Chapter Eight: Truth and Lies

The coffee shop Richard chose sat near the courthouse, tucked between a law firm and a dry cleaner, and it was already crowded despite the early hour. Lawyers in pressed suits moved in and out with phones pressed to their ears, office workers lined up at the counter, and the air buzzed with low conversation and the constant hiss of the espresso machine. It was loud, busy, and ordinary in a way that felt almost unreal.

Elena understood why he had chosen this place. No one would try anything violent here. Not in the middle of a weekday morning, not with so many witnesses. Safety, for now, came from being seen.

Damien still insisted on arriving early. He always did. Fifteen minutes before the scheduled time, they walked in together, and Elena immediately noticed how his men filtered through the room without drawing attention. They took separate tables, some with newspapers, others with phones or laptops, all of them positioned to watch the doors and the windows. To anyone else, they looked like regular customers. To Elena, they looked like a net tightening around her.

It was another reminder that nothing in her life belonged to her anymore. Even a cup of coffee required security.

Richard Castellano was already there, sitting alone at a corner table near the window. A black leather briefcase rested neatly at his feet. He looked older than Elena remembered, thinner too, as if the past few months had carved lines into his face that hadn’t been there before. When he saw her, he stood quickly, his expression softening with something that looked like real grief.

He hugged her without hesitation. It was brief, careful, and sincere. Elena let herself lean into it for just a moment. Richard had known her father for most of her life. Whatever secrets he carried now, his loss was genuine.

They sat down together. Richard ordered coffee for all of them out of habit, as if this were just another meeting, another normal morning. Elena watched his hands as he reached for the briefcase, noting the slight tremor in his fingers.

He told her he had been Antonio Russo’s lawyer for thirty years. More than that, he had been his friend. He had watched Elena grow up. He said he was sorry that she had been pulled into this world so suddenly, without preparation, without choice.

Elena thanked him, then asked him why he had asked to meet. She didn’t want sympathy. She needed answers.

Richard’s expression hardened as he opened the briefcase. He pulled out a thick envelope and placed it on the table between them, his palm resting on it for a moment before sliding it toward her. He said Antonio had given it to him six months earlier, with strict instructions. If anything happened to him, Richard was to give it to Elena.

Antonio had known someone was coming for him.

He hadn’t known when. He hadn’t known exactly who. But he had felt it. In his last months, he had started putting his affairs in order, quietly, carefully, doing what he could to protect his daughter from what he believed was inevitable.

Elena’s hands shook as she opened the envelope. Inside were documents layered one on top of another. Financial records. Transaction histories. Grainy surveillance photographs. The weight of them felt heavier than paper should.

Richard explained that Antonio had discovered money being siphoned from Russo operations. Not small amounts that could be dismissed or overlooked. Millions of dollars, disappearing slowly over several years. Enough to weaken the family without anyone noticing right away.

When Antonio began investigating, he followed the trail as far as he could. What he found frightened him. The theft led upward, not outward. It pointed to the highest levels of another organization.

Damien leaned forward, his attention sharp. He asked which family.

Richard hesitated. Antonio had narrowed it down before he died, but he hadn’t lived long enough to confirm the truth. The evidence pointed to two men.

Vincent Cross.

Leonardo Calabrese.

Both had motive. Both had access. Both had reason to want Antonio silenced before he could finish proving what he had uncovered.

The words landed like a blow to the chest. Elena turned slowly toward Damien. His face had gone completely still, stripped of expression in a way she was beginning to recognize. It was the look he wore when he was angry but refusing to let it show.

She asked Richard if he was saying Damien’s father might have ordered her father’s death.

Richard met her eyes and answered honestly. Yes. It was possible.

Damien stood so abruptly his chair scraped against the floor. He walked to the window and turned his back to them, staring out at the street as traffic passed and people hurried by, unaware of the conversation happening behind him. Elena watched the tension settle into his shoulders, rigid and unyielding.

If Vincent Cross had killed her father, then everything about this marriage was wrong. The alliance. The protection. The promises. It all could have been a calculated move to absorb the Russo territory under the guise of salvation.

Richard said quietly that he had struggled with whether to tell Elena at all. He knew this information could fracture her relationship with Damien beyond repair. But Antonio had believed Elena deserved the truth, no matter how painful it was. The documents might help her determine which man was responsible. Until she knew for certain, Richard warned her to be careful about who she trusted.

Elena asked why her father hadn’t gone to the other families with this evidence. Richard said Antonio wanted certainty. Accusing someone like Vincent Cross or Leonardo Calabrese without absolute proof would start a war. Antonio had been cautious. Methodical. He had wanted to finish the investigation before making a move.

He never got the chance.

Damien turned back from the window. His voice was cold and controlled as he asked Richard whether he believed Damien himself had known about any of this. The lawyer studied him for a long moment before answering. He didn’t think so. Damien’s actions since Antonio’s death didn’t suggest prior knowledge. But certainty was impossible.

That was something Elena would have to decide on her own.

After Richard left, the space he had occupied felt too quiet. Elena stared down at the envelope, at the proof her father had died trying to protect her. Damien sat across from her and said they needed to talk.

Elena didn’t know how. If his father had killed hers, then everything between them was stained by blood neither of them could wash away.

Damien told her he understood. He swore he had nothing to do with Antonio’s death. He had believed the Morettis were responsible. If Vincent had orchestrated this, then he had manipulated both of them, creating a situation where Damien looked like a savior while quietly consolidating power. It was exactly the kind of long game Vincent Cross excelled at.

Elena wanted to believe him. She wasn’t ready to.

She said they needed proof before doing anything else. Damien agreed. They spread the documents across the table, their heads bent together while his guards watched the room.

The money trail was dense and complicated. Shell companies layered inside offshore accounts, names that led nowhere, numbers that meant nothing on their own. Untangling it would take time. Still, patterns emerged. Large sums moved through accounts connected to Cross businesses, but the timing aligned too closely with Calabrese operations to ignore.

Damien suggested Calabrese might be using Cross accounts as a smokescreen. Elena countered that Vincent could be clever enough to implicate Calabrese as insurance. Without more evidence, they were only guessing.

Her phone rang. Marco.

He told her someone had tipped off the Calabrese family. Security at the gambling operation had doubled overnight. The hit was still possible, but the risk had increased sharply. He needed her decision.

Elena thought about Tony Marchetti in the hospital. She thought about the men already injured because of her orders. She thought about what retreat would signal, and what pushing forward might cost.

She told Marco to abort the mission. Pull everyone back. Defensive positions only.

Marco sounded relieved. When the call ended, Damien said she had made the right choice, even if it didn’t feel like it.

Nothing felt right anymore. Elena said she didn’t know who to trust. She didn’t know whether Damien was standing beside her or whether she was still a pawn in someone else’s game. Damien didn’t argue. He accepted it. He told her his feelings were real, regardless of his father’s actions.

Elena said she needed time alone. Damien agreed, though he insisted his guards remain close.

She stepped out into the bright afternoon sunlight, blinking against it. The world moved on around her as if nothing had changed. She had been married less than forty-eight hours, and everything was already unraveling.

Her phone buzzed.

We know what Richard told you. Stop digging or the next body won’t be your father’s.

She showed Damien. His face hardened instantly. Whoever had killed Antonio Russo was watching them. Closely.

They were nervous.

Which meant they were close.

And it meant things were about to get much worse.