Chapter 2 - The Logic of Survival
Silence settled between them like heavy silt. Damian studied her face, searching for the telltale signs of a practiced grifter—the roving glance, the overdramatic plea, the rehearsed outrage. He found none. Only the primal exhaustion of someone who had run out of ground to stand on.
"You called a smuggler from my private residence," Damian said flatly.
"I had five minutes on my break," she answered, holding his gaze despite her trembling chin. "My mother called me in tears. Mateo collapsed after dinner. The public hospital won't accept him without an upfront deposit because our district was rezoned last month. I didn't steal from you. I would never take food or medicine from this house. But I cannot watch my brother die because my wages are two weeks behind the calendar."
Clara stirred in Maya's arms, letting out a soft, reedy sigh before settling back against Maya’s shoulder. Damian looked down at his niece’s tiny hand, which had slipped out of the blanket to grip Maya’s ruffled collar. The baby knew Maya’s heartbeat better than anyone else’s. When Elena died, Damian had tried to hold Clara, but his hands were cold, his posture stiff with unresolved anger toward the world. Maya had stepped into the nursery without fear, singing old Spanish lullabies that smoothed the grief from the nursery walls.
"Give Clara to me," Damian commanded quietly.
Panic flickered across Maya’s features. "Mr. Vance, please. Let me finish putting her down."
"Give her to me, Maya."
May you like
Reluctantly, Maya leaned forward. Damian reached out, his tattooed forearms flexing as he awkwardly received the bundle. He supported the infant's neck with stiff caution, his body rigid. Clara didn't cry; she simply yawned and nuzzled into his chest, entirely unaware of the tension vibrating through the men and women who kept her alive.
"Go to the kitchen," Damian said, his face unreadable. "Drink water. Do not touch your phone. We are not finished."
