My Husband is a Gangster

Chapter 3

Amara tried her hardest to immerse herself in her work the week following their dinner. Distractions, particularly men who sent her flowers in crystal vases or took her to dreamlike rooftop restaurants, were beyond her means, she told herself.

Nevertheless, Damian's shadow persisted in her mind. His steady voice seemed to reverberate through every late-night silence. She wondered if he was watching every time she saw a reflection in a glass window. It was something else, not fear. A tug. Unavoidable, magnetic, and dangerous.

Amara almost dropped her phone when Vanessa called her out of the blue.

"Amara? Vanessa said. “Your number was given to me by Damian.”

"Oh, Vanessa. Hi there.”

"I realize this is strange," Vanessa said hastily, her voice as cheerful as ever. “However, I could really use some company while I'm at the Azure Lounge. Damian has been suffocating lately, but he would kill me if he knew I called you. You know, I just want to breathe.”

Amara paused. Damian's name alone made her suspicious, and she hardly knew Vanessa. She agreed, though, because of something in Vanessa's playful yet lonely voice.

"I'll stop by for a drink," Amara muttered.

—-----

The atmosphere of the Azure Lounge was heavy with cigarette smoke and perfume, with dim lighting and velvet booths. Amara discovered Vanessa at the bar, sitting like a gem in her dress covered in sequins, laughing too loudly with two men who appeared slightly too intrigued.

"Amara!" Vanessa threw her arms around her and squealed. "You arrived!"

The men looked at each other, assessing Amara. With an overpowering cologne, one leaned closer. "Your pal has good taste."

Amara firmly said, "Pardon me," and pushed Vanessa off the barstool. "We're heading out."

Vanessa sulked. "But we just arrived—"

The hand of one of the men touched Vanessa's arm. "Remain a while. We'll show you how to have fun.”

Amara's instincts pricked and she froze. The mood in the lounge changed before she could respond.

A silence fell, faint but distinct. The air became heavy, but the music continued. Customers looked in the direction of the door.

Damian was here.

Silent, sharp, and commanding, he cut through the crowd like a blade through water. As his gray coat brushed the floor, his deadly-focused gaze was fixed on Vanessa.

Though they were still unsure of the reason, the men at the bar tensed up, suddenly uncomfortable.

Damian said softly, "Vanessa," in a low but commanding voice.

Vanessa flinched. "Damian, I—"

With a glance, he interrupted her and then looked at the man who was still holding her arm. "Let her go."

The man tried to hide his discomfort with a smirk. "And you're who the devil?"

Damian remained silent. The man's smirk wavered as he moved closer, his presence oppressive. Slowly, the hand slipped from Vanessa’s arm.

"Smart," Damian whispered.

Then, with terrifying calm, he placed his hand on the man’s shoulder and whispered something Amara couldn’t hear. Whatever it was, the man’s face was drained of color. He stumbled back, dragging his friend with him, and within seconds they vanished into the crowd.

Amara's heart was racing. This was unlike any confrontation she had witnessed before. Damian hadn't spoken louder. He hadn't engaged in any violent behavior. Nevertheless, his presence posed an indisputable threat, akin to being too near a storm.

Vanessa became quiet abruptly and bit her lip.

Damian looked over at her. "What have I mentioned to you about this?"

"All I wanted was—"

"No." His tone was quiet and decisive. "You're not 'just wanting.'" Not in this place. Not in this manner.

Tears almost glistened in Vanessa's eyes. She muttered, "I'm sorry," after giving Amara a humiliated look.

Damian's features slightly softened. In a protective manner, he ran his hand through Vanessa's hair, neither softly nor roughly. "Vanessa, you are all I have. Don't force me to pursue you in the dark any longer.”

The meaning of the words hung heavy.

Amara swallowed, torn between wonder and discomfort. The man who listened to her dreams and sat across from her at dinner could not be reconciled with the man who now stands here, exuding a sense of danger that would make grown men run.

At last, Damian turned to face Amara, his face unreadable. "I appreciate you coming when she called." She has faith in you. Thus, I ought to as well.

Despite her heart pounding in her ears, Amara managed to nod.

Damian told his driver, who had seemingly materialized out of thin air, "get her home." "Safe."

Without saying another word, he left and vanished into the night just as swiftly as he had arrived.

Amara stood motionless, a flurry of questions racing through her head: Who was Damian Cole, and why, without a word being spoken, did everyone seem to be afraid of him?

“You don’t understand, Amara. My brother… he’s not like other men. If anyone touches me, if anyone even looks at me the wrong way—” Vanessa said in a whisper, almost shaking, before she could collect her thoughts.

Eyes darting to the door Damian had left, she interrupted herself.

“What are you saying, Vanessa?” Amara leaned closer.

Vanessa swallowed hard. Her playful mask cracked just long enough for fear to slip through.

“You’ll find out soon enough,” she whispered.

Vanessa hurried to meet Damian.