It took me a moment to move; then I followed.
“I wish you a pleasant evening, Daisy. I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, not looking back as he opened the door.
“Wait—tomorrow?”
He stopped, turning halfway. His gaze was calm, almost detached. “Your father wants you at the restaurant after work. I think he has something to discuss with you.”
“And why doesn’t he tell me himself?”
A light shrug. “Because he has me for that.”
A quick, almost imperceptible wink cut through his composure, and then he disappeared into the night.
Chapter 25 Daisy
Soft murmurs and dim light soaked my father’s restaurant; cigar smoke tangled with the scent of roasted meat in the air. Mafiosi clustered at scattered tables, voices pitched low. My gaze swept the room and snagged on a group near the entrance. Tristan sat at the center—listening more than speaking, leaning back, arms loose, his posture saying:I’m here, but I don’t belong to you.
When he noticed me, he barely lifted his chin. A small nod. Calm. Almost careless. Yet his eyes stayed a beat too long—deliberate, not accidental.
One of my father’s bodyguards appeared at my side and gave a curt gesture, guiding me toward the back.
At the table, my father rose—smiling too bright, too warm.
“Daisy, my darling, I’m so glad you came. Let me introduce you to a close friend, a man who is part of our family.” He gestured toward a figure with his back to me. “Il Lupo. The Wolf. But I think you already know him.”
Myheart stopped. The room emptied of air. The name split something open in me—too familiar, too impossible. The Wolf turned, and I was staring into Damian Miller’s face. The face I thought I knew. My body locked; breath caught. Inside, everything screamed—and nothing came out.
“Hello, Daisy,” Damian said softly. Low. Almost gentle. And under it—the fracture. The thin edge of regret.
My father sat again, satisfied, as if this were nothing at all.
“I suppose you’ve met Damian Miller a few times in New York. He was your boss, wasn’t he? A few days ago, I called him and told him you were here. He was worried. He said you’d asked him for some time away.”
Frozen. Damian. Here. In my father’s restaurant. Not just as Damian Miller—but asIl Lupo. The Wolf. Not just an antiques dealer. Not fate.
Planned. Controlled. Intended.
“Daisy, please, sit,” my father said, motioning to the chair across from Damian.
I sank into it, dazed, my heart thundering like it might tear free.
“What are you doing here?” I managed at last, raw.
He didn’t answer. His eyes locked on mine and held. Invisible wire tightened between us—charge humming through questions, accusations, and the ache that wouldn’t die. The air thickened until it hurt to breathe. I couldn’t look away. Neither could he.
“Damian is here because you uncovered a forgery,” my father said, almost casual.
“What?” The room tilted.
“The seal Damian and I acquired together. You discovered it was fake.”
“Your father and I have known each other a long time,” Damian said evenly.
My father’s hand landed on my shoulder—steadying, anchoring. “Damian and I have worked together for years. We’re close friends. When you moved to Cold Spring and needed work, I asked him to hire you—to keep an eye on you. He agreed immediately.”
For one fragile second, I wanted to believe it was harmless. Protection, nothing more. But the thought died on contact. It wasn’t only a job. It wasn’t only safety.
I had given him my heart—blind—never knowing I’d been caught in a net from the beginning. Every step, every word, maybe every touch, predetermined. Nothing between us had ever been untouched or truly ours.
