Chapter 17 - When Boston Turned on Damian Cross
Roman’s escape lasted thirty-six hours.
They were the longest thirty-six hours of my life.
Damian wanted me moved to a secure location.
I agreed.
He looked suspicious.
“What?”
“You agreed.”
“Yes.”
“Immediately.”
“Yes.”
“Who are you?”
“Someone capable of learning.”
“I don’t trust it.”
“You are impossible.”
The secure location turned out to be Margaret’s new property in Maine.
I refused.
Too far.
Instead, I stayed in a guarded apartment above Crosswell with Nora.
Damian remained downstairs coordinating with law enforcement.
At 2:13 a.m., the fire alarm activated.
My entire body went cold.
Not again.
Nora looked at me.
We both understood.
Fire.
Michael.
Roman loved symbolism.
Security ordered evacuation through the rear stairwell.
Smoke entered the lower corridor.
Not a major fire.
A distraction.
When we reached the alley, one security guard was unconscious on the pavement.
Alive.
A van door opened.
Roman stepped out.
“Mara.”
I backed away.
He held no visible weapon.
That didn’t reassure me.
“You should come with me.”
“No.”
“It wasn’t a request.”
Sirens sounded in the distance.
Roman smiled.
“He’ll come for you.”
“Yes.”
“You sound certain.”
“I am.”
“That’s his weakness.”
“No.”
Roman’s smile faded.
“That’s where you never understood him.”
He took one step closer.
“Damian spent his entire life thinking love makes people vulnerable.”
I continued backing toward a security camera.
“It doesn’t.”
“What does it do?”
“It gives them something worth choosing differently for.”
Roman’s expression hardened.
“You really believe you changed him?”
“No.”
I meant it.
“He changed himself.”
A black SUV turned into the alley.
Roman moved.
So did I.
I didn’t attack him.
I simply ducked behind a concrete barrier as security flooded the alley from both ends.
Roman ran.
He made it twenty yards.
Then stopped.
Damian stood at the opposite entrance.
No weapon in his hands.
Roman laughed.
“You came.”
“Of course.”
“For her.”
“Yes.”
The word echoed between buildings.
Roman looked at me.
Then Damian.
“You always choose the wrong person.”
Damian’s expression remained calm.
“No.”
“For once, I chose exactly right.”
Police closed in.
Roman looked trapped.
For one terrible second, I thought Damian might attack him.
Roman thought so too.
He spread his arms.
“Go ahead.”
Damian didn’t move.
“You want revenge.”
“I did.”
“Michael deserves it.”
“Michael deserves better than me becoming you.”
That silenced Roman.
Police tackled him seconds later when he attempted to run.
This time, his escape ended.
No dramatic gunfire.
No body in an alley.
Just handcuffs.
Sirens.
And Damian standing beside me while years of violence finally failed to repeat themselves.
After Roman was taken away, Damian checked my hands.
“My hands are fine.”
“Head?”
“Fine.”
“Breathing?”
“Damian.”
“Answer.”
“Fine.”
He closed his eyes.
Then pulled me against him.
For once, I didn’t tease him.
“I thought—”
He stopped.
“I know.”
“I can’t lose—”
“I know.”
That night, we sat on the Crosswell roof while firefighters cleared smoke from the lower level.
Damage was minimal.
The clinic would reopen in two days.
Boston lights stretched around us.
“I’m selling the remaining waterfront operations,” Damian said.
“Why?”
“I don’t want them.”
“You don’t have to erase your entire past.”
“I’m not.”
He looked at me.
“I’m deciding which parts come with me.”
That was different.
Healthy, even.
“Crosswell stays?”
“Always.”
“Hotels?”
“Legal.”
“Construction?”
“Legal.”
“Security?”
“Painfully legal.”
I smiled.
“And you?”
“What about me?”
“What do you want?”
He looked genuinely confused.
I realized nobody had asked Damian Cross that in years.
Maybe ever.
He thought for a long time.
“Coffee with you tomorrow.”
I laughed.
“That’s your grand ambition?”
“For tomorrow.”
“And after that?”
“Dinner.”
“You’re not very imaginative.”
He took my hand.
“I’m learning to plan one normal thing at a time.”
The story should have ended with Roman’s second arrest.
But history isn’t cleaned up that neatly.
A month later, federal prosecutors announced Damian would not face charges connected to Roman’s trafficking conspiracy because evidence showed he had been deliberately framed in several key transactions.
He did face scrutiny over other business practices.
He paid fines.
Restructured companies.
Lost contracts.
And for the first time in his adult life, Damian Cross stopped trying to control what Boston thought about him.
He concentrated on what came next.
And what came next frightened him more than any enemy ever had.
May you like
A life where he had to be known instead of feared.
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