Caring for the Mafia Son

Damien POV

Rachel finally stopped trembling only when exhaustion claimed her.

Her fingers, which had clutched the blanket for dear life, loosened. Her breathing softened. Her eyes closed.

Only then-only when I was certain she was deep under-did I allow myself to move.

I stood from the chair carefully, ensuring not a single sound would wake her. For a long moment, I stayed there in the dim glow of the lamp, watching her sleep.

The blood on her cheek...

The shaking...

The raw fear in her eyes...

It replayed in my mind like a curse.

I turned away before the rage could fully resurface and slipped out of her room, closing the door without a sound.

The mansion was silent. Leo was long asleep. Even the guards spoke in hushed tones, sensing the night's heavy weight.

I headed for the East Wing.

The heavily guarded gate opened for me without a word.

The deeper I walked, the colder the air became-both physically and in memory. Iron doors lined the corridor, the faint groans and low hum of machinery seeping through the cracks. Sounds of training and shooting echoed from behind them.

This place existed for one purpose.

And tonight, it was busy.

Mr. Vance waited by the heavy steel door to my private hall, his posture straight despite his age.

"Sir," he murmured. "I did not expect you until morning."

"Rachel finally slept," I said simply.

He nodded in quiet understanding and followed me inside.

The crackling fireplace cast an eerie warmth across the room. I slipped off my gloves and tossed them aside.

"Report," I said.

Vance cleared his throat. "About tonight... the alley." He paused, choosing his words with care. "Was it necessary to leave the symbol?"

I shrugged, loosening the tension in my shoulders. "Tradition. The city remembers who I am when they see it."

Vance exhaled, long and weary. "These displays are unwise, Damien. The authorities are already watching us."

My expression sharpened. "Did something happen?"

Before he could answer, a sharp knock sounded. Laurence entered, his posture tight, face pale.

"Boss, forgive the intrusion," he said. "But we have a situation."

"Speak."

"One of our warehouses was raided tonight."

I stilled.

"Impossible," I said coldly. "The police had no-"

"They arrived before our men," Laurence interrupted, his voice strained. "Some of our people were taken."

A long, heavy silence filled the room.

I stepped closer, eyes narrowing. "How many men knew about that shipment?"

Laurence hesitated. "...Thirty-two."

That number told me everything. Too many. Now my weapons, my goods, and my men were gone.

"Get out," I said.

He blinked. "Sir?"

"Everyone. Out." My gaze swept the room. "Except Vance."

Laurence bowed hastily and left. The door slammed shut, sealing us in.

Vance folded his hands calmly. "You believe there's a leak."

"There *is* a leak," I growled. "Someone in my circle is feeding information to the police."

"It's possible," Vance agreed. "Your influence has grown. With it comes envy."

Someone wanted me weakened.

Distracted.

Preferably dead.

"We'll cut the suspect list," Vance suggested. "Feed false routes. Watch who takes the bait."

I stared into the fire, the pieces clicking into place in my mind. A false route. A narrowed list. It was the only move.

"Do it," I said, my voice low. "And keep it quiet."

He gave a single, sharp nod. He understood. We stood in silence for a moment, the only sound the crackle of the fire.

Then, Vance's tone shifted, gentler. "And... the girl?"

My jaw clenched. "She's shaken. More than I expected."

"She's not from this world," Vance said softly. "Violence... secrecy... this isn't her life."

"She ran." The bitterness surprised me. "And look what happened."

"She ran because you left her with nothing else," Vance countered, his voice firm but not unkind. "Locking her inside will only make her desperate. And desperation is dangerous-for her, for Leo, for you."

I didn't respond.

He pressed gently. "Let her go back to school. Let her have something normal."

"It's not safe."

"It's safer than isolation," he said. "And she won't be alone. Quiet shadows. Five at most."

I exhaled, jaw tightening. "...Fine."

It tasted like surrender.

Vance nodded. "We'll prepare a driver and discreet security."

The old man paused, then added with a faint smile,

"And maybe some new clothes. Books. Girls her age like these things."

I sighed, annoyed by the unnecessary sentiment. "I'll just give her an unlimited credit card in my name. Is that better, old man?"

"Perfect, sir. Now you're acting like a proper husband," Mr. Vance said, a faint joke in his tone.

"Leave."

He bowed and exited, the heavy door closing behind him.

Alone, I stared into the fire, Rachel's terrified face burning in my mind.

Letting her out was a risk. But Vance was right. She was an unassuming girl; no authority searching for me would look her way at a community college. Isolation wasn't the answer. It only bred the very recklessness I feared.

My hand drifted to the small tin on the stool-a habit I'd buried years ago, one I only ever reached for when the night felt too heavy.

I flipped it open, took out a cigarette, and lit it.

The first inhale burned, but it steadied me just enough.

The smoke did little to ease the frustration of the police intercepting another operation.

Blowing out the smoke, my gaze softened as it landed on a small picture frame tucked between old books on a shelf.

I picked it up, a soft smile touching my lips as I looked at the image of my mother.

Marissa Montrel.

A genuine, radiant smile on her face. My gaze drifted to the young boy beside her-myself. My face was blank and tired, but a hesitant smile was there as I held my baby sister.

A choked cough escaped me, turning into a bitter laugh.

The sound was hollow in the quiet room. My knees hit the ground, the frame clutched tightly in my hands as I slumped against the shelves.

I squeezed my eyes shut, the cold wood pressing into my forehead, desperately fighting the tears that threatened to fall.