. Damian has saved me from a fate worse than death. He cares about my feelings, unlike Mark and the Carters.
But even through all that, I still have no answers. Perhaps some sacrifices are too great, no matter how strong the feelings.
I turn toward the open French doors, hoping that a little fresh air will help me compose myself. That’s when I spot an unattended toddler—no more than two years old—in a tiny suit, wobbling his way toward the large swimming pool just beyond the doors.
I look around frantically, but none of the adults seem to notice or are watching him. For a moment, I freeze, wondering whether I should try to intervene and find his parents.
Then with a sickening plunge of my heart, I see the boy’s foot catch on a loose patio stone. He topples forward, arms pinwheeling, a scream escaping his mouth, and disappears under the dark waters of the pool with a small splash.
Before I realize what I’m doing, I kick off my heels and run forward, throwing myself into the pool after the child.
17
DAMIAN
Apiercing scream slices through the somber gathering like a knife.
My head whips toward the sound, eyes widening as I exchange a look with Edo and Nat. It hits me that Alexis is nowhere to be found.
We aren’t the only ones startled—the entire viewing erupts into chaos. Guests surge forward from the sitting room, suits and black dresses swirling. Flashes of silver pistols emerge from suit coats. Panicked shouts and the clack of high heels on marble fill the air as the crowd rushes toward the patio doors.
I shove through the throng, bursting out the doors to the chaos outside. What I see makes my heart nearly stop.
A waterlogged Alexis is treading water in the pool, a thrashing toddler clutched against her chest. The child’s earsplitting wails slice through the air as he flails in Alexis’s arms.
“Emilio!” A woman’s scream, laced with primal terror, cuts through the panic.
I’m going to have a fucking heart attack.
It’s Louisa Santiago—wife to the heir to the Santiago crime family. Her husband and heir to the Santiagos, Carlos, is hot on her heels, his face drained of color.
The gathered crowd parts like the Red Sea as the couple barrels toward the pool. Carlos and Louisa reach the water’s edge just as Alexis hefts the soaked child up with a grunt.
Louisa seizes her son, pulling him into a fierce embrace as great, racking sobs shake her entire frame. Carlos wraps his arms tightly around them both, lips pressed to his wife and child’s brows in fervent thanks.
There’s a beat of heavy silence from the assembled onlookers before the questions start.
“What happened?”
“Is the boy okay?”
