Damien
Love made men stupid.
That was the conclusion I reached at four in the morning while standing in the private security room beneath my tower watching surveillance footage of black SUVs circling Elysian Heights.
Before Lena, I would have handled this differently.
Cleaner.
Colder.
Now every threat felt personal because every threat somehow led back to her.
Roman leaned beside me studying the screens. “You’ve been awake for thirty-six hours.”
“I slept.”
“You passed out sitting upright for twenty minutes.”
“Counts.”
“It medically does not.”
I ignored him.
On the screen, rain streaked across Ashbourne while security tracked vehicle movement through the city. Salvatore’s men had grown bolder overnight.
Too bold.
Which meant desperation.
Desperate men became dangerous fast.
