Chapter 2 - The Heir in the Shadows
The floorboards creaked under my knees as I knelt before the man who held Chicago in his fist. Damon was pale, sweat glistening on his forehead, his jaw clenching against raw pain. Yet his gray eyes were impossibly sharp, fixed directly on my face.
"You shouldn't have seen that," Damon rasped out, his chest heaving with every ragged breath.
My hands trembled as I reached for the photograph. It was a faded, candid shot taken seven years ago at an orphanage in Boston. I was sixteen, wearing a frayed cardigan, looking out a window.
"Where did you get this?" I demanded quietly, uncapping a bottle of antiseptic. "Why do you have a picture of a servant?"
Damon grunted as I pressed a alcohol-soaked gauze pad against his open wound. His large hand shot out, wrapping around my wrist—not violently, but with an intense, desperate grip that anchored us together.
"You aren't a servant, Alina," he growled through gritted teeth. "You never were."
"Don't lie to me," I whispered, the fear slowly giving way to a strange, rising heat. "I’ve scrubbed your floors for two years, Mr. Volkov."
"I brought you here to keep you alive," Damon said, his tone icy yet dripping with sincerity. "Seven years ago, the Romanov syndicate fell. Your father was Nikolai Romanov. You are the last surviving bloodline of the Eastern territories."
The room seemed to tilt. The gauze fell from my fingers into the tray.
"My father was an accountant in Massachusetts," I stammered. "He died in a car crash!"
"His real name was Nikolai," Damon corrected softly, releasing my wrist only to trail his fingers gently along the side of my face, leaving a faint smear of dark blood on my cheek. "He sent you away with a fake identity before his enemies burned his compound to the ground. Four years ago, I found out who you were. Three years ago, those same enemies hired hitmen to track you down."
I stared at him, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. "So you... hired me as a maid?"
"I hid you in plain sight," Damon said, a dark, dangerous smile playing on his bloodied lips. "No one looks for a mob princess in the kitchen of the Volkov estate. I placed you under my roof, where my men guard every inch of the perimeter."
"You lied to me every single day," I whispered, angry tears stinging my eyes. "You looked at me like I was invisible!"
"Looking at you was the hardest thing I’ve ever done," Damon confessed softly, his gaze dropping to my lips. "Every morning you walked into my office, and every morning I had to force myself not to pull you onto my lap and tell you the truth. If Kirill or any of my captains suspected who you were, they would have used you as leverage against me."
Before I could process his words, a heavy knock echoed against the oak door, followed by Kirill’s harsh voice from the hallway.
"Damon! The perimeter is secure, but we need to move the shipment tonight. Is the maid done?"
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Damon’s eyes darkened instantly. He placed a heavy hand over mine, squeezing tightly.
"Not a word, Alina," he warned in a low, dangerous whisper. "The ambush tonight wasn't a coincidence. Someone inside my inner circle sold my location. And if they know I'm wounded, you are the next target."
