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Damian spunon the balls of his feet, kicking the heavy bag as he worked the knife in his hand against an imaginary opponent. He dodged the bag as it swung from the kick, imagining it was one of Anastos’s men standing between him and Aria. He threw the knife from one hand to the other and spun it, burying it into the bag withoutthinking.
It was no longer an inanimate object, not a heavy bag hanging from a hook but a living, breathing man who might have hurt Aria, who was trying to keep her fromDamian.
He slid the knife into it again and again, seeing a wash of red behind his eyelids, needing only the release of fists and feet and weapons sinking intoflesh.
Even pretend fleshwoulddo.
By the time he was done, sand was pouring onto the floor under the bag, seeping from the cuts Damian had delivered as he worked against the moves of the opponent inhishead.
He watched the bag swing, the sand marking the floor of the gym as it swung slower and slower on its hook. Finally, it stopped and he crossed the gym to a table lined withweapons.
He let his gaze scan the knives and throwing stars, the nunchucks and claws. His tastes had grown more exotic in the month since he’d checked himself out of the hospital. He’d always liked fighting. Had always found release in the physical exertion required to hurt an opponent, in the satisfaction of knowing he had prevailed, but in the past he’d relied on garden-variety methodology: MMA, boxing, an assortment of knives, guns whenrequired.
His fixation on exotic weapons had become an obsession, yet another way to imagine himself destroying the men who had taken Ariafromhim.
Who had kept her for nearly twomonths.
And Primo Fiore was at the top ofhislist.
Damian had to resist the urge to return to the heavy bag as he thought about Aria’s brother. He sheathed the knife instead. It was too late. He was due at the Westchester Airport in under two hours to board the private jet to Tanagra,Greece.
TogetAria.
He would store his rage instead, save it for the men who held Ariacaptive.
Sweat was dripping from his bare torso, and he reached for a towel on his way out of the gym, hit the lights, and started up the stairs to the mainfloor.
His thoughts returned to Primo. At first, he hadn’t been sure Aria’s brother had known about the plan to kidnap her. Primo was well known to be unstable, gossip that had been backed up by Aria once Damian had come to know her. Primo built the second most powerful organization in New York on the back of his madness — he was unpredictable and therefore dangerous — and in the vacuum of leadership by the Syndicate after Raneiro Donati’sdeath.
But Primo wasn’t smart enough to realize those were conditions that had since changed. When Damian approached him on behalf of the Syndicate with an offer to buy out his New York interests, the other man had not only balked, he’d come after Damian, setting fire to the Franklin Street Women’s Shelter, Damian’s petproject.
Those actions had been stupid, but allowing an animal like Stefano Anastos to kidnap his sister on the island of Capri would bepureevil.
Damian had wanted to believe that Primo wouldn’t put Aria’s life in the hands of someone like Stefano. He’d hoped and prayed Primo had been oblivious to the plans, that they had been executed by Malcolm Gattiinstead.
That hope had died when his hackers had uncovered correspondence between Primo and Malcolm discussing plans to bring Anastos in on the New York operation — in exchange for kidnapping Aria and helping to eliminate the threat posed by theSyndicate.
That meant Primo would have to pay like the restofthem.
Damian closed the door to the underground level of the house, locked it, and made his way down the main hall of his estate in Westchester with the towel draped around his neck. The house was quiet and he looked into the rooms as he passed — the vast two-story library packed with every book imaginable, the expansive kitchen where he'd taken to eating standing up after his time in the gym, the study where he slept on the sofa, afraid to sleep too deeply for fear of the nightmares thathauntedhim.
He’d taken to indulging in fantasies about bringing Aria back to the house. Of seeing her curled up in a chair in the library, reading a book, watching her make tea in the kitchen, looking up to find her in the door of hisstudy.
Most of all he wanted to show her the big greenhouse and he’d spent the month since he’d gotten out of the hospital working to restore it, moving it to the top of his restorationprojects.
Aria would find refuge there when he got her out of Greece. The community garden that had been her safe haven before Damian had moved to take over her brother’s territory was closed for the winter, but here she could grow anything she liked even in the dead ofwinter.
He paused in the doorway of the glass-walled room, imagining her sinking her hands into dark, rich soil, a smile playing on her lush mouth, her hair falling over her face, streaks of burgundy catching the light as sheworked.
His heart clutched in his chest and he turned away from the room, started up the back staircase to the master suite. He couldn’t afford to be sentimental. He only had room for useful emotions, and the only useful emotions were rage anddetermination.
It was a familiar mantra, one that had gotten him through Christmas. The Syndicate’s leaders had all extended invitations to him for the holiday, but accepting wasunthinkable.
He didn’t know what Aria was going through. Allowing himself even a small amount of peace wasn’t possible until he knewshesafe.
He’d had the ingredients for a lavish feast sent to the Franklin Street shelter’s new location in Greenwich and instructed Cole to deliver gifts for the women and children. Then he’d spent the holiday alone in Westchester, drinking and reviewing the data on Anastos’s holdings inGreece.