Chapter 5 - The King’s Obsession
The days at the Newport fortress settled into a tense, suffocating routine.
Damian cleared his schedule. A man who governed a criminal empire stretching from Boston to Philadelphia was suddenly home every evening, watching Clara bathe the boys, watching her rock Owen to sleep, standing silently in the doorway of the nursery.
Clara tried to maintain boundaries. She wore high-collared dresses, kept her eyes on the floor, and addressed him only as "Mr. Costello."
One midnight, while she was pacing the nursery with a teething Owen, Damian stepped out of the shadows. He had shed his jacket and tie; his white dress shirt was unbuttoned at the throat, sleeves rolled up over forearms corded with muscle and crisscrossed with faded knife scars.
"Give him to me," Damian said softly.
Clara looked at him, surprised. "He’s irritable, sir. He might bite."
Damian took the crying boy gently from her arms. For a man whose hands had ended dozens of lives, he held his son with breathtaking gentleness. He nestled Owen against his broad chest, humming a low, wordless melody beneath his breath. Within two minutes, the baby stopped crying and drifted off, clutching Damian’s thumb.
Clara watched, mesmerized. "You're good with him."
"My father beat me every day until I learned not to cry," Damian murmured, laying Owen into the crib and pulling the sheet over him. "I will burn this entire continent to ash before anyone touches these boys."
He turned to face Clara. The nursery was lit only by a faint, amber nightlight.
"I received a report from Providence this morning," Damian said, stepping closer. "Your mother underwent surgery by the chief of oncology at Johns Hopkins. It was successful. Her cancer is in remission."
Clara gasped, tears springing to her eyes. "You... you brought a specialist?"
"I bought the wing of the hospital," he corrected smoothly. "She will never wait for a bed again. She will have the best private nurses on the eastern seaboard."
Clara covered her mouth, a sob escaping her lips. "Why? Why do you do this?"
"Because you gave me back my soul," Damian said, his voice dropping into that dark, hypnotic register. He closed the remaining distance between them until Clara was pressed lightly against the wooden railing of the crib. He leaned in, his breath warm against her cheek. "And because I want you to look at me without running."
"Damian..." she breathed, using his first name for the first time without realizing it. "I am just a maid. I don't belong in your world of blood and bullets."
May you like
"You walked through fire for my blood," Damian said fiercely, his hand coming up to cup her neck, his thumb brushing her trembling lower lip. "You belong nowhere else."
***
