The Don Begged Me Back? Too Late

Damian realized he'd gripped too hard. He let go fast.

The pain hit sharp through my whole wrist. I looked down at the bruise already spreading across my skin, deep purple forming fast.

The dirty work of the Coronelli family had always been Damian's specialty: tracking down debtors, clearing out traitors, the kind of work that built strength and paid well.

After years of it, he was stronger than almost anyone, the kind of man who could snap a neck barehanded if he had to.

I'd asked him once: was it worth it, nearly dying for me over and over?

He'd grinned like he had no doubts at all. "Every time."

"Besides, these hands I've built up. They can kill. But they'll protect you, too."

The hands built to protect me had just become the thing hurting me.

"...Did that hurt?"

Damian looked at me, standing there not saying a word, and his voice went quieter than I expected.

"If you weren't trying to push past me, I wouldn't have—"

He reached out gently, fingers wrapping around my wrist, expression unreadable. "Let me take you to—"

"Damian, are you done? My heart's feeling bad—"

Nina's voice came through from inside the room, thick with held-back crying. Damian dropped my wrist immediately, half-turning back toward the room. Then he stopped.

He glanced down at my wrist. His voice came out rough.

"Go find a nurse. Get it looked at. Nina needs me right now."

The door closed.

I don't know how long I stood in that hallway.

Through the door I could hear Damian's voice going soft and patient as he calmed her down, and Nina's voice carrying over his, tearful and upset: "Is that woman trying to take you from me? I don't want you to go..."

I turned and walked away.

The wall sconce at the end of the corridor flickered once, like something being extinguished.

I got home and treated the bruise myself, still wearing the rain-soaked clothes. I sat down on the couch and stared at nothing until I didn't know anything anymore.

I came back to myself in the ICU.

"I cannot believe you. Skipped dinner, ran a fever you didn't notice, thought you were made of iron?"

Vincent's voice, beside me. His eyes were red.

I looked at him, and for some reason the tears came immediately.

"...I'm sorry."

My heart had been damaged since childhood. The surgery hadn't fixed everything.

The doctors said I needed at least a week.

The next day, the door to my room slammed open, not like a nurse but like someone arriving angry. I thought it was Vincent. It was Damian.

He was across the room in two strides, dropping to his knees beside my bed, grabbing my hand. "Why didn't you tell me you were hospitalized? Why didn't you say anything?"

I didn't speak. I didn't look at him.

Damian exhaled. He tucked my cold hand under the blanket, then finally said: "I know I handled things wrong the other night. I shouldn't have let you go home alone."

"But you've had heart problems yourself. You know how bad it can get. Nina's just my associate's little sister, and that man took a bullet for me. I couldn't turn my back on that."

I turned my head and looked at him.

"Just your associate's little sister?"

I said it quietly. "The kind of friend’s little sister you promised to marry?"

"What are you talking about—"

Damian's brow furrowed. "Would you stop making things up? I'm never going to marry Nina. I'm looking after her for a few days and you're this jealous? Do you know who her brother is? He saved my life."

I smiled slightly and held up my phone, the screenshot I'd saved.