Chapter 13
As midnight approached, the estate settled into a quiet, peaceful stillness.
Clara sat at her new mahogany desk in the executive office, reviewing the final asset transfer documents from Arthur Kensington’s seized accounts.
A soft knock sounded at her door.
“Come in,” Clara said without looking up.
Damian stepped into the room, holding two crystal glasses and a bottle of aged Kentucky rye.
“You’ve been working for fourteen hours straight,” Damian noted, setting the glasses down on her desk.
“I want to make sure every cent Arthur stole is funneled back into legitimate community programs,” Clara explained, looking up at him. “Just like my mother always dreamed of doing.”
Damian poured two fingers of rye into each glass and handed one to her.
“Your mother would be profoundly proud of you,” Damian said softly.
Clara took a sip of the rye, letting the warmth spread through her throat.
“Sometimes I still feel like I’m dreaming,” Clara admitted, tracing the rim of her glass. “Like I’ll wake up in that cramped apartment in Albany and have to check the street before opening the door.”
Damian placed his hand over hers, stopping her movement.
“You never have to check the street again,” Damian said, his voice deep and absolute. “Nobody will ever touch you while I’m breathing.”
Clara looked up into his eyes.
The fierce, dangerous mafia boss had become her protector, her partner, and something much more profound.
Damian leaned in slowly, giving her all the time in the world to pull away.
May you like
Clara didn’t move an inch.
When his lips met hers, it felt less like a beginning and more like an answer to a question twenty years in the making.
