Chapter 4 - The Citadel of GlassHarper didn't hesitate. Survival instinct overrode panic.
She grabbed her canvas backpack, stuffed three days’ worth of clothes, her laptop, and her sister’s medical files inside, and bolted out of her apartment. She ignored the elevator, sprinting down six flights of concrete stairs in the service stairwell, her heart hammering against her ribs like a sledgehammer.
When she burst out through the heavy metal back door into the alleyway, the freezing night air hit her like a physical blow.
Parked beside the overflowing brick dumpster was a matte-black Mercedes Maybach with tinted windows. The rear door clicked open automatically as she approached.
She dove inside, tumbling onto the supple leather seats. The door slammed shut behind her, sealing out the noise of the city, and the car glided away from the curb before she could even catch her breath.
Sitting in the opposite corner of the spacious backseat, illuminated only by the faint amber streetlights filtering through the glass, was Damien Croft.
Up close, without the blinding glare of the Waldorf chandeliers, he looked even more striking—and infinitely more dangerous. He wore a dark wool overcoat over a crisp black shirt, his collar unbuttoned. The red handprint on his cheek had faded into a faint shadow, but his posture was rigid, carved from black granite.
He didn't look at her immediately. He was staring out the window, watching the neon lights of Manhattan streak past.
“You’re an absolute fool, Miss Quinn,” Damien said softly, breaking the heavy silence.
Harper bristled, crossing her arms defensively. The lingering terror of the past few minutes instantly gave way to righteous anger.
“An absolute fool?!” Harper snapped, her voice rising. “Excuse me for not stopping to ask a lunatic billionaire if he’s staging an elaborate theatrical performance while he’s reducing an elderly woman to tears! If you wanted to catch an assassin, maybe you should have communicated like a normal human being instead of acting like a sadistic sociopath!”
Damien slowly turned his head. His pale blue eyes locked onto hers with a piercing intensity that made the air in the car feel thin.
“In my world, Miss Quinn, explanation is a luxury that gets people killed,” Damien replied, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous register. “If I had warned Maria, her pupils would have dilated, her breathing would have changed, and the assassin would have detonated a cyanide capsule in the room before we could secure the exits. I saved five hundred lives that night. And in return, a waitress with a hero complex walked up and slapped me in front of the entire city.”
Harper swallowed hard, her anger deflating slightly as the stark, brutal reality of his words settled over her. She looked down at her hands, twisting her fingers together.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, the words tasting bitter on her tongue. “About the... about the slap.”
A faint, fleeting twitch of amusement touched the corner of Damien’s mouth—gone as quickly as it appeared.
“Save your apologies,” Damien said smoothly. “You have bigger problems. Because of that slap, the Morelli syndicate has placed a bounty on your head. They believe you are my weakness. They believe that if they break you, I will yield the northern shipping docks.”
Harper’s head snapped up. “Your shipping docks? What does that have to do with me? I’m just a girl from Brooklyn who makes minimum wage!”
“You are no longer just a girl from Brooklyn,” Damien stated flatly. “You are tied to me now. For better, or for absolute destruction.”
The car turned sharply, passing through a pair of massive, wrought-iron security gates guarded by men holding submachine guns, and entered the subterranean motor court of a towering glass skyscraper in Midtown—the Croft Global headquarters.
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As the car came to a smooth halt, Damien turned to her, his expression darkening into a mask of absolute resolve.
“Welcome to my fortress, Harper,” Damien murmured. “Step outside, and you are a target. Stay by my side, and I will burn this city to ash before I let anyone touch a hair on your head.”
