Damien steps in front of me, probably ready to show him the latest knife in his collection, but I grab his hand and squeeze gently. There's too much testosterone on steroids in this room.
"Thank you, but no. My husband is perfectly capable of taking care of me."
He studies me for a full minute, and maybe because he sees the determination in my eyes, he nods slightly.
"If you ever need soldiers, a house,me, Roxy, I'm here. Maybe I wasn't there all those years, but I'm here now."
I feel he's telling me the truth, and a strange warmth enters my chest. For someone who's been starving for affection and attention, I don't know how to handle this avalanche.
I break free from Damien, who immediately grabs me again and looks at me, confused, but I think he reads my intentions on my face, because, reluctantly, he lets me go.
When I'm a couple feet from Marco, I extend my hand, and with a wide smile, I tell him, "I'll call you about that coffee."
He looks at my hand for a few seconds, and as if coming out of a trance, he wraps me in his arms and rests his hand on my head.
"Sì,amorino."
I'm not the type of person who prefers this kind of public affection, but I can't find the strength in me to push him away, so we stay in this embrace until Damien clears his throat.
"My wife also needs oxygen, Marco. She didn't suddenly grow gills."
"Shut up, Kaminski." But he lets me pull away from him.
There are years to catch up on and trust to build, but I feel a family connection for the first time.
Henry's my uncle, but the distance to Austin and his leg problems have made our moments together rare and somehow not complete over the years.
I make a mental note to call him. After all the wedding chaos, we've only had two short conversations since he went home.
Between Marco and Damien, an entire silent conversation takes place through glances, and I can't stop my smile watching both of them mark their territory like alpha wolves. But my heart has already chosen its side.
"I'll be fine with Damien," I tell Marco softly.
Because I see that shadow in my husband's eyes ever since Marzena trapped us on the highway, and I can't stand seeing it there anymore. He needs to understand he can't follow my every step. I'm a big girl and I can carve my own path through the storm even if he's not beside me.
Just survive first, the voice in my mind whispers ironically, because we still have a serial killer to catch.
Chapter 54
Roxy
Red Poppy on a Friday night is chaos in the best way. Men in tailored suits sprawled across red velvet couches, women in dresses that barely qualify as clothing, guys in skin-tight shirts. Every type of person on Earth converges here, and I can't help the grin spreading across my face.
"I don't know how you convinced them to let us come here, but I love you for it," Luna shouts in my ear over the pounding music meant for those who actually want to dance.
It wasn't easy, especially since we're still on high alert with The Bloody Dahlia, but Damien and Roman understood we'd lose our minds locked in the house until they catch the bastard.
For the past few days, Damien's been distant whenever I ask about that lunatic. All he tells me is he needs one more piece of information, and then he'll give me the complete file to analyze.
So until that information arrives, we're in the middle of the dance floor, with eight soldiers positioned throughout the club, eyes glued to us while Damien and Roman discuss an important weapons shipment arriving at the port.
Rihanna's "Breakin’ Dishes" blasts through the speakers, and Luna and I scream the chorus, letting our bodies move with every word.
Luna's wearing a deep blue dress with a square neckline, and she smells delicious—something like white chocolate mixed with caramel. I know that when a certain possessive pakhan gets near her, he won't let her go all night, so I'm making the most of my time with my best friend, spinning her around while trying not to crash into strangers.
At some point I break away from Luna and step back when hands grip my waist. The strangest thing is I know immediately they're not my husband's, because my entire body locks up before I turn to face the guy, who—if he wants to keep his upper limbs attached to his body—should let go in the next three seconds.
Without embarrassment, I turn to him and try to put a polite smile on my face.
