Damon gripped his phone tighter, his knuckles turning white as he reread the message.
You should’ve made sure I was dead.
Vincent.
A slow, simmering rage spread through Damon’s veins, but beneath it was something worse—an unsettling awareness that Vincent wasn’t done. He wasn’t the type to crawl into a hole and lick his wounds. He was the kind of monster that thrived on revenge.
Damon exhaled sharply and stood, ignoring the tight pull of the stitches in his side. The pain was a reminder of how close Vincent had come to killing him. And he wouldn’t make the mistake of underestimating him again.
The city stretched out beneath the penthouse windows, bathed in the cold light of dawn. New York never slept, but even now, the streets below seemed eerily quiet. Too quiet.
A soft rustling beh
