Chapter 4: The Man Beneath The Mask

Mara couldn’t sleep.

She kept tossing on the bed, the sheets too soft, the room too quiet — as if it was trying to soothe her into forgetting everything.

But her mind refused to rest.

The clock glowed faintly. 2:00 a.m.

A thin stream of light spilled from beneath the study door down the hall.

He was still awake.

She hesitated before knocking — no answer.

The door wasn’t locked.

Mara pushed it open quietly and stepped inside.

Damon sat behind the desk, sleeves rolled up, shirt undone at the collar. His jacket lay abandoned on the couch. One hand clutched a glass of whiskey, the other dragged through his hair.

For once, the confident Mafia King looked… human.

Weary. Haunted.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked without looking up.

“I could ask you the same.”

A faint pause.

“Come in,” he said. “Or don’t. I won’t force you.”

Mara stepped in, crossing her arms. “Why do you keep everything about me in this room?”

He finally lifted his gaze. “Because it’s the only part of my life that ever felt real.”

Her heart twisted at the quiet honesty in his tone.

“I was just a kid when I got pulled into this world,” Damon murmured, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “After my father died, they came for my mother and me. She begged them to take her instead.” His eyes darkened. “And they did. Right in front of me.”

Mara’s breath caught.

“I became what they needed me to be — cold, strategic, ruthless.” He leaned back, the shadows wrapping around him. “But sometimes, I remembered what it felt like to be human. Those moments…” His voice softened. “They were always because of you.”

She sat down across from him, her voice gentler now. “I didn’t know you carried all that.”

“I never wanted you to.”

Her gaze lingered on him — the man who used to pull her braids, share his mango ice pops, chase stray dogs down the street… now a man who killed, ruled, and caged her for her own safety.

“What if I don’t know who you are anymore?” she asked quietly.

Damon leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk. “Then let me show you who I am.”

She blinked, stunned.

“I won’t ask you to trust me,” he continued, his voice low and steady. “But I’ll earn that trust back — even if it takes the rest of my life.”

Silence filled the room — heavy, fragile, almost sacred.

Then he stood, walked to the cabinet, and pulled out a black file, setting it before her.

“What’s this?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.

“A ledger,” he said. “It tracks the movements of the Morales gang. You were on their list — along with my lawyer, my driver, and my cook.” A bitter smile flickered across his lips. “They tried to poison him two nights ago.”

Mara’s pulse quickened as she flipped through the pages.

“You’re part of this world now,” Damon said quietly. “Whether we like it or not. If I don’t stay ahead of them, I lose more than just territory.” His eyes met hers. “I lose you.”

“I never wanted any of this, Damon.”

“But you agreed to it.”

She looked up sharply. “I agreed because I didn’t want to die.”

His expression softened. “That’s exactly why I asked you.”

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The distance between them felt fragile — stitched together by memories and regret.

“You should get some sleep,” Damon finally said, sinking back into his chair. “The media will be all over us tomorrow. Our faces will be everywhere.”

Mara hesitated. Then nodded.

At the door, she paused, hand on the knob.

“I’m still angry at you,” she said.

“I know.”

“I don’t forgive you.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to.”

A heavy silence lingered between them — thick with all the words they couldn’t say.

“But thank you,” she whispered, “for saving me.”

Damon didn’t move. He just watched her leave.

And when the door closed softly behind her, he murmured into the empty room —

“I wasn’t trying to save you.” His voice broke. “I was trying to save myself.”