Bullet ✔️

Chapter 9

James and I were the only ones in the house at lunchtime a few days later. He sat by the dining table with a laptop and a phone, constantly answering messages and barking orders through short calls, while I made us some food. There wasn't much in the huge dark oak kitchen, but I managed to make us some grilled cheese sandwiches, to which he was thankful.

He looked busy, but I sat down on the opposite side of the table anyway, taking small bites of my food as I studied his handsome features. No doubt, Elina was a lucky woman. He wasn't as strikingly gorgeous as Damian, but he was definitely easy on the eyes and I wasn't complaining.

"So," James said suddenly, shutting the lid to his computer, "how are you doing, Isabelle? Everything okay?"

A little taken aback by the question, I nodded. "Yes, I'm surprisingly fine," I replied honestly. "It might be your hospitality, or Elina's cheery kindness, but I'm okay." He seemed pleased with my answer, and even more pleased with the food I made him, so he was silent long enough for me to ask, "Have you found anyone responsible for the bombs?"

He tilted his head to one side, chewing on a large bite, thinking.

It was easy to see his emotions, compared to Damian's. He wore them like a sweater. His brows rose a little, even though his nose didn't scrunch like his wife's usually did, I could see he wasn't entirely comfortable talking to me about it.

"We know who it was, and why," he started, reaching for his glass of water. If they knew all that, I could be done with all of it—all of them—in no time. The mixture of dread and relief filled my head while I waited for him to empty his glass. "They're starting a war between the families," he then told me, all joy for the food gone from his face.

"A war?"

"Yeah, we don't know exactly what to do about it yet." I sunk back in my seat as he added, "Sorry."

I shook my head; he had nothing to be sorry for. Not really.

I kept nibbling on my food, and I tried my best not to look like I'd heard about a mob war from one of the bosses—or technically underbosses, if I understood correctly.

"Did Damian wake you the other night?" The question and subject change caught me a little off guard, and he looked at me with a smile so big he was almost bursting.

"What?" I wasn't sure what he referred to.

"Your first night here," he clarified, motioning his head towards the glass doors beyond the kitchen. "You and Elina fell asleep with your smutty books outside. Did he wake you, or did he carry you inside?"

"Oh." The memory came flooding back, and I cleared my throat. "No, I woke up myself."

"I see some red in your cheeks." His smile grew. "Elina said you had a thing for him, but I wasn't sure."

"A what?"

"You have a thing for him," he repeated, leaning back in his chair like he was super proud of himself for connecting the dots.

Although there were no dots to connect. Damian was an attractive man, nothing more.

"I do not!" My voice almost cracked as I raised it, to get rid of any doubt.

"You do not what?" The dark voice boomed through the whole dining room, sending shivers towards my bones that I refused to give in to, just as Damian rounded the corner and walked in to the room.

His hair was messy, as always, laying in soft curls towards his forehead. His cheeks were so wonderfully stubbly that I wanted to drag my fingers over them to feel it, and most wonderfully, his dark shirt was rolled up at the sleeves as usual, showing off his strong forearms and a new, probably expensive, watch I hadn't seen before.