“Only me,” Jordan said. “I removed it from the family’s file system.” He shrugged, putting his hands into his pockets. “I’m a programmer. It was five minutes’ work—”
“Jordan”
Jordan’s stomach clenched. He looked up.
Damiano was frowning deeply at the ring in his hands before looking back at Jordan. “This would be a huge security risk,” he said. “I can’t accept it. Lorenzo would have my head.”
Right.
Of course. Of course Damiano wouldn’t accept his gift. He didn’t know what he had been thinking… Damiano wasn’t the type of man to allow anyone to track his whereabouts; he was too paranoid for that. Of course he wouldn’t consent to it.
“Never mind,” Jordan said, taking the ring and turning away.
A hand grabbed his arm and turned him around. “It’s stupid to feel upset,” Damiano said in a clipped voice. “You know me. I can’t accept such a security risk.”
“I’m not upset,” Jordan lied with a crooked smile. “It’s fine.”
Damiano glared, his expression tight. “You’re lying. I know you.”
Yes. He knew him. That was the problem. Damiano might lack empathy when it came to other people, but he never lacked it when it came to him. They both were so attuned to each other that anything other than honesty was pointless.
“Maybe I am upset,” Jordan admitted with a humorless smile. “A little bit. But yeah, I knew the chances of you accepting this gift were slim at best. It’s—it’s okay. Go. I’ll get over it.”
Damiano’s jaw worked.
Seconds dragged as Jordan looked at Damiano’s coat and Damiano looked at him.
“Fine,” Damiano ground out. “Give me the ring. I’ll wear the damn thing if it makes you stop looking like this.”
Jordan blinked, his mouth falling open. “Really?”
“Yes.”
Beaming at him, Jordan retrieved the ring from its box, took Damiano’s left hand and pushed the ring on his ring finger.
His mouth dry, he admired it for a moment. The platinum ring was thick and masculine, but fairly simple and unobtrusive, with simple geometric engravings that matched the ones on Jordan’s own ring. It looked better on Damiano’s darker finger than it did on Jordan’s pale one.
“Thanks,” Jordan murmured, pressing his matching ring against Damiano’s. “I won’t tell anyone your whereabouts, I swear.”
“That isn’t what I’m worried about,” Damiano said.
When Jordan glanced up at him, he found Damiano staring at their fingers with an odd expression.
God, he was so heart-stoppingly handsome. Jordan couldn’t get enough of looking at him, at his dark hair covered in snowflakes, his perfectly sculpted eyebrows, penetrating eyes, and firm, sensual lips. His broad shoulders were practically begging to be touched, to be hugged.
Damiano lifted his gaze from their hands and met his eyes. Then, he yanked him close and kissed him hard, his hands cradling Jordan’s face in a firm, possessive grip, his mouth hot and perfect, a stark contrast to the cold snowflakes falling on his face.
By the time Damiano released him, Jordan couldn’t tell left from right, the world a distant blur, Damiano’s face the only thing in focus.
They gazed at each other in silence, both of them panting.
Don’t go, Jordan wanted to say.
Come back to me, he wanted to say.
I love you, he wanted to say.
He said nothing, the words getting stuck somewhere in his throat, like a painful lump.
His eyes wide, he could only watch as Damiano turned around and walked away.
Three bodyguards appeared out of nowhere, following Damiano to the waiting car.
They got in. Damiano paused for a moment, with his back to Jordan, before getting in the car too.
The car took off.
And Jordan was alone, again.
Chapter 26
Jordan got drunk once he got home. He wasn’t proud of it, but there was an awful sinking feeling in his stomach that wouldn’t go away. He wasn’t even sure why he felt so upset and heartbroken. It was fucking stupid. It wasn’t as though Damiano had ever promised him something. In fact, he had told him several times that he wasn’t capable of committing to anyone, that it was a weakness he would never allow himself. Jordan had known that.
It didn’t hurt any less.
“Merry Christmas to me,” he said with a laugh, taking another swig from his bottle of vodka. And then another, and another, and another.
He didn’t sleep. Or maybe he did. He wasn’t sure. The sky was light already, so it was probably morning.
There was music coming from somewhere. Wait. Was it his ringtone? Where was his phone?
The world was shaking funnily as Jordan looked for it. Miraculously, his phone was still ringing by the time he found it. It must have been someone very patient. Or maybe it was some stubborn, inconsiderate asshole who didn’t care that people might be busy or asleep.
It was the latter, Jordan realized as he squinted at the Caller ID. Raffaele Ferrara.
“What do you want?” he snapped. Slurred. Whatever.
There was a pause. “Are you drunk?” his boss said.