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22
Aria woke up alone.She lay there for a moment, listening to Damian moving around in the living room, trying to put her finger on what was different. It took her a minute to figureitout.
She’d slept without a singlenightmare.
She wasn’t naive enough to think talking about her kidnapping with Damian would undo all the damage. What she’d been through was traumatic, and she’d suffered enough trauma in the past to know that it never really left you. Long after she and Primo had talked about their parents’ death, long after she’d stopped having nightmares about the night of the fire, the pain and fear of it had lurked underherskin.
But there was no denying that acknowledging the pain eased its passing. The rest of it would take time — time in which she was safe and in charge of her owncircumstances.
She would spend that time with Damian. Little by little, she would feel safe again. Someday the trauma of her weeks in Greece would fade to scar tissue — present but no longer painful to thetouch.
She sat up and stretched, then climbed out of bed and slipped on one of the hotel robes. She walked barefoot into the living room where Damian was pouring coffee from an elaborately set roomservicetray.
He looked up as she came in and set down the coffee pot. He smiled and cametowardher.
“I was going to bring you breakfast in bed,” he said,kissingher.
“I’m more interested in that coffee.” She returned his kiss, relishing the feel of his body against hers. “And the manpouringit.”
“You don’t have to choose,” he said, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. “The world is youroyster.”
She wanted to believe it was true, but there was no denying that there were still obstacles between them and a future in which they couldbefree.
He patted her ass as she crossed to the other side of the table. She picked up one of the mugs and took a sip of the dark, bitter coffee. Taking a seat in one of the chairs, she tucked her legs under her body and reached for acroissant.
She looked up at Damian. “Whatnow?”
She didn’t want to pretend the war wasn’t under way anymore. She didn’t want to pretend Primo wasn’t the enemy, that she and Damian could remain secluded in Paris, that their love could hold at bay the violence thatwouldcome.
She hadn’t been part of Primo’s business in New York. Hadn’t wanted to be part of it. But Damian was her lover, her soulmate. There could be no separation between his work and their life together and she could no longer fool herself into believing that turning a blind eye made herinnocent.
She hadn’t been innocent all these years. She’d used Primo’s money to establish a false sense of security, to go to college, to lick the wounds she’d suffered the night herparentsdied.
Now she was ready to own her choices. Angel and Jenna had made their peace with the business — Angel through the charitable foundation that seemed to mean so much to her, Jenna through her unquestioning love forFarrell.
Aria would find herownway.
Damian sat across from her and studied her over his coffee cup. She had the sense that he was considering something as he watched her, that he was making some kind ofdecision.
“We’re going to Christophe’s cyber lab today,”hesaid.
She raised her eyebrows. “Christophe has acyberlab?”
He nodded. “A pretty impressive one, and it pains me to say that because I’ve made cyber capability a cornerstone of my operation inNewYork.”
She didn’t want to make a big deal of the confession — but she knew it was one. Damian had crossed a line, including her in details of his operation that would leave him vulnerable if Primo or Malcolm everfoundout.
To say nothing of StefanoAnastos.
He was sending her a message, telling her that she was part of it now — partofhim.
That she was onhisteam.
“That’s unexpected,”shesaid.
“Is it?” He took a bite of the omelet in front of him. “It always seemed like a no-brainer to me. Can’t compete in this world without information. It’s the most valuable commodity that exists. And you can’t get information in this day and age without significant cyber capability. Which is why I should have suspected the Syndicate had their ownoperation.”
“It makes sense,” she said, spreading jam on a piece of the croissant. “It’s just more… elegant than Iexpected.”
