Chapter 2 - The Waking Giant
The Romano estate was placed on total lockdown within ten minutes of Damen’s revival.
Heavy steel security shutters descended over every window of the sprawling stone mansion perched high in the hills. The perimeter gates were sealed, armed guards lined every corridor, and no one—not even high-ranking lieutenants—was permitted to leave the premises.
Damen had been moved to his private master suite on the top floor. Though weak and hooked to intravenous fluids, he refused to be sedated. He sat propped against a mound of black silk pillows, his chest bare beneath a dark velvet robe, his razor-sharp jawline set in stone. The air in his chamber was thick with absolute terror. Three of his top captains stood at the foot of his bed, sweating through their tailored suits.
At the foot of the bed sat Atlas. The massive mastiff refused to move, his golden eyes fixed steadfastly on the heavy oak doors of the bedroom.
“Bring her in,” Damen’s voice growled through the room. It was low, gravelly from the toxin, but contained the authority of a king who ruled an empire of shadows.
The bedroom door swung open. Marcus, Damen’s head of security, ushered me and Ellie into the room. I held Ellie’s small hand tightly in mine. She was wearing her favorite yellow dress, looking tiny and fragile amidst the cold, weapon-clad men filling the master suite.
“Leave us,” Damen commanded, waving a hand toward his captains and guards.
Julian stepped forward from the shadows near the fireplace. “Damen, brother, that’s unwise. She’s just a housemaid. We don't know if she was involved in the poisoning. She was the one who claimed to recognize the toxin—”
“I said leave us,” Damen repeated, his eyes fixing on Julian with a lethal coldness that made the younger brother visibly flinch. “Including you, Julian.”
Julian pressed his lips into a tight line, bowed his head slightly, and walked out of the room, casting a terrifying glance at me as he crossed the threshold. The heavy doors clicked shut, leaving only Damen, Dr. Harrison, my daughter, me, and Atlas in the cavernous room.
As soon as the doors closed, Atlas stood up, walked over to Ellie, and rested his massive head directly in her lap. Ellie giggled softly, wrapping her tiny arms around the dog’s neck.
Damen watched the interaction in complete silence, his dark brows furrowed in disbelief.
“That dog,” Damen said slowly, his intense gaze shifting from Atlas to my face, “has ripped the throat out of three assassins. He broke the arm of a trainer who mistreated him when he was a pup. No one touches Atlas. Not my brother, not my bodyguards, not even me without his permission when he is on guard.” He paused, leaning forward slightly. “Yet he let a child command him.”
“Ellie has a way with animals,” I said quietly, trying to keep my voice steady. “She wasn't afraid of him. Animals know when someone holds no malice.”
Damen’s lips twitched into a faint, dark smile. “Fearlessness is either brilliance or foolishness. Which one is it for you, Clara?”
“I just wanted to keep my daughter safe, Mr. Romano,” I replied firmly.
“You saved my life,” Damen stated plainly. He gestured toward Dr. Harrison. “Harrison told me everything. He said if you hadn't stopped him from injecting epinephrine, my heart would have burst. He also told me you identified digitalis instantly.”
Damen leaned back against his pillows, his dark eyes probing mine as if searching the very depths of my soul. “Housemaids don't know the exact pharmacological mechanics of cardiac glycosides, Clara. They don't recognize the smell of raw foxglove extract. Who are you?”
My breath caught in my throat. I had hidden my true identity for seven long years, working low-wage cleaning jobs under my mother’s maiden name to keep the shadow of my father’s downfall from touching Ellie. If Damen knew I was Sarah Vance—the daughter of the disgraced Dr. Julian Vance—he might view me as an enemy, given my father’s historical ties to rival syndicates.
“My father was a doctor,” I said carefully, choosing every word like I was walking across a minefield. “He taught me botany and pharmacology when I was young. He passed away years ago.”
Damen didn't push further—not yet. He turned his attention to Ellie. “Little girl,” he called softly.
Ellie looked up from scratching Atlas behind his ears. “Yes, sir?”
“What did you say to my dog when you walked into my study?”
Ellie blinked her big, innocent brown eyes. “I told him he was scared. Because his tail was tucked and his eyes were big. When people are scared, they act mean so nobody hurts them. So I touched him to show him it was okay.”
A heavy silence descended upon the room. Damen stared at my six-year-old daughter for a long moment, something cold and guarded softening in his hard face.
“You’re smarter than half the men I pay a million dollars a year to protect me,” Damen murmured. He then looked at me, his gaze turning to molten steel. “Someone in this house put poison in my cup. Someone who had access to my private wing.”
“There was a second saucer on your desk, Mr. Romano,” I blurted out before I could stop myself.
Damen’s eyes snapped to mine. “What?”
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“A second saucer,” I repeated. “Tucked under your ledgers. And the smell of sandalwood cologne was still fresh in the room when your guards breached the door.”
Damen’s jaw locked. He knew exactly who wore that cologne. But before he could speak, a sudden, piercing alarm began to blare throughout the estate, vibrating through the thick stone walls.
