Page 94 of Lethal Devotion
“For me to leave.”
Damian’s shoulders drop. “Yes,” he says, and I feel my chest hollow out, my entire body aching with the need to not believe him.
But I can see the sincerity in his eyes, hear it in his voice, and I know he thinks he’s doing what’s best—which somehow makes it all so much worse.
As if he knows what’s best for me, and I don’t.
As if he really, truly believes that I could never love a man like him.
25
DAMIAN
Walking away from Sienna is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. But I have to, before I can change my mind, before the look of hurt in her green eyes breaks down what's left of my resolve. I leave her there outside of the library, staring after me, and I don’t look back. I can’t bear it if I see her cry.
This is for the best. I tell myself that over and over again as I stride down the hallway, each step feeling like I'm tearing something vital out of my chest. She thinks I'm good with her son. She thinks we could have a family. She thinks I'm worth fighting for.
She's wrong about all of it.
She doesn’t understand, not really. She’s been here for a few weeks. Not long enough to realize what committing herself to this life would mean, what it would do to her in the end. The world that she would raise her son in.
The marble floors of the estate echo under my boots as I make my way to my office, trying to put distance between myself and the woman who's managed to crawl under my skin in ways I never thought possible. I can still smell her on me, still feel the phantom touch of her hands on my body, still hear the way she said my namewhen I was buried deep inside her. The memory makes my cock twitch, and I curse under my breath.
I need my head clear if I'm going to protect her. If I'm going to finish this.
I pour myself three fingers of vodka when I reach my office and down it in one swallow, welcoming the burn. It doesn't help. Nothing helps when it comes to her. From the moment I saw her in that warehouse, from the moment she fought me in the church like a wildcat, she's been under my skin. I told myself it was just lust, just the natural response of a man who's been focused on things besides sex for too long. But it's more than that, and I'm too much of a coward to admit it.
The door to my office opens without a knock, and I don't need to turn around to know it's Konstantin. I turn to face him, taking in his grim expression. Konstantin Abramov is a man who's seen his share of violence, who inherited an empire of blood and brutality, but there's something different in his expression. Something final.
"The Russos?" I ask, though I already know the answer.
He nods, moving to pour himself a drink from my bar. "We've located them. Giovanni, his remaining soldiers—or most of them, anyway. They moved to a new safe house, one they don’t think anyone knows the location of. But one of his men had a loose tongue. Guess he didn’t want to die with the rest of them, saw the writing on the wall.” Konstantin's smile is cold. "This ends tonight, Damian."
“Good.” I want it over with. All of it, except for?—
Except for what I have with her.
I’m not ready for that to end. But when the threat of the Russos ends, so does that.
And it’s for the best. I keep telling myself that, as I reach for the gun and bullets in my desk.
We go over the plan. Twenty of our men to take out roughly a dozen of theirs. There might be others, scattered around—it’s hard to salt the earth of any crime family, but if the boss is killed, the others will melt away. We can’t kill all the vermin, but anyone there tonight,we’ll take out. “And Sal?” I ask, remembering him in the warehouse, the way he spoke about Sienna. I want him dead, too.
Konstantin frowns. “We don’t have any intel on him. Giovanni might have cut him loose—he might have gone to ground. We can’t be sure. But Giovanni is who we need to focus on.”
I nod. I know he’s right, no matter how much I want to get revenge on every single one of them. The don is the one who needs to die, first and foremost.
I strap on my shoulder holster, then add a knife to my boot. The familiar weight of weapons grounds me, reminds me who I am. What I am: the enforcer for the Abramov Bratva. I'm a killer, a man who's taken more lives than I can count. I'm not husband material. I'm not father material. I'm certainly not the kind of man who deserves someone like Sienna.
She’ll be grateful, one day, that I cut her loose. That I protected her from something she thought she wanted. She’ll meet someone kinder, gentler?—
The thought of another man touching her makes me feel feral, makes me want to lock her in a fucking room so that no one looks at or touches her but me. Which is just another reason why I need to end this.
She’s not meant to be possessed by someone so violent.
“Did you let Sienna know where we’re going?” Konstantin asks, and my jaw tightens.
“I talked to her.” I holster a gun on my thigh. “When I come back, I’ll deal with the divorce.”
