The Crime Boss's Silent Son Wouldn't Eat For Six Days — Then A Broke Waitress Broke Every Rule In The Room

Dawn broke over Manhattan in shades of bruised purple and ash-gray.

The heavy steel door of the panic room clicked and swung open.

Nora looked up.

Damon stood in the doorway. His tactical turtleneck was torn at the shoulder, a dark crimson stain spreading across the dark fabric near his collarbone. His face was smudged with soot and dried blood, his knuckles raw and bruised.

Yet, as his dark eyes locked onto Milo, who immediately scrambled off Nora’s lap and ran to wrap his arms around his father’s waist, the fierce predator melted away.

Damon dropped to his knees, burying his face in Milo’s dark hair, his massive shoulders trembling with a massive, silent sigh of relief.

“You’re okay,” Damon murmured against his son's head, his voice cracking slightly. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

Nora stood up slowly, her legs shaking from exhaustion and adrenaline. She walked over to the doorway, looking at the blood on his shoulder. “You’re bleeding.”

“It’s not mine,” Damon said flatly, standing up while keeping Milo securely in his arms. He looked at Nora with a gaze so intense it felt like a physical touch. “Viktor tried to run for a speedboat on the river. Marcus intercepted him. The Italian syndicate is broken in this city. They won't bother us again.”

“And you?” Nora asked quietly.

“I’m standing right here,” Damon replied.

He looked around the panic room, then down at Milo, who was already yawning against his shoulder—safe, grounded, and for the first time in six months, truly at peace.

“Pack your bags, Nora,” Damon said softly.

Nora froze, a cold knot forming in her stomach. “Is... is this where you fire me? Send me back to Queens now that the war is over?”

Damon stepped closer, closing the distance between them until she could feel the heat radiating off his body, smelling the faint scent of gunpowder and rain.

“I told you before,” Damon whispered, his voice dropping an octave, rich and resonant in the quiet hallway. “People who work for me are well-compensated. And people who save my son’s life... don't ever leave.”

He reached out, his large, calloused hand gently cupping her cheek, his thumb brushing away a smudge of soot from her skin.

“Unless, of course,” Damon added, a rare, breathtaking smile finally breaking through his hard exterior, “you’d rather run away from the most dangerous man in New York.”

Nora looked up into those storm-gray eyes, feeling the entire chaotic, terrifying world fall perfectly into place.

She didn't pull away.