Chapter 4 - The Crack in the Armor
For the first time in four years, the King of the Gulf let his knees touch the floor before his child.
Damon reached out with trembling hands, his large, calloused fingers gently cupping Eli’s small cheek.
"Eli," Damon whispered, his voice cracking with an emotion he had spent years trying to bury under power and corporate war. "Look at me, son. Please."
Eli slowly lifted his face from Mara’s shoulder, his tear-stained blue eyes meeting his father's matching gaze.
"I didn't lock the door on your mother, Eli," Damon said softly, a single, heavy tear escaping his eye and tracing down his dark beard. "The night she died... she was sick. In her heart. She drove away in the storm, and I tried to stop her. I chased her car for miles, son. I tried to save her. I couldn't."
Eli stared at his father, his breath coming in tiny gasps.
"And when I look at you..." Damon continued, his voice trembling violently, "I don't see her ghost. I see the sweetest, bravest part of my life. I stay away because... because I thought my life, my world, was too dangerous for you. I thought if I touched you, I would break you like I broke her."
"Dad..." Eli whimpered.
Damon pulled Eli out of Mara’s lap and gathered the boy into his massive arms, lifting him against his chest. Eli wrapped his arms around his father's neck, sobbing loudly, releasing fourteen months of trapped, terrifying grief.
Damon closed his eyes, burying his face in his son's shoulder, holding him as if he were the only fragile thing left in a brutal world.
Mara sat on the cold floor, watching the powerful tycoon weep over his son. A knot of deep emotion tightened in her chest. This was not a cold-blooded killer or a ruthless mobster. This was a broken man who was drowning in grief, isolating himself behind walls of stone and money because he believed he was a curse to the people he loved.
After several minutes, Eli’s desperate sobs quieted into tired hiccups. The boy’s eyelids grew heavy, exhausted by the emotional release, and he fell asleep against Damon’s shoulder.
Damon stood up, carrying his son with gentle ease. He looked down at Mara, who was still kneeling on the floor.
He held out his free hand to her.
Mara looked at his broad, strong hand, then reached up and placed her small fingers in his palm. His grip was warm, solid, and surprisingly gentle as he pulled her effortlessly to her feet.
"Thank you," Damon said, his amber eyes searching her face with an intensity that made Mara’s heart skip a beat. "He spoke. Because of you."
"He spoke because he needed his father, Mr. Cross," Mara said softly, keeping her hand in his for a second longer than necessary before stepping back. "They all do. They don't want a billionaire guardian. They just want their dad."
Damon looked down at sleeping Eli, then back at Mara. "Call me Damon."
Before Mara could answer, the sharp sound of heels clicking against marble echoed from the main foyer.
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Ruth stepped into the gallery, looking unusually pale and tense.
"Mr. Cross," Ruth said quietly, her eyes darting nervously toward the entrance. "We have a problem. Federal Agents standard unit... and a gentleman claiming to be Miss Ellison's ex-husband, accompanied by parish deputies."
