Page 29 of The Beast Who Begged Me

And then, into the dark, so quietly it barely stirs the air between us: “The man who killed your father could still be breathing, Dami. If so, we are going to find him, and we are going to make him pay.”

He doesn’t answer. But he pulls me half an inch closer.

“Go to sleep,” I tell him, though I doubt he will. I doubt I will.

How could either of us possibly sleep?

I wake up and he’s gone.

I feel it before I even open my eyes. The space next to me is empty and cool. The faint indent in the pillow is the only proof he was ever there. A cold, tingling panic crawls up my throat. I sit bolt upright, scan the room⁠—

Nothing but the bright light of morning demanding a way in from around the curtain edges.

I barely pause to pull on my robe—his robe—and I run downstairs, ready to raise the alarm if need be. But I stop dead in the doorway of the kitchen to see Dami sitting there, dressed, with a plate of Rosa’s best breakfast cooking in front of him, tucking into it as he converses with the Morelli Don.

“Sit,” Rosa says to me. “I’ll bring you a plate.”

I sit down hard on the chair next to Dami, and have to hide a wince as my ass protests. I glance from Dami to Luca D’Amato, whose face is impassive as he watches me. “Good morning, Cal. I hope you slept well.”

Is that a reference to our adventures in his formal dining room last night? I’m so beyond caring that it rolls right off. “Not particularly,” I tell him.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

I’m too busy staring at Dami to politely ask Luca how he slept. But Dami doesn’t look at me. He doesn’t look at anyone. He just shovels eggs into his mouth and acts like the only thing in the world is the plate in front of him.

“I was just telling Orsini that I’d like to spend some time with you today,” D’Amato goes on.

“Why?” I ask sharply.

“Business,” is all he says.

“And what did Dami say?” I ask, when no more information is forthcoming.

The question forces Dami to speak for the first time. When he does, you wouldn’t know anything at all was seething under the surface. “I said if Don Clemenza trusts Don Morelli, then so do I.”

His answer hurts, although I’m not sure why.

“Fine,” I say. Rosa sets a plate down before me and I poke at the soft scrambled eggs with my fork. “Where’s Finch?”

“Asleep,” D’Amato says. “He was at Kismet late last night. Came in around three.”

That was right around the time we were…

Heat sweeps up my neck. Dami puts his fork down with a clatter and says loudly, “You know what, Caligula is tired. He should rest today.”

“Of course he should,” D’Amato says smoothly. “And I won’t keep him long. But I think he’d enjoy what I have to show him. And he’d enjoy knowing what I know.”

“Yes,” I say. “I would.”

“Then once you’ve eaten and dressed, come and find me in my study.” With that, Luca D’Amato rises and leaves the room, calling out his thanks to Rosa in Italian.

“What will you do today?” I ask Dami, when the silence stretches out.

“Meet with the reno crew.”

That’s right. He mentioned that meeting yesterday. But fear seizes me once more. “I don’t want you running around New York on your own. Who knows what the Bratva are up to, let alone the Giulianos⁠—”

“I won’t be alone,” Dami says mildly. He hasn’t looked me in the eye once. “Vito will be with me. And as for the Bratva and the Gees, I think that’s what D’Amato wants to talk to you about.”