Page 25 of Damon

"Tell Roberto we're not done. His daughter is next."

Not on my watch she isn’t.

I pull two Glocks from the safe in my office, checking the clips, making sure the safeties are off. Whatever game these people are playing, they escalated it from family business to targeting children. That changes everything.

"Damon?"

I turn to find Viviana standing in the doorway, watching me load weapons with wide eyes.

"Jesus, you're quiet," I mutter, sliding one of the Glocks into the holster under my jacket. "Thought I told you to stay in the living room."

"You did. I didn't listen." She steps into the office, her gaze moving from the open weapons safe to the extramagazines I'm stuffing into my pockets. "Are we in immediate danger?"

"We're always in immediate danger. That's the point of being here."

"That's not what I meant."

I know what she meant. She wants to know if the people who tried to grab her cousin are closing in on us, if our safe house has been compromised, if we're about to be under siege.

"No," I say. "This place is still secure. But the situation's changed."

"Because of Sofia."

"Because they're getting desperate, trying to grab kids. Desperate people do stupid things."

"Like what?"

"Like be ballsy enough to grab a ten-year-old girl in broad daylight." I close the weapons safe and lock it. "We’re dealing with fucking animals. Which means they're running out of time for whatever they're planning."

"What do we do?"

"We move up the timeline. I'm leaving for the meeting with your father in an hour."

"Okay." She nods, then pauses. "What should I wear?"

"What?"

"For the meeting. What should I wear? I want Papa to see that I'm okay, that you're taking care of me."

My chest tightens at the way she says it. Like she actually wants her father to think well of me, like it matters to her what Roberto Bonacci thinks about how I'm treating his daughter.

"Change of plans," I say, pushing that thought away. "You're not coming. You’ll be safer here."

"What?" The color drains from her face. "But you said—"

"I said we'd arrange a meeting. I didn't say you'd be there."

"But how will Papa know I'm safe?"

"You're going to record a video message. Time-stamped, personal details only you would know. I'll show it to him myself."

"A video? That's it? But I want to see him. I need to see him."

"No, you don't."

"Yes, I do!" Her voice rises, and I can see the desperation in her eyes. "I haven't seen my family in almost a week. I need to know they're okay, I need to tell Papa—"

"You need to stay alive," I cut her off. "And going to that meeting puts you at risk."