Chapter 5
644words
"A wedding?"
Leo’s words hit me like a fist to the gut. I froze.
A wedding.
Elara was getting married?
"Leo, what wedding?" My voice trembled.
"Cut the bullshit!" Leo roared through the phone. "My sister is marrying a goddamn Moretti. The wedding’s in two days. Trinity Church!"
An arranged marriage?
The Morettis?
The only family in Chicago that could touch my power?
"Leo, we can talk about—"
"Talk? Kiss my ass." He hung up.
My hand holding the phone was shaking.
Elara was really getting married.
To another man.
"Damien? What's wrong?" Isabella looked at me, worried. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
I looked at her, but all I could see was Elara.
The first time I saw her flashed in my mind.
Four years ago. Leo brought her to me.
She was 18, standing behind him in a simple white shirt and black pants. Nothing fancy, but damn, she was beautiful. I couldn't look away.
"This is my sister, Elara. Just graduated from Johns Hopkins Med," Leo said, proud. "A damn genius. Got her M.D. at 24."
She gave me a shy nod. "Mr. Volkov."
Her voice was soft, like a feather brushing against my soul.
I knew right then and there, I was fucked.
Later, I found out she’d turned down a fellowship at Johns Hopkins to stay in Chicago.
The best medical institution in the world.
She threw away her future for me.
And I acted like it was nothing.
"Damien, she's up to something. You should be careful," Isabella was still talking.
I thought about that stormy night.
A shootout with a rival family. I took three bullets. Bled out so much I was fading.
It was her. She stayed by my side all night, stitching me up.
"Does it hurt?" she asked, her touch so careful.
"No," I lied.
It hurt like hell. But watching her, so focused, I didn't want her to stop.
When she finished, she was exhausted. She fell asleep in the chair.
I looked at her tired, beautiful face. Before I knew it, I was carrying her to my bed.
When she woke up, I was on top of her.
"Damien..." Her voice shook.
I thought she'd say no. Push me away.
She didn't.
Her face turned red, and she gave a small nod.
I claimed her a thousand times that night.
After that, she was the only woman in my bed.
For four years, no matter how bad I was hurt, she was always the first one there.
With those delicate hands, she pulled me back from the brink of death again and again.
And I took it all for granted.
"Damien!" Isabella tapped my chest, annoyed. "What are you thinking about?"
I snapped back to reality. I looked at the woman in front of me.
Isabella was beautiful. Wild and seductive.
So why was I looking at her and only seeing Elara?
"Nothing," I said, brushing her off.
"Let's go home then." She clung to my arm, pouting. "I want you to hold me."
I nodded. But my mind was already somewhere else.
Back at the penthouse, Isabella went to shower. I sat alone in the living room.
I was still holding the medical-grade ointment I’d gotten for Elara.
The cut on her arm… was it still bleeding?
Did someone take care of it for her?
I wanted to call her. But the number wouldn't connect.
She blocked me. Or changed her number. She cut me off.
Completely.
"Damien, are you coming in?" Isabella called from the bathroom.
I walked towards the bathroom, catching my reflection in the mirror.
The tattoo I'd covered on my chest… it ached.
When I reached out and pulled Isabella close, the question almost slipped out:
"Does it still hurt?"
But as the words formed, I didn't even know who I was asking.
