His Best Friend's Daughter

CHAPTER 6: THE WEIGHT OF SECRETS

I didn't go straight home.

I walked for almost an hour, the manila envelope clutched against my chest like a shield. The city moved around me—honking taxis, chattering pedestrians, the endless hum of urban life—but I barely noticed any of it. All I could see was that photograph of myself outside my university, taken three weeks ago by someone I'd never noticed.

Someone who worked for Vincent Moretti.

The name echoed in my mind like a warning bell. Damien had mentioned Moretti last night, had told me about the FBI investigation and the years he'd spent building a case against the man. But he hadn't mentioned that Moretti was out of prison. He hadn't mentioned that Moretti was rebuilding his network. And he definitely hadn't mentioned that Moretti's people had been watching me for months.

Why hadn't he told me?

I pulled out my phone and stared at Damien's contact information. I should call him. I should tell him everything Victoria had said. But a small, insidious voice in the back of my mind whispered doubts I couldn't ignore.

What if Victoria was telling the truth? What if Damien was keeping things from me? What if the man I'd loved for almost a decade wasn't who I thought he was?

I shoved the phone back into my pocket and kept walking.

By the time I finally made it home, the afternoon sun had faded to a pale gray. Marta met me at the door, her round face creased with worry.

"Miss Lizzy! You've been gone for hours. Your father was starting to fret."

"I'm fine, Marta. Just needed some air."

She studied my face for a moment, the way she'd been doing since I was a child. Marta always knew when something was wrong. She'd been with our family for twenty years, had raised me as much as my own mother had—more, after my mother left. But she also knew when not to push.

"Mr. Cross is in the study," she said quietly. "He's been waiting for you."

My heart lurched. "How long?"

"Almost two hours. He said it was important."

I nodded, tucking the envelope deeper under my arm. "Tell my dad I'm home, okay? I'll be down for dinner."

Marta nodded, her shrewd eyes missing nothing. "Be careful, Miss Lizzy. That one—" She nodded toward the study. "He's not a simple man."

"I know."

"Do you?"

I didn't answer. I just walked toward the study, my footsteps echoing in the quiet hallway.

---

Damien was standing at the window when I walked in, his back to the door. He'd removed his suit jacket. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows. His shoulders were rigid with tension.

"You met with her," he said without turning around. It wasn't a question.

"Yes."

"And?"

I closed the door behind me. The click of the latch sounded like a gunshot in the quiet room. "She told me about Vincent Moretti. About his release six months ago. About the fact that his people have been watching me since before I graduated."

Damien turned. His expression was guarded, but I saw the flicker of something beneath it. Guilt? Fear? Both?

"I was going to tell you."

"When? After Moretti's people showed up at our doorstep? After something happened to my father?" I threw the envelope onto the desk. Photographs spilled out. Surveillance shots. Bank statements. The picture of me outside my university, unaware and vulnerable. "I had to hear this from Victoria Ashford. The woman who hates you. The woman who's been trying to destroy you for three years. She told me more about your enemies than you did."

"I was trying to protect you."

"No. You were trying to control the narrative. There's a difference." I crossed my arms over my chest. "You said no more secrets. You said you'd tell me everything. But you conveniently left out the part where a convicted criminal who wants you dead is out of prison and watching me."

Damien walked toward me, his steps slow and deliberate. "You're right."

I blinked. "What?"

"You're right. I should have told you. Last night, when I told you about Moretti, I should have told you he'd been released. I should have told you my security team flagged surveillance on you three months ago. I should have told you that I've been working with federal authorities again to build a case against his new organization." He stopped inches from me. "But I was afraid."

"Afraid of what?"

"Afraid that if you knew the full extent of the danger, you'd leave. You'd decide I wasn't worth the risk. You'd go back to your life—your real life—and I'd lose the only good thing that's ever happened to me." His voice dropped. "I've lost a lot of things in my life, Lizzy. My parents. My childhood. My belief that people are fundamentally good. But I can't lose you. The thought of losing you terrifies me more than Moretti ever could."

I wanted to stay angry. I wanted to hold onto the betrayal burning in my chest. But the look in his eyes—the raw, unguarded fear—made it impossible.

"You should have told me anyway," I said quietly. "I'm not a child, Damien. I'm not fragile. I deserve to know when someone is watching me. When someone might want to hurt me."

"I know."

"I can't be in a relationship built on secrets. I can't spend every day wondering what else you're not telling me."

"I know." He reached out and took my hands. His fingers were cold. "So I'm going to tell you everything. Right now. No more omissions. No more protecting you from the truth. But you have to understand—some of what I'm going to say isn't pretty. Some of it might change the way you see me."

"I already know you're not a saint, Damien."

"No. You know the sanitized version. You know about Victoria and Moretti. But you don't know about the years in between. The deals I made. The people I stepped on to get where I am." He led me to the leather sofa and sat down beside me, still holding my hands. "I told you I grew up in foster care. What I didn't tell you is that I spent two years in a juvenile detention center when I was fifteen. Breaking and entering. I was trying to steal food from a convenience store and got caught."

