Darien didn't know how to respond to Delphine's meek words at his sudden appearance, as she tried to put on a brave face despite the fresh tears still threatening to spill from her eyes, as if the senseless destruction of her life's work, her families legacy, was no more than a minor setback. The girl even managed a weak laugh as she explained that she wouldn't be able to provide him with his rose today, as if that weren't obvious enough, her bright nature shining through despite everything.
Darien, though, lacked her better nature. His look of panic and concern melted away as he took in the enormity of the damage done to the small flower shop, his lips creasing into a scowl of utter contempt. It was an expression Delphine had never seen him wear before, and combined with the manic glint of a madman in his eyes, it was most unsettling. It wasn't just Delphine's sorrow that enraged him so, it was where the damage had been done as well. This place was a well of memories, and the proud labor of his own love. Delilah had loved this shop, and losing it was like losing her all over again. And over what? A bit of money and passing amusement for a band of drunken punks? It would not stand. Under his breath, he let loose a flurry of crisp Italian epithets, none of them polite.
Grigori, for the first time ever, actually entered the shop, cracking glass under his heavy combat boots as he carefully avoiding the broken window Darien had ignored in his haste. The bodyguard gave Delphine only the most cursory of glances to see that she was unhurt before his attention turned wholly to his employer, noticing first the welling of blood on his arm, then the crazed expression he wore. That look was dangerous, and that was coming from a hardened killer. There would be blood over this....the only question was whose blood, and how much of it.
But before he could say something that couldn't be unsaid, Delphine saved him with words of genuine concern at the sight of his bloodied arm. His storm-cloud eyes softened somewhat at the sound, scowl becoming an unreadable line. Despite her life being in shambles, Delphine cared more about a rose she couldn't sell him and a scratch on his arm than the landlord, creditors, and insurance agents that would come banging on her door. Truly, she was pure, and perfect, and vulnerable. When she was gone into the back of the shop to find the first aide kit, Darien turned to Grigori.
"Call Vince, I want a full report. Delotta owns this part of town, I'll want to speak with him. Get Vidal here, tell him to bring his briefcase. And the commissioner, slow down the police. Just ask about what happened on Pier 7, he'll understand." Darien ordered in short, clipped sentences, and Grigori raised a confused eyebrow. It was a lot of work on short notice over a flower shop in another part of town. The backlash would be considerable. But he held his tongue. Besides it not being his place to ask questions, even the no-nonsense bodyguard knew this was about more than just about the shop. It had been Darien's fleeting moments of peace that had been attacked, and his rare smiles were worth more than reputation. And there was also the girl to consider. Not Delphine, the first one. The one who's name he wasn't allowed to speak. So the big man stepped outside, out of earshot from the crowd but close enough to keep an eye on things, and started making calls.
Darien was sitting on the only intact seat he could find in the room, an small stepladder for reaching high shelves, arms crossed over his knees and seemingly lost in thought. While the smells of the store, flowers, herbs, and potting soil were still present, they were no longer the familiar, comforting perfume they had been just days before. Their spell had been broken...but the same could not be said of Delphine's spell, as the redhead carefully made her way over to him and knelt down to examine his arm, concern clear in her sea-green eyes. The tears were gone now, replaced with a look of genuine concern, caring only about this exact moment. He almost lost himself in those eyes that he almost missed her gesturing for him to roll up his sleeve.
With a shrug at her words, Darien reached up with his intact left and easily tore the sleeve from the two-hundred dollar shirt to reveal his right arm to the shoulder where he had been cut on the glass. It was a shallow cut, barely reaching the muscle, but long and ugly. It would leave a scar no matter what she did, not that it was his first, nor would it be his last.
"I've had worse, I'll live. If Grigori thought it was serious he'd already have me on the way to a hospital. You don't have to worry about me...you should worry about what you're going to do, Delphine." The words were blunt, but not unkind.
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