The Mafia Sacrifice

102

A guard opens up the door to the black suv, as Damon comes to a stop. He sits me on the seat, softly, making sure I was comfortable. He slowly takes the seat belt into his hands, trying to buckle me in.

Placing my hand on the one that held the seat belt, I stop him. "Regardless of all the fucked up shit... it was beautiful."

Damon's eyes catches mine. His eyebrows fall down, hiding his interest. "Why are you telling me this?"

I sigh at his oblivion. "Because I don't want to wait until it's too late. There's only so many times I could avoid death like this," I say symbolizing the bullet that has sunk into my hip every few seconds that we stay here.

Damon shakes his head. "That's exactly why we should fight our battles before settling for a future."

"Damon," I call his name. "You know that if we were to leave tomorrow, Chris would hold this empire down."

Damon sighs.

As if my statement didn't matter, he buckles me in anyways. My hand that once overlapped his, slides to the side of my body in defeat.

"Damon. Everything would be fine," I suggest. "Chris is one of the most trustworthy men we know. What's wrong with leaving him in charge for a week?"

Damon shakes his head, using all forms of avoidance; ignoring me, no eye contact, not wanting to hear what I had to say.

"Damon, it's Chris," I say in confusion.

"But Chris is not us," Damon's once silenced voice, rise above mine. "Okay. He's not us."

Damon's bold words fall upon me as my mouth part in surprise. I didn't expect Damon to recommend reasoning as to why Chris is not a good fit. Because at once, Chris was more than a good fit.

I close my eyes, letting his statement sink in before I reply back. Before I could event suggest my thoughts, he takes a step back, shutting the door between us.

The thought of him saying someone isn't us, then causing a divide between us made my heart fall. Because the us that he proudly verbalized had a door right between them.

Thrusting my hips forward, I glance over my shoulder in annoyance, watching him send orders to a few men who stood by the car. Once he finished, he made his way to the other side, soon getting in.

He closes the door behind him, placing the first aid kit beside him. "Famoir," He calls the driver. The driver nods his head, placing a pair of headphones on his head, just before he began driving away.

I didn't question where Easton was because I was aware that he didn't work dangerous missions.

Damon glances back at me. "May I?" He politely asks, as if he hasn't snatched my clothes of with less politeness in different circumstances.

I nod my head. He reaches for my belt buckle, unbuttoning it. Once it was loose, he slowly rolled my pants down, enough to revealing my wound and enough to still preserve privacy.

Again, I wince as my body folds, pressuring the bullet to move at a slightly different point. Trembling in pain, he places his hands on my thigh.

They were cold, but somehow they warmed me up. Despite his want to ignore my wishes, he made me feel at home.

And I didn't want to ever lose that factor in our relationship—In our marriage.

"I want time," Damon finally speaks up. His head is still dropping low, avoiding the eye contact that he normally mastered.