DAMIEN
.
.
I saw the question, the confusion, perhaps even a flicker of hurt in Elena’s eyes as I curtly dismissed her innocent curiosity about the painting.
But the wall was up and slammed shut because doors just couldn’t be opened, not even for her.
We left the penthouse shortly after, the silence in the car a different feeling to the easy conversation we usually shared.
London.
Business called, opportunities to expand the reach of the empire, to solidify the legitimate fronts. A chance to step further away from the shadows, maybe and a chance to have her with me, in a different city.
The flight was long, a blur of hushed luxury and my own internal tension.
She sensed it, of course, her hand finding mine, a quiet comfort offered without demand, a soft brush of her fingers