I stayed silent.

"When I got out, I was angrier than when I went in. I fell in with a bad crowd. Did things I'm not proud of. Ran small-time cons. Stole cars. I was on a fast track to prison before I met your father." He paused. "Marcus saved my life. Literally. He caught me trying to pick his pocket outside a restaurant. Instead of calling the cops, he bought me dinner. Talked to me for three hours. Offered me a job at his company."

"I didn't know that."

"No one does. Your father never told anyone how we really met. He let people assume we connected through business circles. He protected my reputation before I even had one." Damien's jaw tightened. "And I've spent every day since trying to become the man he thought I could be."

I squeezed his hands. "You are that man."

"Am I?" He laughed bitterly. "I've made billions of dollars, but I've made enemies too. Moretti is just the most dangerous. There are others. Business rivals I crushed on my way to the top. Former partners I outmaneuvered. People who lost everything because I was smarter, faster, more ruthless. I told myself it was just business. That I was playing by the rules of a game I didn't create."

"But you don't believe that anymore."

"I don't know what I believe anymore." He met my eyes. "Except this. I believe in you. I believe in us. And I believe that whatever comes next—Moretti, Victoria, your father's anger—we can face it together. But only if there are no more secrets between us."

I studied his face. The lines around his eyes. The silver starting to thread through his dark hair. The mouth that had kissed me so desperately last night. He was forty-one years old and he'd lived ten lifetimes already. He'd made mistakes. Big ones. But sitting here, holding my hands, offering me the truth—all of it—he looked more vulnerable than I'd ever seen him.

"Okay," I said finally. "No more secrets. But that goes both ways. You don't get to decide what I can and can't handle. You don't get to protect me by keeping me in the dark."

"Agreed."

"And we need to talk about Victoria. She said she wants to work with you to take down Moretti."

Damien's expression hardened. "Victoria wants revenge. On Moretti, yes, but also on me. Working with her would be like inviting a snake into our home."

"Maybe. But she has information. Evidence. She's been investigating Moretti for years. And right now, she might be the only ally we have."

"I have allies."

"Who? The FBI? They've been investigating Moretti for decades and he's still walking free. Your security team? They didn't even know Victoria had photographs of us until I told you." I leaned forward. "Victoria has resources. Connections. And a personal vendetta that makes her motivated. We need her."

Damien was quiet for a long moment. Then he exhaled slowly. "You're right."

"I'm sorry, can you say that again? I don't think I heard you correctly."

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Don't push it."

"I'm absolutely going to push it. The great Damien Cross just told me I was right. I want that in writing."

He laughed. The sound was surprised and warm and so different from the cold, controlled man the world knew. "You're impossible."

"And yet you love me anyway."

"And yet I love you anyway." He pulled me against his chest, wrapping his arms around me. "I'll reach out to Victoria. Set up a meeting. But I want you there too. If we're doing this—if we're truly going to have no secrets—then you need to hear everything. Know everything."

"What about my father?"

Damien's arms tightened around me. "Your father can't know. Not yet. Not about us, and not about Moretti. He's not equipped for this kind of danger. He's a good man, Lizzy. A kind man. But he's not a fighter. And if Moretti's people are watching us, the less he knows, the safer he'll be."

I wanted to argue. My father was stronger than Damien gave him credit for. But I also knew that Damien was right. My father was a businessman, not a soldier. He'd spent his life building a comfortable, stable world for our family. Dragging him into the shadows of Damien's past would only put him at risk.

"Okay," I said finally. "We keep him out of it. For now."

"For now," Damien agreed.

"Promise me something."

"Anything."

"Promise me that when this is over—when Moretti is dealt with and Victoria is no longer a threat—you'll tell my father the truth. About everything. About us."

Damien pulled back just enough to look at me. His dark eyes searched my face. "He might never forgive me."

"I know."

"He might cut me out of his life. Out of your life."

"I know." I reached up and touched his cheek. "But I'm tired of hiding. I'm tired of pretending. I want to be with you—really with you—without secrets and lies and sneaking around. And if my father can't accept that... then that's his choice."

"Lizzy—"

"I love my father. You know I do. But I'm not going to live my life based on what other people think I should want. I've wanted you since I was fifteen years old. I've loved you for almost as long. And I'm done apologizing for it."

Damien stared at me for a long moment. Then he kissed me. Soft. Slow. Full of something that felt almost like hope.

"When did you get so brave?" he murmured against my lips.

"Somewhere between the library and the kitchen last night."

He laughed again, and the sound was everything. Warmth. Promise. The beginning of something I'd waited my whole life to find.

"We should go to dinner," he said reluctantly. "Your father will wonder where we are."

"I know."

"One more minute."

I smiled. "You said that last night."

"And I'll probably say it every night for the rest of my life." He pressed his forehead to mine. "One more minute with you. That's all I ever want."

I gave him one more minute.

I gave him all the minutes I had.

And somewhere in the distance, a car pulled away from the curb outside our house—a dark sedan with tinted windows and a driver who'd been watching the Hart residence for three weeks.

But neither of us noticed.

Not yet.