Reunion and Reconciliation
1073 Words
I walked around the house in just shorts and a singlet, my fingers grazing furniture, frames, flower vases—like I was inspecting the place for hidden flaws. My home, but it didn’t feel like it. Not yet.
From upstairs, I could feel someone watching me. I didn’t have to look up to know it was her.
Sloane.
She was standing just outside the master bedroom, watching me like I was something worth studying. I caught a glimpse of her out the corner of my eye when I lifted a heavy flower vase. My muscles strained a little on purpose—yeah, maybe I wanted to remind her who she was dealing with.
When I ran a hand through my hair, my singlet lifted just enough to show the abs underneath. Not intentional—but I didn’t exactly hate that she saw it.
She looked stunned. Eyes wide, almost frozen. I could practically hear her thoughts from down here.
I knew her type—killer, soldier, ice in her veins. Pretty as hell, but guarded. That kind of woman doesn’t get fazed by looks. Doesn’t get distracted. Doesn’t fantasize. But in that moment? She did.
I bet if I’d walked up the stairs and pushed her against the wall, she wouldn’t have said no.
"Sloane? Sloane? Sloane!"
She jolted like someone slapped her.
"Yes, Mr. Damien?" she called out, a little too fast.
I narrowed my eyes. "I’m not sure you’re cut out for this job. You’ve messed up since the second I landed."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Damien," she mumbled.
"Is my dad in?"
"Yes, sir, but I think he’s sleeping."
"I’m going in. No interruptions. No matter what."
"Yes, Mr. Damien."
"And stop calling me Mr. Damien. Just Damien," I said over my shoulder, walking off.
She quietly followed and shut the door behind me.
“Dad? You awake?” I asked softly.
“Yeah. How are you?” His voice was weak, but steady.
“Doing better than you,” I said, cracking a grin.
He let out a laugh, which quickly turned into a harsh cough. I grabbed the water on the nightstand and handed it over. He took a few sips, then waved the cough away.
“Always the smart mouth,” he smiled. “I’m glad you came to see me… before I go.”
“Don’t talk like that, Dad. You’re not going anywhere,” I said. “Who’s going to rule London when you’re gone?”
He shook his head, tired. “An old man knows when death’s at the door. No use pretending.”
I didn’t say anything. The silence stretched.
“I’m sorry, Damien,” he said, voice low. “For everything. For what happened.”
“Dad… I don’t want to talk about that. Not right now.”
“This is exactly when we should talk about it. We might not get another chance. And I know you think—no, know—it’s my fault your mum’s gone.”
I clenched my jaw.
“Of course it’s your fault! What do you mean, ‘I think’ it’s your fault?” I said, my voice rising. “She begged you to leave that world behind. She begged. She cried. And you chose the money. Every single time. You said it was for us, but it wasn’t. It was for you. You made excuses to feel better about what you were doing, but deep down, you knew you loved the business more than you ever loved us.”
Tears burned down my cheeks. I wasn’t trying to cry—but the anger, the grief, the years of carrying it alone… it all crashed at once.
“Are you done?” he asked, still calm.
“No. Not even close. I could go on until tomorrow—and you probably won’t live long enough to hear it all.”
His face dropped. My words hit hard. I saw it.
“I’m glad you said it,” he replied. “It’s been a long time since we talked like family. I can’t fix the mistakes. They’re in the past now. But if I could go back… I’d do everything different. Every single thing.”
“At least you feel guilty,” I muttered, wiping my face.
“When she asked me to quit, I tried,” he said slowly. “We argued for days. You remember those nights, don’t you?”
I gave a slight nod.
“I told all my partners. Sent word to everyone I knew—I was out. Word spread quick. Too quick. My enemies saw an opening. They knew without my allies, I was weak. That’s when they struck. That day… your mum got caught in the crossfire.”
His voice cracked. The guilt was raw now. Unfiltered.
“I did everything to find the bastard who did it. But he’s a ghost. I’ve set traps, called in favors, made threats… he always slips away. My last wish, Damien… is that you find him. And make him pay.”
I didn't need my Dad to tell me that, I've always had it in mind to make the person who took my mum away from me pay.
The room went still. Something shifted. Something heavy.
I knew what he was asking. He wanted me to step into his place. To become what I swore I’d never be. The very thing I hated.
“ I had planned to come back as a new person, without any Affiliation to the Blackthorn's family and maybe join the FBI so I'd find the one who did this and give him what he deserved, doing it the right way. but maybe just maybe if I work with the underworld I could find him quicker and leave the dirty business.
“You promised Mum you’d quit. And even after she died… you kept pushing drugs,” I said quietly. No anger now. Just emptiness.
“I don’t sell anymore. I haven’t in years. I moved into tech. Import and export. Legal. Clean.”
Then—bam.
The door flew open.
“Sir! There’s been an attack on one of our client’s shipments!” Sloane said, breathless.
I turned, furious. “Did I not say no interruptions?!”
“Damien, it’s okay,” my father said, raising a hand. “Go. Handle it.”
And just like that, I was being pulled in.
Whether I liked it or not.
- Writer
