Chapter 24

Chapter 24

Rain hit Damon the second he stepped outside the station.

Cold. Sharp. Immediate.

It soaked through his shirt within seconds, but he barely noticed.

His mind was already moving too fast.

Matteo had Luca.

Not the police.

Not some nameless syndicate extraction team Damon could track through shell companies and security leaks.

Matteo.

Which meant this was no longer about strategy.

No longer about corporate sabotage or boardroom manipulation or quiet financial corruption hidden behind polished glass and expensive suits.

This was personal now.

Terrifyingly personal.

Because Matteo Laurent had just stopped pretending.

Damon stood beneath the station awning for exactly three seconds before pulling out his phone and dialing Seraphine.

She answered immediately.

“You sound like you’re outside.”

“I am.”

“What happened?”

Damon’s voice came out flatter than he intended.

“Luca’s gone.”

A pause.

“Gone how?”

“Not escaped.”

He stepped into the rain and started toward his car.

“Taken.”

Seraphine’s silence sharpened instantly.

“By who?”

Damon unlocked the car and slid into the driver’s seat.

He shut the door hard enough to rattle the frame.

“Matteo.”

Another beat of silence.

Then:

“Are you sure?”

“There was a transport report. Tactical extraction. Corrupted security footage. And I saw a still image from the garage.”

His grip tightened around the steering wheel.

“He was there.”

Seraphine exhaled quietly.

“That means he’s accelerating.”

“I figured that part out.”

“No,” she said, her tone changing. “I mean he’s skipping steps.”

Damon frowned as he started the engine.

“What does that mean?”

“It means he’s afraid.”

That made Damon go still for half a second.

“Matteo doesn’t strike this openly unless he thinks he’s losing control.”

Damon pulled out into the rain-slick street.

“Good.”

“Not good,” Seraphine corrected. “Dangerous.”

“I’m already past dangerous.”

“I know.”

The city blurred past the windshield in streaks of light and water.

Damon’s jaw tightened.

“Then tell me where he’d take Luca.”

Seraphine was quiet.

Too quiet.

And Damon hated it immediately.

“What?” he asked.

“I need you to promise me something first.”

Damon laughed once, humorless.

“Now?”

“Yes. Now.”

Rain hammered against the windshield harder.

Damon gripped the wheel tighter.

“Fine. What?”

“If I tell you where Matteo might keep him…”

Her voice dropped.

“…you do not go there alone.”

Damon said nothing.

Seraphine sighed softly.

“That silence is not reassuring.”

“You know me too well.”

“Yes,” she said flatly. “Which is why I’m saying it again.”

Damon didn’t promise.

Because he couldn’t.

And she knew it.

Finally she said, “There’s an old Moretti property outside the city.”

Damon’s pulse quickened.

“What kind of property?”

“A private retreat.”

He frowned.

“We sold most of those years ago.”

“Not that one.”

“Why not?”

Another pause.

Then Seraphine said quietly:

“Because Matteo asked Lucius not to.”

Damon’s stomach turned.

“Location?”

She gave it to him.

A hillside estate outside Milan, half-abandoned on paper, still privately maintained through one of Moretti Holdings’ real estate shells.

Damon knew the place.

Or rather

He knew of it.

He had only been there once as a child.

And he remembered almost nothing except the way his father had laughed too loudly that weekend and the way his mother had looked tense the entire time.

Damon’s chest tightened.

“Why there?”

Seraphine answered without hesitation.

“Because Matteo has always liked places that already belong to someone else.”

The line went quiet.

Then Seraphine said something that made Damon’s skin crawl.

“And Damon…”

“What?”

“If he has Luca alive…”

Her voice lowered.

“…he’s not done with him yet.”

The drive out of the city took forty-five minutes.

Damon barely remembered any of it.

Only the rain.

Only the road.

Only the vicious rhythm of his own thoughts.

Luca cuffed in a transport vehicle.

Luca dragged out by Matteo’s men.

Luca waking up somewhere dark and hidden and dangerous.

Luca thinking Damon might still believe the lie.

That thought nearly made Damon slam his fist into the steering wheel.

“Not this time,” he muttered.

Not this time.

He had let grief blind him once.

Let doubt in.

Let Matteo use the oldest weapon in the world against him

Fear.

But now he knew.

He knew what Matteo was.

He knew what Luca had done to protect him.

And he knew one thing with terrifying clarity:

If Matteo hurt Luca because Damon had hesitated

He would never forgive himself.

The estate gates appeared through the rain just after midnight.

Tall wrought iron.

Stone pillars.

Security cameras.

Damon slowed the car and pulled off the road into a dark line of trees instead of approaching directly.

The house sat on a hill above him.

Old-world architecture.

Pale stone walls.

Too many dark windows.

Too much silence.

It looked less like a retreat and more like a mausoleum.

Damon cut the engine.

Sat in the dark.

And forced himself to think.

If Matteo was here, he wouldn’t be alone.

If Luca was alive, Matteo would want him contained.

Interrogated.

Broken.

Or worse

Used.

