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"Damien, you know your mother has never liked me," I whisper, my voice laced with worry.
He reaches over, takes my hand in his, and presses his lips to my knuckles. "Don't worry, love," he reassures me firmly. "I won't let any harm come to you. If she so much as disrespects you, I'll cut her down quickly.” I nod, drawing strength from his protective vow, and with a deep breath, I ready myself to face whatever waits inside.
As Damien and I enter his mother's house, I take a moment to appreciate the understated elegance of the space. The house is nice, its charm distinct from the grandeur of our home but no less luxurious. We’re barely through the door when the butler greets us, his postured frame arching into a small bow. Without a word, he gestures us forward, leading the way to the living room.
The moment we step into the room, Damien's mother rises from her seat, and her presence is commanding yet not overbearing. My heart hammers in my chest as she looks directly at me, but her eyes are softer than I have ever seen them.
"Isabella, Damien," she says, her voice surprisingly gentle. "Thank you for coming." Despite myself, I am touched by her acknowledgment. It's an unexpected warmth in a place I had steeled myself to feel cold and unwelcoming.
We all take our seats in the living room, and the atmosphere is thick with unease. Damien's mother's gaze never leaves mine, and I feel as if I'm under a microscope, her critical eye searching for something within me. Then, she takes a deep breath and begins to speak, her voice carrying a gravity that is both unfamiliar and disconcerting.
"Isabella, I... I want to apologize to you," she starts, her voice laced with sincerity. "I know I’ve been... less than hospitable in the past. It was even worse after... after Jackson's death." She pauses, seeming to gather the strength to continue. "I let my prejudice interfere with you feeling welcome into our family. Then, I let grief cloud my judgment. Jackson….he wasn't a saint. He was reckless, careless even. Often got himself tangled up with the wrong people, and... I regret that I wasn't there for him. That we, as a family, couldn't save him from himself."
Her eyes meet mine with a vulnerability I've never seen in her before. "My behavior towards you came from a place of guilt. For that, I'm truly sorry. I would like to be a part of my grandchild's life, and I'd like to start over with you. I never gave you a fair chance, and I see that now."
The room is heavy with her words, and for several moments, I'm utterly speechless. Fortunately, Damien steps in. "Mom, give Isabella some time to process this," he says firmly.
His mother nods, a small semblance of relief in her eyes. "That's all I can ask for," she replies.
With the awkwardness still permeating every corner of the room, we eat a small meal. Few words are exchanged, and the clinking of cutlery on fine china fills the silence. As we leave, I find myself reeling from the shock like a coat I can't seem to shed.
26
CHAPTER 26
Damien
The city glides by in a somber dance of shadows and streetlights as the familiar path to the warehouse unravels before us. I can feel the weight of the gun at my side, which is always a constant companion. Beside me, Victor drives in silence as his eyes scan the road and our surroundings with practiced paranoia. Our cargo tonight isn't ordinary. It’s another batch of untraceable weapons meant to strengthen our ranks and tighten our grip on the city's underworld.
It's lucrative, it's necessary, and it's dangerous. The tension is as thick as the darkness that surrounds the industrial district we're heading into. Every shipment like this is a risk. Every deal is a potential double-cross. However, we're no strangers to the knife-edge balance of power and threat. It's the lifeblood of our operations. As the warehouse comes into view, I ready myself for another night's work in the family business.
Victor breaks the silence, casting a glance my way. "So, how's married life treating you, boss?" he asks, a sly grin tugging at his lips.
I chuckle as I maneuver one hand to fish out the sonogram from my pocket. "It's great," I say as I pass the glossy image to him.
Victor squints at the image, then breaks into his signature mischievous grin. "The kid looks weird. No surprise, given what his father looks like."
I can't help but laugh and shake my head. "Shut the fuck up, Victor."
His laugh echoes through the car. "Never thought I'd see the day. Damien Blackhart, ensnared by a woman and happy about having a baby."
With a nod of acknowledgment, I focus back on the road. "Neither did I," I admit, my voice more somber than intended. I’m married with a kid on the way. Never in a million years did I think I’d be here. With my dead brother’s widow, no less. It’s crazy, but I have no regrets. Isabella is mine.
Victor eyes me with sudden understanding. "Holy shit, you're in love," he says with incredulity tinged with respect.
I can't suppress the smile that forms on my face. "Yeah," I confess. "I told her, but she hasn't said it back yet."
"That fucking sucks. Don't worry," he says, clasping my shoulder in solid reassurance. "I've seen you two together. She loves you, even if she won't admit it yet. She's got to acknowledge it herself first. That she's fallen for a guy who was her captor. Who almost destroyed her. Once that clicks, she'll be all over you, man."
"Thanks for the pep talk, Dr. Love," I reply with amusement, layering over the gratitude in my voice.
We share another round of laughter that fills the car, overlaying the tension of the business that lies ahead. My mind momentarily drifts away from the underworld's shadows to thoughts of Isabella. Every day, I see it more clearly. The way she looks at me is softer, more tender. She's changing, growing round with our child, and there's this glow about her that outshines the darkness I deal with daily. I find myself yearning to leave all the chaos behind, to immerse myself in the tranquility that surrounds her.
Time spent with Isabella unfurls a part of me I hadn't believed existed. A gentleness buried beneath layers of necessary ruthlessness. I fantasize about a life where my days are filled with her laughter and our future child's babble, rather than the cold metal of a gun and the stench of blood. She's my unexpected salvation, a beacon guiding me to a shore I never thought I'd want to reach. As we pull up to the warehouse, a cold prick of unease stabs at me. The front is deserted, void of the usual guards who should be standing watch.
"Damn it," I curse under my breath. "My own men can't even follow a simple schedule." Disappointment grinds inside me like a drill, twisting with the certainty that I'll have to remind someone of their duties. With a heavy hand.
Stepping inside with Victor close behind, the atmosphere is thick with wrongness. My gaze darts through the dim interior, noting the crates of incoming arms scattered haphazardly. A spark of rage ignites within me. What the hell happened here? Not a single crate has been shuffled into place for tonight's operation.
