It was after two a.m. when Damian finally gave up on sleep. He pulled on his jeans, slipped his phone in his pocket, and walked bare-chested to the living room where he poured himself a drink. Then he climbed the stairs to the private rooftop patio.

The city was spread below him in all its dirty glory, and he leaned against the railing as he surveyed it, a king marking his kingdom. Except tonight he didn’t feel like a king.

He felt like a man — a feeling he didn’t relish.

He wasn’t a fool. He knew it was Aria Fiore’s influence, lingering like her perfume after she’d left his office earlier in the day. He’d had to leave to escape it, an alluring blend of black orchids and spice that conjured up heavy draperies, velvet and satin and naked flesh.

Her visit had haunted him, the bruise on her face making him itch to hunt down Malcolm Gatti — the most likely suspect — along with her coward of a brother. He had a unique brand of hatred for violence against women, no doubt a result of his upbringing. He didn’t need a shrink to tell him that.

But the sight of the bruise on her lovely face had called up something primitive in him, forcing the reason he was usually able to count on to take a backseat to fury.

He wasn’t a stranger to violence. Some would say it was a blight on humanity, but he knew the truth: it was a necessary evil. There was no reasoning with violent men. They only understood force.

Pain.

And yet he typically felt in control when dispensing it. Violence was one of many tools. A smart man used the best tool for the job, not because wielding it felt good but because it was the wisest course of action.

He had not felt in control when he held Aria Fiore’s face in his hand.

He had felt decidedly not in control.

It was a warning sign if there ever was one. His business required focus now more than ever. He couldn’t afford to be distracted by a woman. He was pushing away the voice that insisted she wasn’t just any woman when a chirping sounded from his pocket.

He pulled out his phone and looked at the name on the display before answering. “What is it?”

There was a brief silence on the other end of the phone before Cole spoke.

“There’s been a fire,” he said. “At the shelter.”

Damian straightened. “The women and children?”

“They all made it out alive,” he said.

“But?”

“The building’s a lost cause,” Cole said. “You might want to come down here.”

“I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

He disconnected the call and set down his glass, sprinted for the stairs. Cole would have picked him up if he’d asked, and he could easily have removed his personal car from the garage where he paid to keep it, but the subways would be quicker than either scenario. He pulled on his clothes, grabbed his wallet, and shrugged on a jacket as he was walking out the door.

He heard Aria’s voice as he made his way underground and onto the train.

That’s why I’m here. To warn you…

He didn’t believe she’d known this would happen — but she’d known something was coming. She’d tried to warn him.

There is no honor code for my brother.

He’d taken her at her word, but even he couldn’t imagine a move like this. Hitting someone’s headquarters would have pushed the boundaries of acceptability in their world.

Burning a shelter for domestic violence victims was the work of a monster.

He kept his cool all the way to the Bronx. Through the city’s underground tunnels, across four blocks on foot. It wasn’t until he came upon the emergency vehicles scattered across the pavement, the shelter still burning in the background, Carol Lewis sitting at the back of an ambulance with her arms around a woman and a small boy he recognized from the hallway at the shelter, that his blood started to boil.

A man in a blue uniform tried to stop him as he crossed the boundary set up by the police and fire departments. Damian reached into his pocket for his wallet and flashed his ID.

“Sorry, sir. This area is off limits,” the fresh-faced officer said.

“I don’t think you know who I am,” Damian said though clenched teeth. “Go tell the detective in charge.”

“I don’t need to — ”

“Trust me when I say you do,” Damian said.

The man turned away reluctantly, crossed the pavement to talk to a tall figure in plain clothes. They exchanged words and the other man looked up, met Damian’s gaze. A moment of recognition passed in front of his eyes before he leaned down, said something to the officer in uniform.

“Go ahead,” he said when he came back, waving Damian in. “Sorry about that.”

Damian ignored him as he hurried toward Carol. Relief was visible on her face when she looked up, saw him making his way toward her. She leaned down, whispered something to the woman next to her and got up to meet Damian a few feet away from the ambulance.

“Damian,” she said. “Thank you for coming.”

Tears had left a dry creek bed across the soot on her face, and he reached out to embrace her. “Is everyone all right?”

She pulled back and nodded. “Some of the kids were having trouble breathing, but the EMTs got them on some oxygen and they seem to be doing better.” She looked at the building, still burning in front of them. “I just don’t know how this happened. Where will I put everyone?”

Damian was fighting a monsoon of anger, had to work to keep his voice steady. Carol didn’t need anger from him now.

He put a hand on her shoulder. “I have that covered.”

“Damian!”

He turned to see Cole coming toward him.

“Give me fifteen minutes,” he said to Carol. “I’ll have more information for you then, but don’t worry — we’ll get through this.”

She nodded and headed back to the ambulance where the woman was holding the coughing boy.

“Sorry I wasn’t here to meet you,” Cole said when he reached Damian. “I was talking to the fire chief, trying to get some details.”

“And?”

“Kerosene in the basement near the boiler. Bastards didn’t even try to hide that it was arson. We were lucky it’s not cold enough for the heating system to kick in yet. It would have been a lot worse.”

“Tell me about the renovation in Greenwich.”

They weren’t the words he wanted to say. Not the words reverberating through his mind.

I’m going to make them pay.

Cole seemed momentarily confused by the question. “They’re just finishing up the trim in some of the room, tile work in one bathroom.” He shrugged. “A week tops if we push.”

“Heating and plumbing?” Damian asked.

“That’s all done,” Cole said.

“Find some sleeping bags and pillows, clothes, toiletries, food, whatever you think they’ll need for the next week until we can come up with a permanent solution. Have the men help you if they can.” He thought about the logistics of moving approximately twenty women and thirty-seven children at a moment’s notice at three in the morning. “And send at least four cars. We’ll make as many trips as it takes.”

“You got it, boss.”

He watched Cole sprint across the pavement, already on his phone, rallying the troops.

Damian turned his eyes to the burning building. He didn’t believe for a minute Aria Fiore knew this was her brother’s plan.

He’d seen too much pain in her eyes.

Everyone suffered. It was a universal truth. But there were only two responses to pain: you either became someone who inflicted it or you learned to see it, to feel it, in others.

He didn’t have a moment’s doubt that Aria fell into the latter category.

As much as he didn’t want to see her hurt — and he was still honest enough with himself to admit that he didn’t, even if he wasn’t ready to ask himself why — the action Primo had taken against the women and children of the Franklin Street shelter couldn’t go unchallenged.

Primo had sent a message: anything was fair game.

That meant Damian would have to speed up their strategy, expand the targets, hit Fiore anywhere and everywhere.

He looked around at the crying women, the children staring wide-eyed at the fire. They needed him, and that took priority over everything. He would make sure they were settled at the Greenwich property he’d planned to use as an investment.

Then he would make one last appeal to Aria Fiore before he destroyed her brother.