Dropping the Act

Damien's POV

I leaned back, trying to keep my temper in check. “If it were that simple, don’t you think I would’ve done it by now? And let’s not forget, Skylo, I asked you to get me her fucking father or my fucking money...not some fucking teen girl who can't control her damn emotions. What the fuck do you expect me to do with a fucking child, huh?” I groaned frustrated by it all.

He chuckled, clearly enjoying himself. “She was fun and challenging, I thought she'd bring spice into your boring life, you know. And she's actually doing a great job stressing you nuts right now”

“Shut up,” I snapped, running a hand through my hair.

Skylo tilted his head, and he gave me a slightly serious expression “You can't keep her locked up forever, What's the plan here? Wait until Daddy dearest comes crawling back?”

"I don't intend to."

"Look, Damien. You’ve got options. Kill her and be done with it, or—”

“Don’t test my patience,” I warned, getting infuriated by the thought of it. “Killing her is off the table. I don’t harm the innocent.”

He raised his hands in mock surrender. “Fine, no killing. But there are other ways to deal with her. Sell her, maybe. She’d fetch a decent price.”

The thought made my stomach churn. The very idea of someone else owning her, touching her, made my grip tighten on the glass.

“She’s not for sale,” I growled, my voice sharp enough to let Skylo know i was damn serious.

Skylo raised an eyebrow, a sly grin spreading across his face. “Then give her to me. I’ll make sure she’s…taken care of.” He winked and before I realized what I was doing. my fist slammed onto the desk. “Don’t push your luck.”

Skylo’s laugh was low, amused. “You’ve got it bad, boss. Never thought I’d see the day Damien Black got tangled up over a girl. But hey, your mess, not mine.”

“It’s not what you think, Sky,” I shot back, glaring at him.

“Sure, boss. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

I fought the urge to punch him, he was grateful to be my assistant and most trusted ally, or I'd have shot a bullet down his blabbing throat.

I hissed and grabbed the bottle of whiskey instead and poured myself another glass. “She’s not staying here forever,” I said firmly. “As soon as I get my hands on her father, she’s gone.”

I muttered, stressing every single word while giving Sky my "end the fucking topic" glare, and he knew best when I did... it was time to drop the topic.

Skylo Shrugged, "Fine! Now, back to why I'm here. I’m heading to Mexico tonight. The merchandise got held up, and the authorities won’t release it unless someone shows up in person.”

I groaned, the weight of having to deal with everything crashing down on me. “I thought we had it all covered.”

“Well, I guess we didn’t,” Skylo replied with that damn smirk of his.

“Fucking fix it, Sky,” I barked. “That’s why I fucking put you in charge. Kill anyone if necessary.” I cursed, swallowing a deep gulp from the glass.

I expected an affirmative response but, instead the grin on Skylo’s face widened. “I don’t hurt the innocent too,” he repeated and I gave him a cold glare, reaching for the gun in my drawer.

I guess it was time to break the "I promise to take care of your son, I made years back to his father."

Skylo's father was a loyal worker to my dad, he had sacrificed his whole life serving my household to the point he drank poison in place of my dad. The day he passed, my dad and I went to visit his Bay and he made me promise to take Skylo under my wing as a final wish. And now, Skylo was being a fucking pain, in my butthole.

“How long do you plan on keeping this little act going?” he asked, gesturing at the wheelchair.

I didn’t answer immediately, letting the silence stretch. Skylo wasn’t good with silence. He liked noise, talking, laughing, shooting, fucking hard. Anything but sitting still and minding his fucking business.

“I’ll keep it up,” I said finally, my voice low, “until the bastard who killed my parents slips up.”

Skylo chuckled, shaking his head. “You’ve been playing cripple for two years, Damien. Do you really think they’re gonna walk into a trap after this long? Whoever it is, they’ve got patience. Hell, maybe more patience than you.”

I swirled the whiskey in my glass, watching the amber liquid catch the light. “Patience, Sky, is a virtue. And it’s a weapon. You, of all people, should know that.”

Skylo leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “Sì, pazienza è una virtù,” he said in Italian, mocking a priest’s voice. “But let’s be real, Damien. This isn’t patience—it’s obsession.”

I looked at him, my eyes cold. “They destroyed my family, Sky. They wanted us all dead. I only managed to escape. Obsession doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

Skylo’s smirk faded, and for once, he looked serious.

___

The Black family had ruled the Mafia world for decades. My grandfather, Antonio Black, built the Empire brick by bloody brick. He was ruthless—a man who ruled with both fear and respect. By the time my father, Vittorio, took over, the Black name wasn’t just feared; it was sacred.

