Chapter 45 Chapter Forty-five
Chapter 45
“Yes,” he said, voice tight. “I’m on my way.”
He ended the call and turned, already reaching for his jacket. Every instinct in him screamed to move, now, immediately, without delay. Aria was at a hospital. Alone and vulnerable. Standing on the edge of a decision that would change everything.
He would not let her face that moment without him.
The elevator doors slid open just as he stepped forward.
Rodriguez stood inside.
Calm. Immaculate. Waiting.
Damian stopped short, fury flashing through him. “Move,” he said flatly. “I don’t have time for this.”
Rodriguez didn’t step aside. He didn’t raise his voice either. He simply looked at Damian the way a man looks at a loaded weapon with a cracked safety.
“If you walk out that door,” Rodriguez said, “you will lead Voss straight to her.”
Damian’s jaw clenched. “You don’t know that.”
Rodriguez lifted a hand. One of his men stepped forward, tablet already active. With a flick of his wrist, the screen turned toward Damian, live surveillance feeds, street cams, traffic intersections.
Black SUVs. Familiar plates. Men pretending not to watch.
“They’ve been tracking you since you left my compound,” Rodriguez continued evenly. “You’re the bait, whether you like it or not.”
Rodriguez continued, unhurried. “You show your face at that hospital, every man Voss has in Los Angeles will know within the hour. He’s been waiting for you to make an emotional move. This would be the one.”
Damian’s chest rose and fell. “I don’t care.”
“That,” Rodriguez said quietly, “is the problem.”
Damian stared at the screen, pulse pounding. “So what? I let her walk into that hospital alone?”
“No,” Rodriguez said. “You let her walk out alive.”
Damian laughed, sharp and humorless. “You think she’ll forgive me for that?”
“I’m telling you not to hand Voss your throat on a silver platter.”
Silence stretched between them, thick and heavy.
Damian turned away, dragging a hand through his hair. The image of Aria sitting on a hospital bed, small and overwhelmed, clawed at his ribs. He could almost hear her voice, tight, defensive, scared.
“I won’t forgive myself if I don’t go,” he said, lower now.
Rodriguez stepped closer. “You won’t forgive yourself if you get her killed either.”
Damian turned away, dragging a hand through his hair. The walls felt too close. The air, too thin. Every second stretched, heavy with consequence.
“She’s scared,” Damian said quietly. “She thinks she’s alone.”
Rodriguez’s gaze softened, just slightly. “She’s alive. That’s the part you’re responsible for.”
Silence pressed between them.
Finally, Damian turned back. “Then what do you suggest?”
Rodriguez nodded once, as if the answer had already been decided. “You call the hospital. You request a delay. A reschedule. Medical reasons. Security reasons. It doesn’t matter. You buy time.”
Damian’s hands curled into fists. “And she just… waits?”
“She waits,” Rodriguez said, “because she has no choice. And because deep down, she doesn’t want to do this.”
That hit harder than any accusation.
Damian exhaled slowly, then pulled his phone back out. He didn’t sit. He didn’t relax. He paced as the call connected, every step echoing his restraint.
“This is Damian Cross,” he said when the line picked up. “I’m calling regarding a patient who arrived earlier today under my directive.”
A pause.
“Yes,” Damian continued. “I need the procedure postponed. Rescheduled. Effective immediately.”
Another pause, longer this time.
“No,” he said sharply. “You will not inform her that this came from me. You will cite scheduling conflicts, additional tests, anything you deem appropriate.”
He listened, jaw tight.
“Yes. Tomorrow. Or the next day. That’s acceptable.”
The call ended.
Damian lowered the phone slowly.
Rodriguez studied him. “She’ll be angry.”
Damian didn’t look at him. “I can live with that.”
“What you can’t live with,” Rodriguez said, “is giving Voss a clean shot.”
Damian finally met his eyes. “If anything happens to her because I wasn’t there—”
Rodriguez cut him off. “Then it will be because you were.”
The words landed like a verdict.
Rodriguez stepped aside, letting the elevator doors close behind him. “This is the price of power, Damian. You don’t get to act like a man in love and a king at the same time.”
Damian stood alone as the elevator descended.
Hours later, Damian sat in the darkened penthouse, the city fully awake now. He hadn’t moved, hadn't eaten either. Hadn’t changed out of his clothes as well.
His phone buzzed.
Hospital: Patient has been informed. Procedure postponed. She left without incident.
Relief hit him first, sharp and dizzying.
Then the ache.
She’d left. Again. Without knowing he’d intervened. Without knowing he was right there, stopped only by the weight of enemies and the shadows that followed his name.
Damian leaned forward, elbows on knees, head bowed.
“Soon,” he murmured. “Just hold on a little longer.”
Outside, a black SUV idled across the street, engine humming softly.
Rodriguez had been right.
Love made men visible.
And visibility, in Damian Cross’s world, was a death sentence.
But even knowing that—
Damian would still burn the city down to get to her when the time came.