Damon’s pulse quickened.

Because Matteo didn’t just want control.

He wanted ownership.

That was what his mother had said.

That was what Seraphine had meant.

That was what Damon had lived beside for years without naming it.

And suddenly, horribly, he understood something else too.

Matteo had never just wanted the company.

He had wanted Damon.

Not in any clean or honest way.

Not desire.

Not love.

Possession.

Something far uglier.

The realization made Damon feel physically sick.

Memories began rearranging themselves in his mind.

Matteo always stepping in after Damon’s worst moments.

Matteo discouraging relationships subtly, elegantly, under the guise of protection.

Matteo isolating him from certain executives.

Matteo making sure Damon always felt watched, vulnerable, dependent.

Even his concern had been strategic.

Every kindness a leash.

Damon shut his eyes briefly.

“Jesus Christ.”

He had grown up with a devil and called him family.

His phone buzzed.

Seraphine.

He answered in a whisper.

“I’m here.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then:

“Of course you are.”

Damon ignored the dry irritation in her voice.

“There are cameras. At least two visible on the front approach.”

“You’re alone, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Damon.”

“I know.”

“No, I don’t think you do.”

Damon kept his eyes on the house.

“Then tell me something useful.”

Seraphine exhaled through her nose.

“You’re impossible.”

“I’ve heard that.”

“Listen carefully. The estate was renovated underground years ago.”

Damon’s gaze sharpened.

“Underground?”

“Yes. Security vaults, private holding rooms, emergency tunnels.”

His stomach dropped.

“Private holding rooms?”

“Lucius called them contingency spaces.”

Damon’s expression darkened.

“Of course he did.”

“There should be a secondary service entrance on the east side. If Matteo kept the original design, it bypasses the main surveillance corridor.”

Damon looked toward the side of the estate.

Trees.

Stone wall.

Minimal light.

“That helps.”

“Damon…”

“What?”

“If Luca is conscious, he’ll try to protect you even from inside a cage.”

Damon’s throat tightened.

“I know.”

“No,” Seraphine said quietly. “You don’t.”

He frowned.

“What do you mean?”

Her voice lowered.

“Matteo knows Luca matters to you now.”

Damon’s hand tightened around the phone.

“And?”

“And men like Matteo only ever use two things.”

“Fear and leverage,” Damon said immediately.

“Yes.”

The silence that followed felt heavy.

Then Seraphine added:

“So if Luca is alive, he is not just bait.”

Damon’s blood ran cold.

He understood instantly.

Matteo wouldn’t just hurt Luca.

He would make Luca hurt Damon if he could.

He would turn love into a weapon.

The line disconnected a second later.

Damon sat in the dark for one more breath.

Then he got out of the car.

The east wall was lower than Damon expected.

Old stone slick with rain and moss.

He climbed it badly and almost slipped twice before dropping into wet grass on the other side.

The cold soaked through his trousers immediately.

He barely noticed.

The estate grounds were too quiet.

No dogs.

No guards on visible patrol.

Which meant either Matteo was overconfident

Or he wanted Damon to make it this far.

Neither possibility was comforting.

Damon moved carefully along the side of the house until he found the recessed service door.

Metal.

Keypad locked.

He crouched beneath the narrow overhang, rain dripping down his neck, and looked at the panel.

Four digits.

No card reader.

Just old-fashioned coded access.

Damon stared at it.

Then laughed under his breath.

“Of course.”

He typed his father’s birthday.

Nothing.

Tried his mother’s.

Nothing.

Then he remembered something from childhood

A summer trip.

His father drunk on expensive scotch, slurring a joke about “the only date that ever mattered in this family.”

Damon’s expression hardened.

He entered the date Lucius Moretti had founded the company.

The keypad flashed green.

The lock clicked open.

Damon froze for half a second.

Then pushed inside.

Darkness swallowed him immediately.

The corridor beyond smelled like stone, dust, and old metal.

His phone flashlight cut a narrow beam through the dark.

Concrete walls.

Utility piping.

A staircase descending deeper underground.

His pulse kicked hard.

Because if Matteo was keeping Luca anywhere

It would be below.

Damon descended carefully, each step echoing faintly.

At the bottom was another corridor.

This one cleaner.

Maintained.

Used.

And then he heard it.

A voice.

Low.

Male.

Familiar.

Matteo.

Damon moved toward it silently until a thin strip of light appeared beneath a half-open door.

He stopped beside it.

Listened.

Matteo’s voice drifted through first.

Smooth.

Calm.

Almost conversational.

“You really are loyal to him.”

A pause.

Then Luca’s voice.

Hoarse.

Rougher than Damon had ever heard it.

“Go to hell.”

Damon’s hand tightened against the wall.

Alive.

Luca was alive.

Relief hit so hard it almost weakened his knees.

Inside, Matteo chuckled softly.

“You know, I never understood what he saw in you.”

Damon went still.

“You’re violent. Dishonest. Damaged in all the most tedious ways.”

Another pause.

Then the sound of a chair scraping.