Unlike my grandfather, who ruled with cruel force and used illegal methods to secure his dealings, my father was a strategist, diplomatic, yet, calculated. Just like a chess master in a world of checkers players.

With his method, he earned deals, alliances, favors and was able to build an empire so high and mighty.

And then there was my mother, Isabella. Beautiful, elegant, deadly. She wasn’t just my father’s wife; she was his equal. She didn’t stand behind him—she stood beside him, whispering in his ear, plotting moves three steps ahead of everyone else.

Growing up, I was groomed for the life. My father taught me strategy, respect, and the importance of loyalty. My mother taught me manipulation, how to read people, how to make them beg for mercy without ever pulling a trigger.

We were untouchable—or so I thought.

But, the night my parents died shattered that illusion.

It had been a setup, I was certain. We were meeting with the Moretti family, discussing territory lines. Neutral ground, no weapons. It was supposed to be safe.

Until a bullet hit my father dead. He didn’t even have time to draw his gun. My mother screamed, lunging for him, but another shot rang out, and she went down too.

I remember the pain—the searing heat of the bullet tearing through my side. I hit the ground, with the world around me spinning around me. I didn't know how to react, I had been taught never to cry, so I didn't. I looked over at my mum who was soaked in her pool of blood and her hand weakly found mine.

“Damien,” she whispered, her voice shaking. "T-Trovali" (Find them).

And then she was gone.

I should’ve died that night. Hell, part of me did. But I survived, and that was enough. Enough to start over. Enough to find out who betrayed us.

---

“Damien.” Skylo’s voice pulled me back to the present.

“What?”

“You’ve been staring at that drink for five minutes. If you’re not gonna drink it, pass it over.”

I glared at him, but he only grinned.

“You’re lucky I don’t shoot you,” I muttered, taking a sip of the whiskey.

Skylo shrugged. “I’m lucky for a lot of reasons. But seriously, boss, two years in a chair? You ever think maybe it’s time to drop the act?”

I set the glass down with a sharp clink. “And do what, Sky? Walk around like nothing happened? Let whoever did this think they won?”

“They already think they won,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Hell, they probably think you’re harmless now. Sitting in that chair, barking orders like a sad old man—”

“Stai zitto.” My voice was sharp, cutting through his words. Shut up.

Skylo raised his hands in mock surrender. “Just saying, Damien. You’ve got options.”

I clenched my fists, the old anger bubbling up again. “I’ll get them, Sky. When they least expect it. And when I do, they’ll wish they’d finished the job.”

Skylo smirked, but there was something darker in his eyes now. “You know, I almost feel sorry for them. Almost.”

“You ever think about them?” Skylo asked.

I didn’t have to ask who he meant.

“Every day,” I said quietly.

Skylo nodded, his usual smirk gone. “Your old man...he was a good boss. Hard, but fair. And your mother? That woman scared the hell out of me.”

I almost smiled at that. “She scared everyone. Even my father.”

Skylo laughed, the sound genuine. “Yeah, I believe it. She had that look, you know? Like she could see right through a person.”

“She could,” I said. “And she never forgot what she saw.” I knew if she was here, it would be easier to fish out the culprit.

The room fell quiet again, each of us enclosed in our thoughts.

___

When Skylo finally stood, he stretched like a cat. “Well, I’d better get going. Mexico won’t fix itself.”

I nodded, watching him head for the door.

“Skylo,” I said, stopping him.

He turned, one eyebrow raised. “Yeah?”

“Be careful.”

He grinned. “Always am, boss.”

As he left, I turned back to the window, the city lights glowing out before me. Two years of waiting. Two years of silence.

But tonight felt different.

---

Hours later, I was still awake, unable to sleep from the memory jug I had earlier when the knock on the door came in.

“Come in,” I said, my voice steady.

Marco stepped inside, his face grim.

“Boss,” he greeted,“We’ve got a name.”

I straightened in my chair. “Talk.”

“One of our informants heard whispers. Carlo Moretti.”

I froze. Carlo Moretti had been one of my father’s closest men—a man who’d been with us for years.

“Where is he?” I asked, my voice cold at the thought of the betrayal.

“Laying low. We’ve got a lead on his location, but it’s risky. Want me to handle it?”

“No,” I said, my jaw tight. “I’ll take care of it.”

Marco hesitated. “Boss, are you sure—”

“Do I look unsure to you?” I snapped.

He nodded quickly. “Understood.”

As he left, the fire in me burned hotter.

And that fire was ready to consume Carlo whole.

-