CHAPTER 221

CHAPTER 221

DAMIEN

The rain hammered against the windshield like it was trying to punish me for leaving.

I drove through the city streets without any real destination, knuckles white on the steering wheel, jaw locked so tight it sent sharp pain radiating up my temples. Every red light felt like a personal insult. Every slow driver in front of me made my foot itch to slam the gas pedal. But I kept my speed steady, barely, because even in this storm of rage and fear, one thought cut through everything else: Brielle was pregnant. Our daughter was inside her. I couldn’t risk an accident. Not when I had already risked everything by walking out on her.

“Yes… I think I want to see him.”

Her words kept replaying in my head, soft but resolute, like a knife twisting deeper with every loop. Thomas fucking Lancaster. The man who had blackmailed me into marrying his daughter. The man who had helped cover up the murder of my real parents and then used their blood as leverage for years. The man who had treated Brielle like a pawn on a chessboard for her entire life. And she still wanted to sit across from him. To give him a chance. To hear him out.

I slammed my fist against the dashboard. The horn blared sharply into the night, but it did nothing to ease the pressure building in my chest.

The penthouse had felt too small, too full of her scent and the memory of her tears. I couldn’t stay there and watch her make a decision that could destroy us. So I left. Like a coward. Like the man who had promised to protect her from everything including herself  and then walked away when it mattered most.

My hands were shaking when I finally pulled into the private underground garage beneath Dominic Elite. The club was one of the few places where power moved quietly and no one asked questions. The hostess recognized me instantly and waved me through with a respectful nod. I didn’t head for the main lounge. I went straight to the back bar.

The bartender, an older man who had served me for years, nodded once. “The usual, Mr. Rossi?”

“Double. Neat.”

He poured the scotch without comment and slid the glass across the polished wood. I downed half of it in one burning swallow, the liquid fire doing little to warm the ice in my veins.

I didn’t answer. I just took the glass and downed half of it in one burning swallow. The liquid fire did nothing to warm the ice spreading through my veins. I signaled for another. Marco poured without comment.

I stared into the amber liquid, jaw tight, mind racing.

Brielle. My Luna. My wife. The woman carrying our daughter. The only person in this world who had ever made me feel like I was more than the sum of my scars and my empire. And she wanted to see him.

I finished the second glass and motioned for a third. The alcohol was starting to blur the edges, but the pain in my chest only sharpened.

What if he manipulated her again? What if one conversation undid months of healing? What if she walked into that meeting and came back broken, stressed, triggering another scare? I couldn’t survive that. I wouldn’t.

My phone sat heavy in my pocket. I pulled it out, thumb hovering over her name. I wanted to call her. I wanted to tell her I was sorry for storming out. That I was terrified, not angry. That Thomas didn’t deserve one more second of her time or her tears.

Instead, I scrolled down and tapped Jack’s name.

He picked up on the second ring, voice laced with that familiar dry amusement. “Well, well. Damien Rossi. It’s been a while. I was starting to think you finally lost my number after I helped you bury the Morettis. Or did you just get too busy playing happy family with your pregnant wife?”

I exhaled sharply, signaling Marco for another drink. The scotch burned going down, but it did nothing to loosen the knot in my chest. “Jack. I need you to look into something for me.”

Jack chuckled, low and knowing. “Straight to business. No ‘how are you, Jack? Enjoying retirement?’ Typical. What’s going on? You sound like shit. Brielle okay?”

“She’s fine,” I said tightly. “Physically. But Thomas Lancaster has been calling her. Multiple times. After almost a year of silence. She wants to see him.”

There was a beat of silence on the other end. When Jack spoke again, his tone had lost the teasing edge. “Thomas. Your father-in-law. The same bastard who helped orchestrate the cover-up on your parents and blackmailed you into marrying his daughter. And she wants to sit down with him? Voluntarily?”

“Yeah.” I rubbed my temple, the headache building behind my eyes. “She says she needs closure. For herself. For our daughter. I told her no. Begged her. We fought. I walked out.”

Jack let out a low whistle. “Damn. That’s rough. You, walking out on Brielle? She must have really hit a nerve. Look, man, I get it. You’re protective as hell especially now with the baby on the way. But Brielle’s not stupid. She knows what he is.”

“She knows,” I agreed, voice dark. “I just can’t stand the thought of him getting close enough to exploit her again.”

Jack was quiet for a moment. I could almost hear him thinking, wheels turning the way they always did when I gave him a problem. “So what do you need from me? Surveillance on Thomas? Dig into his recent movements? Financials? New associates?”

I leaned back in the leather chair, staring at the amber liquid in my glass. The bar was dimly lit, jazz playing softly in the background, but none of it soothed the storm inside me. “All of it. Look into if he’s been into anything new lately. New deals. New allies. Health issues. Anything that might explain why he’s suddenly reaching out after all this time. I want to know if this is just guilt or another angle.”

“Fair enough,” Jack said. I could hear him typing in the background, already getting to work. “I’ll start digging tonight. Give me a couple days for anything substantial.

“Thank you,” I muttered. “And Jack… keep it quiet. I don’t want Brielle knowing I’m looking into him unless I have to.”

“Understood. I’ll update you soon. Try not to drink the whole bar dry before then. And maybe call your wife. She’s probably crying on the couch right now wondering where the hell you went.”

I ended the call without another word and set the phone down. The scotch was starting to blur the edges, but the fear and anger were still there, sharp as ever.

Thomas Lancaster didn’t get to come back into our lives. Not without consequences.

I signaled Marco for one more drink

The fourth glass sat empty before I even registered finishing it.

Marco set down a fifth without being asked. I stared at it for a long moment. Then I pushed it back.

“Keep it.”

He took the glass without a word.

I sat there for another minute, maybe two, the jazz bleeding into the background noise of my own thoughts. The anger had dulled. The fear hadn’t. It never did with Brielle. That was the problem with loving someone the way I loved her — it didn’t leave room for logic. Just her.

My hand found the car key in my jacket pocket.

I stood. Dropped enough cash on the bar to cover the tab and then some.

“Night, Mr. Rossi.”

I walked back to my car. The rage from earlier felt far away now. Still there, but distant, like a storm moving off. What was left underneath it wasn’t any more comfortable. It was just quieter. Just the truth sitting there without anything to cover it up.

I was afraid. That was all this was. I was terrified of Thomas Lancaster getting close to her. Terrified of watching her unravel again. Terrified of our daughter being born into the shadow of that man. I had dressed it up in anger because anger was easier to carry than fear, but that was all it ever was.

And instead of saying that…instead of just telling Brielle I am scared, I need you to help me understand why you have to do this — I had slammed out the door

That thought landed harder than the scotch ever could.

I pulled open the car door and got in. Sat in the dark for a second. Gripped the wheel.

My phone was still in my pocket. I thought about pulling it out, calling her, saying something. But whatever needed to be said deserved to be said in person. Face to face.

No matter how angry I get. No matter how far I drive or how many glasses it takes to dull the edge of it.

No matter how much it scares me, what she might decide. No matter how much I hate the man she wants to face.

I cannot leave Brielle alone.

I pressed down on the accelerator.

I was going home.