DAMIEN
The guilt set in long before the sun rose.
It hit somewhere between the elevator ride down and the hollow thud of the hotel doors closing behind him. Cold air hit his face like a slap, but it wasn’t enough to clear his head.
Because he’d done it.
He slept with Valeria.
And now he couldn’t even look at himself.
His shirt clung to his skin, creased and open at the chest. He smelled like her perfume… like a ghost he couldn’t wash off fast enough. And when he got into the car, hands shaking as he gripped the wheel, he didn’t drive home.
He drove anywhere but.
Two hours later, he ended up in one of his old safehouses in Brooklyn. The walls were concrete. The windows barred. The silence is deafening. Exactly the kind of place you went to be alone with the kind of regret that didn’
