Chapter 11 - The Confession
The morning sun filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse, casting a warm glow over the tangled silk sheets. Harper woke up with her head resting on Damian’s chest. He was already awake, staring at the ceiling, one arm wrapped protectively around her.
“You’re thinking too loudly,” Harper mumbled, tracing patterns on his tattooed chest.
Damian looked down at her, his expression unusually vulnerable. “I’m thinking about how to keep you safe. Volkov won’t stop. The hit at the gala failed, which means he’ll be desperate to finish the job before I retaliate.”
Harper sat up, pulling the sheet around her. The reality of their situation crashed down on her. The passion of the night before couldn't erase the danger of his world.
“I’m terrified, Damian,” she admitted quietly. “Not of you. But of this. I’ve spent my whole life fighting just to survive, to keep Leo breathing. Now, I’m in the middle of a mafia war.”
Damian sat up, framing her face with both hands. “I promise you, on my life, Volkov will not touch a single hair on your head. I have never cared about anything other than the empire. But you… you are my empire now, Harper. You are the only thing that matters.”
It was a confession of love, masked in the brutal language of a kingpin.
May you like
Harper closed her eyes, leaning into his touch. “Just promise me you’ll come back to us. When you go to war with him, promise me you won’t die.”
“I’m too stubborn to die,” Damian swore, kissing her forehead. “I’ll wipe Volkov off the map, and then we’ll build a life. A real one.”
