𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐊𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐀

XV

M

A quiet morning was met when I opened my eyes. The mirage of memories of last night briefly passed my mind before settling to welcome today's experiences.

After Damien helped me move my things over to his place, we hadn't talked much. I wasn't upset with him over what he had to do. Of course I should've communicated this better and I felt wrong for dismissing him. I'd hoped to fix things this morning—not that there was much to fix.

This was his way of life and he would demand respect if he couldn't command it, in ways more than one. I just had to come to terms with that. This was something I had to get used to as I momentarily recalled Yvonne's words.

Are you willing to put your life behind for the sake of a relationship with my son, because I want to remind you that being hot and cold with your decision will do more harm than good.

Was I?

Rolling onto my side as I pondered, I ran my hand over the dark covers with a sigh before slipping down from the bed. Carrying out my morning routine, I allowed my thoughts to continue.

My feelings for Damien were clearly clouding my morals.

I knew what Damien was, I knew what he did was wrong and I'd bared witness to his gruesome acts before, yet I still stuck around, simply because he cared. I had never felt more cared for and cherished by anyone—a credit to my cold upbringing.

Attention—affection, how I missed its warm embrace, that kind of comfort far from my knowledge and yet now I was experiencing it all at once.

It wasn't minuscule, Damien didn't have to hide how he felt, he voiced his emotions loudly and I was nowhere near blindsided by his apparent feelings.

It was real and honest.

That raw admiration—It shouldn't have been an excuse to be so naive to what he is as a person. I shouldn't feel security with a man who had the blood of many on his hands, I should've felt the opposite and yet somehow I was comfortable enough having those same hands rightfully on my hips.

Content enough to have his lips caress mine—welcoming enough to accept his hospitality and all its entanglements all in favour of this new found feeling of what I believed was love.

Love was too abrupt of a word but it's what I felt deep inside. I just wasn't ready to admit that yet in fear that it would all vanish before it could be something tangible.

It was a conflicting emotion—this sinful crave I had for a man as criminal as Damien Moretti. My relationship and the coupling encounters I had with him were causing waves and as spun as I was in the tornado of chaos, I was still rest assured in my desire for him.

Something so wrong, felt so right.

As my feet pattered softly down the flight of steps, I gingerly made way for the kitchen as the smell of breakfast wafted in the air.

My lips pulled into a smile at the thought of seeing Damien but it faltered when I spotted an unfamiliar man in black.

He was in his late 60s, I roughly guessed, a short and stout man with a rounded stomach, dressed in chef attire.