Chapter 3 - Into the Fortress
The drive back to Beacon Hill was dead silent. Lily had fallen asleep in Damien’s lap, her small hand tightly wrapped around his thumb. Damien didn't move an inch the entire ride, terrified of waking her, his eyes staring out the rain-slicked window with a cold, terrifying intensity.
Tommy rode shotgun, his hand resting on his weapon, while I sat in the back with Damien. Every now and then, Damien’s eyes would drift away from the window and land on me. There was no longer condescension or dismissive authority in his gaze. There was awe, gratitude, and something deeper—something that made my heart flutter in a way I hadn't felt in years.
When the heavy iron gates of the Gallion estate parted and pulled shut behind us, the atmosphere shifted. The mansion, which had always felt like a workplace of terror to me, now looked like a sanctuary guarded by a dozen heavily armed men.
“Valen,” Damien commanded as soon as the car doors opened.
A tall, sharp-looking man in a dark trench coat stepped forward, his eyes widening slightly as he saw Damien carrying a child wrapped in his coat, followed by the household maid and a known fugitive.
“Boss?” Valen asked, his hand instinctively resting on his hip.
“Lock down the estate,” Damien ordered, stepping past him into the grand foyer. “Double the perimeter guards. No one enters or leaves without my personal clearance. If an O’Rourke vehicle comes within two blocks of this fence, blow it off the street.”
“Understood, sir,” Valen replied without hesitation, immediately pulling out a radio.
Damien led us up the grand marble staircase—the very staircase I had spent hours on my knees scrubbing. He passed his own master suite and walked down the east wing, stopping in front of a heavy mahogany door. He pushed it open.
The room was untouched. It was a master bedroom filled with soft light, high ceilings, and a plush king-sized bed.
“This was Julian’s room,” Damien said softly, placing Lily gently in the middle of the soft duvet. He pulled the covers over her, stroking her dark hair for a moment before turning back to me. “She stays here. With you.”
I looked around the luxurious room, feeling completely out of place in my dirty clothes and blood-stained trousers. “Damien, I’m dirty. I belong in—”
“Don’t say it,” Damien cut me off sharply, stepping close to me. He reached out, his long fingers gently touching my jaw, tilting my face up to meet his eyes. “Don’t ever say you belong in the servant quarters again. You saved my family’s legacy. You protected my blood when I was too blind to see what was happening under my own nose. You belong wherever you want to be in this house.”
My breath caught in my throat. The proximity, the heat radiating off him, the absolute sincerity in his dark green eyes—it was overwhelming.
A knock at the door broke the tension. A young woman, one of the newer kitchen staff named Maria, stood there holding a medical kit and a stack of clean towels.
“Mr. Gallion,” Maria said nervously. “You asked for medical supplies?”
“Leave them on the table,” Damien said, not taking his eyes off me. “And Maria?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Effective immediately, Chloe is not a member of the staff. She is a guest of the family. If I hear anyone—including Mrs. Higgins—speaking to her with anything less than absolute respect, I will personally throw them out into the street.”
Maria’s eyes widened in shock. “Y-yes, Mr. Gallion. Of course.”
Once Maria left, Damien turned back to me, taking the medical kit. “Sit on the edge of the bed. Let me see that leg.”
“Damien, no, you don't have to—”
“Chloe,” he said softly, a faint, rare smile touching his lips. “I’m a mafia boss. I’m used to getting my way. Sit.”
I sat on the edge of the bed. Damien knelt before me—the powerful king of Boston kneeling at the feet of the maid he used to ignore. He gently rolled up my pant leg, his expression darkening as he saw the jagged cut and the terrible bruises left by O’Rourke’s enforcer.
“He hit you,” Damien murmured, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.
“He wanted to know where Lily was,” I said softly, wincing slightly as he sanitized the wound with gentle, expert care. “I didn't tell him.”
“I know,” Damien said, looking up at me. His green eyes were filled with an emotion so intense it made my pulse race. “You held a secret that could have destroyed O’Rourke, and you bore the pain alone. Why didn't you come to me sooner, Chloe? Why didn't you trust me?”
I looked down at my hands. “Because three years ago, I didn't know who planted the bomb. I didn't know if you wanted Julian’s power, or if you truly loved him. In my world, dangerous men kill everyone in their way.”
Damien’s expression softened with a deep, aching sadness. “I loved my brother. When he died, a part of me died with him. I became ruthless because I thought revenge was all I had left. But you... you saved the only part of him that mattered.”
He finished bandaging my leg, his hands lingering on my calf for a moment before he stood up.
“Get some rest,” he whispered, leaning down. For a split second, I thought he was going to kiss my cheek, but he paused, his lips brushing the air near my ear. “Tomorrow, we go to war. But tonight, you and Lily are safe.”
He turned and walked toward the door, where Tommy was waiting.
May you like
“Callahan,” Damien said. “Downstairs. We have three years of intel to catch up on.”
As the door closed, I collapsed back onto the soft pillows, staring up at the grand ceiling. For the first time in three years, the constant, suffocating fear in my chest began to fade. But a new, terrifying feeling took its place—the realization that I was falling for the most dangerous man in Boston.
