“Oh.” The light in Jordan’s eyes dimmed, and Damiano hated it. He wanted those blue eyes to be alight with affection, always. He was addicted to the way Jordan looked at him—as if he were worth loving. As if he were a better man than he was. He wasn’t. Frankly, people weren’t wrong when they called him unfeeling, selfish, and heartless. He didn’t care about people. Most people were just tools for him. He felt no remorse about hurting people. Except this one. This one was precious. This one was his. This one made him feel.
