Page 33 of Damon

"When this is over, you get her back exactly as you gave her to me."

It's another promise I'm not sure I can keep, but it's the promise Roberto needs to hear.

"One more thing," he says, standing up. "If you hurt her – if you dishonor her, if you break her heart, if you make her cry – I will kill you slowly."

"Understood."

"I hope so. Because she's my little girl, Mr. Lombardi. My only daughter. And if anything happens to her..."

He doesn't finish the threat. He doesn't need to.

The meeting is over, the temporary truce established, but as I walk back to my car, I can feel Roberto's eyes on my back. The man entrusted me with his most precious possession, and he's already regretting it.

Because he can see what I'm trying not to admit to myself.

This isn't only about protecting Viviana anymore.

It's about keeping her.

And that's going to make everything a hell of a lot more complicated.

Chapter 11: Viviana

I hear the sound of an engine coming up the driveway at almost midnight.

My heart leaps into my throat as I rush to the front window, pulling back the curtain enough to see Damon's black SUV pulling into the circular drive. He's alone, which hopefully means the meeting went well and no one followed him back here.

He's safe. He's back. He kept his not-promise.

The relief that floods through me is so overwhelming it makes my knees weak. I hadn't realized how terrified I was that something would happen to him until the fear disappears, leaving me breathless and shaky.

I watch him get out of the car, moving with that controlled grace that I'm starting to recognize as distinctly his. Even from a distance, I see the tension in his shoulders, the careful way he scans the property before heading for the front door.

The meeting didn't go smoothly.

I hear his key in the lock, hear the familiar sound of him engaging the security system. Then his footsteps in the hallway, getting closer.

"Viviana?"

"I'm here," I call out.

He appears in the living room doorway, still wearing his dark suit from the meeting.

"How did it go?" I ask.

"Better than expected." He loosens his tie, and I see the exhaustion in his movements. "Your father got the message."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." But he doesn't look fine. He looks wound tight, dangerous, like a man who's spent the evening navigating threats and is still running on pure adrenaline.

"What did Papa say?"

"He wants you home."

"And?"

"I told him that wasn't an option right now."