Like Luca had moved despite restraints.

“If you say his name again”

Matteo laughed this time.

Actually laughed.

“Or what? You’ll kill me?”

His voice dropped.

“You had your chance.”

Damon’s pulse spiked.

Then Matteo said the one thing that made Damon’s blood freeze in his veins.

“I should thank Adrian, really. I asked for a weapon…”

A pause.

“…and somehow Damon ended up falling for it.”

Inside the room, something crashed violently.

Metal against concrete.

A sharp grunt.

Damon’s vision flashed white with rage.

But then Matteo’s voice came again cooler now.

“Careful. You’re already bleeding enough.”

Damon forced himself to stay still.

To listen.

To gather what he could.

Matteo continued, voice silk over poison.

“You know what your problem is, Luca?”

Silence.

“You mistake self-sacrifice for love.”

Damon shut his eyes briefly.

Because if anyone in the world would die before admitting he mattered

It was Luca.

Matteo’s tone changed then.

Quieter.

More dangerous.

“And Damon will always punish men like you for that.”

That was enough.

Damon pushed the door open.

Hard.

It slammed into the wall with a crack.

Both men turned.

The room was small.

Concrete.

One hanging industrial light overhead.

Luca sat cuffed to a steel chair, bruised, blood at the corner of his mouth, one sleeve dark with what looked like fresh injury.

Matteo stood a few feet away, immaculate as always.

Perfect suit.

Perfect posture.

Perfect monster.

For a split second, nobody moved.

Luca’s face changed first.

Shock.

Then fury.

“Damon”

Matteo recovered almost instantly.

His expression smoothed into something almost fond.

“I wondered how long it would take.”

Damon stepped fully into the room and shut the door behind him.

His voice was ice.

“Let him go.”

Matteo tilted his head slightly.

“You came alone.”

“Yes.”

“That was unwise.”

Damon’s jaw tightened.

“So was underestimating me.”

A small smile touched Matteo’s mouth.

“There you are.”

Damon frowned.

“What?”

“The version of you your mother tried so hard to keep buried.”

Something cold moved through Damon’s chest.

Because Matteo sounded pleased.

Pleased that Damon had finally come here.

Pleased that he was angry.

Pleased that he was alone.

Luca was already shaking his head.

“Damon, don’t.”

But Damon’s eyes never left Matteo.

“You killed my mother.”

The room went very still.

Matteo didn’t flinch.

Didn’t deny it.

Instead he sighed, almost tired.

“Your mother made herself difficult.”

Luca went rigid in the chair.

Damon felt his body go cold.

“You’re going to say that again,” he said quietly, “and I’m going to forget I was raised to have self-control.”

Matteo smiled faintly.

“That’s the problem, Damon.”

He took one slow step forward.

“You were raised to have self-control. But never power.”

Damon’s pulse thundered.

Matteo’s voice softened.

“Your father built an empire. Your mother softened it. And you…”

His eyes moved over Damon with unsettling precision.

“…you were always meant to inherit it without understanding what it actually required.”

Luca’s voice came sharp and dangerous.

“Stop talking.”

Matteo ignored him.

He looked at Damon like they were alone in the room.

“Do you know how many times I saved this company while you were busy grieving?”

Damon laughed once.

A dark, disbelieving sound.

“Saved?”

“Yes.”

“You hollowed it out.”

“I stabilized it.”

“You murdered for it.”

Matteo’s gaze sharpened.

“I preserved it.”

Damon stared at him.

And for the first time in years, he saw Matteo clearly.

Not as polished.

Not as loyal.

Not as brilliant.

But sick.

Controlled, elegant, deeply sick.

And somehow that was worse.

Because monsters who shouted were easy to identify.

Matteo never needed to shout.

He just needed time.

Luca’s voice cut in again, rough and urgent.

“Damon.”

This time Damon looked at him.

Really looked.

The bruise blooming across his cheekbone.

The split lip.

The blood.

The fury in his eyes that had nothing to do with himself and everything to do with Damon being here.

Damon’s chest tightened painfully.

Luca’s voice dropped.

“He wants you here.”

Damon knew that.

Of course he knew that.

But he also knew something else now.

He wasn’t here because Matteo wanted him.

He was here because Luca needed him.

And for once

That was enough.

Damon looked back at Matteo.

“You made one mistake.”

Matteo raised an eyebrow.

“Only one?”

Damon’s expression hardened.

“You thought if you isolated me long enough, I’d confuse dependency for loyalty.”

Matteo’s smile thinned.

Damon took one step forward.

“You thought if you framed Luca, I’d break exactly the way you needed.”

Another step.

“You thought I’d keep choosing fear over truth.”

The room changed then.

Subtly.

Dangerously.

Because Matteo stopped smiling.

And when he spoke again, the warmth was gone.

“Yes,” he said.

“I did.”

Before Damon could move again

The lights in the room cut out.

Darkness swallowed everything.

Luca cursed.

Somewhere in the black, Matteo said calmly:

“Now we see which one of you survives.”

Then a gunshot exploded in the dark.