“I’ve killed people for less,” Damiano said, his tone very mild but his expression tight.
Chuckling, Jordan pulled his head down and pecked him on the stubbled cheek. “Is that supposed to intimidate me? You never scared me.”
Damiano inhaled unsteadily. “Why didn’t you tell Raffaele that I killed Gustavo?”
Jordan licked his lips. There were so many ways to answer that question.
But he couldn’t lie. Not to this man.
“You know why,” he said, closing his eyes.
“Say it,” Damiano said hoarsely, his teeth grazing Jordan’s jawline.
Jordan shivered. More. “He paid me $180,000 to pretend to be his boyfriend and help him figure out who was behind the assassination attempts. I did what he paid me for. I owed him nothing more. Loyalty can’t be bought. And mine belonged to you, not him.”
Damiano kissed his neck, his hand gripping Jordan’s side almost painfully. “You’re smarter than that. No one trusts me, caro.”
“I do.” The terrifying part was how little he cared about Damiano’s faults. He’d always considered himself a pretty good person, but lately he had to reevaluate that opinion. A good person wouldn’t adore a man who was capable of killing in cold blood—who had killed someone in front of him.
Damiano pressed their foreheads together, his breath warm against Jordan’s cheek.
He didn’t say anything for a long time, breathing unsteadily.
“I can’t stand this,” he said at last, his voice barely audible. “I hate the way you got me all twisted up and irrational. This is not me.” He sucked hard on Jordan’s jawline. “You’re right: giving you bodyguards was irrational. But it was something I could control. Knowing how you’re doing. It helped, a little.”
Jordan’s eyes burned. God, they both were so fucked-up.
He hugged Damiano tightly, pulling his weight fully on top of him again. He loved it, he hated it, he hated this feeling so much. How could something feel so good, so perfect, and yet leave him feeling so empty? Missing someone who had never been his, who was still right there, was its own special kind of hell.
“Stay,” he said in a disgustingly small voice. “Just for tonight?”
It seemed to take ages before Damiano replied.
“All right.” He put his head on Jordan’s pillow, his body still on top of him and their faces inches apart.
His throat uncomfortably tight, Jordan traced Damiano’s features with a finger, trying to imprint them into memory.
Damiano allowed him, just watching him with an intense, fixated expression, the intimacy of the moment gut-wrenching. He’d never felt closer to another person in his life. He’d never wanted to be even closer. Was there a way to be closer? If there was, Jordan wanted it. He couldn’t get enough. He would bottle up this man’s scent if he could. He would spend the rest of his life in this bed with him if he could.
But he couldn’t.
He knew Damiano wouldn’t return. He wasn’t the sort of man to indulge his weaknesses. He would quash any unwanted emotions until there was nothing left.
This was the last time he’d ever see him.
“Don’t cry,” Damiano said tersely, a muscle jumping by his temple. “It’s not worth crying over.”
I’m not worth crying over.
“I’m not crying,” Jordan said, blinking the moisture away.
Damiano cradled his cheek carefully, wiping the tear by the corner of Jordan’s right eye with the pad of his thumb, his touch ever so gentle. The gentleness of it made Jordan’s throat close up.
Damiano stared at the tear in strange fascination as if he’d never seen tears in his life. “Our paths should have never crossed,” he said tonelessly. “Whatever this is, it’ll pass. You’ll be better off without me.”
“I know,” Jordan whispered. He closed his eyes, pressing his cheek against Damiano’s. Stay, he wanted to beg. It was his last thought as he drifted off. Stay.
It was the best sleep he’d gotten in months.
When he woke up, the bed was empty.
Damiano had slipped out of his bed and his life like he had never been in it.
Chapter 20
The ironic thing was, Damiano utterly detested stalking.
He saw nothing wrong with gathering vital intelligence about people of interest when it came to business, but stalking a person just for the sake of it… he’d always thought it was pathetic. Only weak, pathetic men wouldn’t approach the object of their interest instead of stalking them from afar. That had always been his opinion on the matter, and it generally irritated him if one of his men used their resources to stalk people for private reasons.
And yet here he was.
Stalking Jordan. Using his infinite resources to keep tabs on him, because—
Because he couldn’t let go. Because part of him felt entitled to it. It was disgusting, how entitled to it he felt. How possessive his thoughts turned when he thought about Jordan.
Possessiveness wasn’t exactly a new thing for Damiano. As a boy, he’d had very little. He had often felt like a changeling, an outsider among a big, tightly knit family, and he always had to fight to keep his place there. What little he owned, he had guarded fiercely from the other boys, afraid that they’d take it away. As a boy, he had resolved to get stronger so that his things wouldn’t be taken from him again. And he had gotten stronger. Rich. Respected. Feared. Along the way, he’d lost his fierce desire to own things and guard them. He had everything now. Why would he be possessive of his things if he could just buy another?