Chapter 15 - The Dinner
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Damian’s obsession with Clara grew rapidly. He bought her diamonds that rivaled Victoria's, forced her to attend high-level syndicate dinners by his side, and demanded she sleep in the master suite, though he never touched her without consent.
Clara hated the dresses. She hated the blood money. But every time she looked at Oliver and Owen, her heart melted. She loved the boys as if they were her own.
During a tense dinner with the heads of the Five Families, Clara sat quietly beside Damian, picking at her food. The men were discussing the fallout of Victoria's exile.
"Her father is furious, Damian," an older don warned, puffing a cigar. "You insulted a powerful ally. And you replaced his daughter with... a servant."
The room went dead silent. Clara lowered her gaze, feeling her cheeks burn with humiliation.
Damian set his fork down. The metallic clink echoed loudly. He turned to the older don, his eyes entirely black.
"This woman," Damian said, gesturing smoothly to Clara, "ran through a burning building while being hunted by assassins to save my bloodline. She has more honor in her little finger than Victoria’s entire family."
Damian stood up, drawing his gun and placing it gently on the linen tablecloth. "If anyone at this table disrespects the mother of my children again, I won't use words to correct them."
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The older don swallowed hard, nodding slowly. "Apologies, Damian."
Clara looked at the man beside her. He was terrifying, violent, and ruthless. But the way he fiercely protected her sent a confusing, dangerous thrill down her spine. She was beginning to fall for the devil.
