Damian was in the Tribeca apartment, going over the strike strategy for the hundredth time, when his cell phone rang. He picked it up almost without thinking, his attention on the plans in front of him. It wasn’t until he saw the unknown number that the call got his attention.

He hesitated, then answered the call. “Yes?”

He waited through a long moment of silence and was about to hang up when he heard the broken voice on the other end of the phone.

“It’s Aria Fiore.”

“Aria… Are you alright?”

“I’m… I’m fine. I’m sorry to call like this. I just…” A sob broke free. “The truth is I don’t have anyone else.”

“I gave you my number for this reason,” he said. “Where are you? I’ll come get you.”

“I’ll come to you,” she said. “If it’s okay, I mean.”

“It’s okay,” he said gently. “But I can be in a car in less than five minutes.”

“I need the time,” she said. “I need… um, to get my head together.”

“Let me give you the address. Are you ready?”

She sniffled. “Ready.”

He gave her the address. “I’ll be waiting downstairs.”

“I’ll be there in half an hour,” she said.

“See you then.”

“Damian?”

“Yes?”

“It was him,” she said. “He set the fire.”

“I know,” Damian said. “It’s okay. Just get here and we’ll figure it out.”

She hung up without saying goodbye, and he stared at his phone, wondering when he’d come to stand in the kitchen, his back against the counter. His mind was racing, running through all the things that might have happened to her if she’d confronted Primo about the fire.

It shouldn’t have mattered beyond how it would affect his strategy in the takedown of the Fiore organization — if at all. Aria was a pawn on the board. She occupied no position of power, probably had limited knowledge of her brother’s operation.

He didn’t give a shit about any of it.

All he wanted was to see her face. To know she was okay.

It didn’t make any fucking sense.

He grabbed his keys and headed out of his apartment and into the elevator. He reached the lobby well before her expected ETA and spent the next twenty minutes pacing in front of the building.

He was looking at his phone, marking the time that had passed since she’d called when he spotted a small figure moving toward him from the corner. He knew it was her even from a distance. It was in the way she held herself, the unique blend of strength and fragility he’d spotted the first time he’d seen her.

He forced himself to wait. He had no idea what had happened, what would come of their meeting, how it would impact his war with Primo or her safety.

But it would affect both of those things, and that meant she had to come to him.

He waited as she approached, her footsteps purposeful right up until the moment she stopped in front of him, as if now that she'd resolved to see him there was no point second-guessing the decision.

The cut on her lip was small but it filled him with fury. He took a pull of the chill night air, forced his voice steady.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

She exhaled a long shuddering breath, then nodded.

He looked around. Whatever had happened, it was a bad idea for him to be standing on the street with Primo Fiore’s sister.

“We need to get off the street.” He tipped his head at the building, forcing himself not to take her hand, lead her toward the safety of his apartment. “Let’s go upstairs.”

She only hesitated for a split second. “Okay.”

They crossed the lobby and stepped into the elevator. Damian had never been more relieved that Harvey and Mrs. Weaver were nowhere to be seen. They rode to the top floor in silence. When the door opened he held out his arm, waiting for her to step across the threshold.

He thought she might hesitate, realize this was the point of no return. Instead she stepped off the elevator with assurance. He couldn’t help admiring her. The decision to call him couldn’t have been easy, but now that she’d made it she seemed intent on seeing it through.

He opened the door and followed her into the apartment.

“First things first,” he said, heading for the bar.

She walked to the windows, looked out over the city as he poured whiskey into a glass. He crossed the room slowly, not wanting to startle her. He stopped a couple feet away, not daring himself to get too close. The feel of her velvety face in his hands had haunted him after her visit to his office. He didn’t trust himself to think clearly if he got close. He was already teetering dangerously near the edge, pushed close to rage by the knowledge that someone had put their hands on her again.

“Drink this.”

She turned around, took the glass, and downed in it one swallow. “Thank you.”

He took the empty glass from her hand and headed for the kitchen. “I’m going to get you some ice for that lip.” I will kill the motherfucker who did that to you. I will take him apart piece by piece. “Then you can tell me what happened.”

He returned a minute later with an ice pack wrapped in a clean dishtowel. “Please, sit,” he said, gesturing to the couch. “Make yourself comfortable.”

She lowered herself to the couch, reached for the ice pack in his outstretched hand. “Thank you.”

She winced as she touched the ice to her lip. He took a seat on one of the chairs next to the couch, gave her a minute to let the ice rest before speaking.

“Can you tell me what happened?” he asked.

She lifted the ice pack from her lip, stared down at it in her hands. “I asked him,” she said. “I asked him about the fire.”

“He admitted doing it?”

“More or less.” She shook her head. “I’m so, so stupid.”

“I haven’t known you long,” he said, “but I can say with certainty that stupid is not a word I would use to describe you.”

Beautiful. Strong. Brave.

She turned the ice pack over in her hands. “It’s not like I haven’t known about the business,” she said softly.

“How much?” He didn’t believe she was cut from the same cloth as her brother, but he needed to hear her say it. “How much did you know?”

“I knew it was illegal.” She met his gaze. “I knew they pushed drugs and beat people up and ran a bookmaking operation.”

“That’s it?”

She drew in a breath. “I think I knew there was more, especially after Malcolm joined, but I made a point to stay out of it. To stay blind,” she finished bitterly.

“We all do what we must to survive,” he said.

She nodded, a spark of kinship in her eyes, like she knew they were one and the same.

Survivors who’d done what they had to do.

“Tell me about Malcolm,” Damian said.

She seemed to think about the question. “He made the business better in some ways. More organized. That’s one of the reasons Primo is so loyal to him. But it wasn’t worth the price.”

“What price is that?” Damian asked.

“Primo isn’t well,” she said. “He used to listen to me. Now he only listens to Malcolm, and Malcolm will do anything for money. For control.”

Damian looked at her lip. “Is he the one who did that?”

“Not this time.”

A tear tracked down one cheek, and an invisible hand seemed to close around his heart. Physical pain was one thing, but nothing hurt more than being hurt by someone you loved. He wanted to pull her into his arms then and there. To wipe the tear from her cheek and promise no one would ever hurt her again.

But of course, he could promise her no such thing. She wasn’t his to protect.

“You know I have to end this,” he said. “I can’t show Primo mercy. Especially now.”

“I know.”

“So why did you come?” he asked.

“I have no family but Primo, no real friends.” She said it matter-of-factly, and he knew his pity wouldn’t be welcome. “I just… I guess I needed a place to catch my breath.”

He thought carefully about what he would say next. Later he would wonder if it had been rash, but in the moment, he’d known exactly what he was doing.

Had known exactly what would happen if he did.

“This isn’t a good place to catch your breath.”

He couldn’t tell her about his plans for the following day. Couldn’t tell her that the city would soon be in chaos. The lives of too many men were at stake, and the fact that she’d come to him for sanctuary didn’t mean she was on his side.

“Of course.” She rose to her feet. “Thank you for the drink.”

“You didn’t let me finish; it isn’t safe for you here.” He only hesitated a moment. “But I know a place that is.”