Jordan felt his chest tighten as their gazes met. “You shouldn’t have come.” “You shouldn’t have sent for me, then.” Jordan glared at him. “I didn’t—” “Let’s cut the bullshit, caro,” Damiano said, his tone mild but his gaze almost resentful. “We both know your little message was a cry for attention. You knew I wouldn’t ignore it. You knew I’d come to see you.” Jordan’s face was burning with humiliation. “You didn’t have to come. I hardly forced you.” The laugh that left Damiano’s throat lacked true mirth. “I had no more agency than a moth that flies to a flame.”
