Chapter Eight

The interior of the SUV was a stark contrast to the filth of the alleyway. It smelled of expensive leather, gun oil, and the lingering scent of Damon’s smoke. Outside the armored glass, the city blurred into streaks of neon, but inside, the silence was heavy enough to choke on.

Damon sat beside me, his long legs stretched out, seemingly unaffected by the fact that he had just put a bullet through a man’s hand. He wasn't looking at me. He was staring at the back of the driver’s head, his expression unreadable.

"Thank you," I whispered, my voice still trembling. My fingers were curled into the fabric of the seat so tightly my knuckles were white. "If you hadn't shown up… I don’t even want to think about where I’d be right now."

Damon finally turned his head. The shadows played across the sharp angles of his face, making him look more like a god than a man. He reached out, his hand tracing the line of my jaw in a way it made me almost go crazy. It wasn't a caress; it was a check of his new property.

"I told you, Scarlett, I don’t like people touching what belongs to me," he said, his voice a low, jagged hum. He leaned in closer, his presence invading my space until I could feel the heat radiating from his chest. "And after tonight, you do belong to me. Consider your life the price of my intervention."

I swallowed hard, my heart hammering. "What does that mean, Damon?"

"It means I want your eyes and your ears," he murmured. "Lucien is going to try and use you. He’s going to keep you close, give you 'tasks,' and try to mold you into his perfect little corporate doll. I want you to tell me everything he does. Every deal, every whisper, every move he makes against me."

I frowned, the fear momentarily replaced by confusion. "Why? You're his brother. You work for the same company. Why do you need me to spy on him?"

Damon’s lip curled into a smirk that didn't reach his cold eyes. "Because Lucien is a spoilt brat, Scarlett. He’s a child playing with a kingdom he doesn't realize is built on a foundation of bones. He thinks he’s the king because he wears the crown, but he’s forgotten who actually keeps the wolves at bay. I need to know when he’s about to trip over his own ego."

"So I’m your spy?" I whispered.

"You’re my asset," he corrected. "Be obedient to me, inform me on my brother, and I’ll make sure Jace and anyone else like him stays in the dirt where they belong. Do we have a deal?"

I looked at him, really looked at him. This was the predator who lived in the cracks of the Hart empire. "Deal," I breathed.

The SUV pulled into the private underground garage of the Hart Penthouse. As the engine cut, the elevator doors opened to reveal a figure standing there like an ice sculpture.

Lucien.

He was still in his charcoal suit, his arms crossed over his chest, his face a mask of cold fury. As we stepped out of the car, the air in the garage seemed to drop twenty degrees.

"Where have you been?" Lucien’s voice was a whip. He didn't look at me; his gaze was pinned on Damon. "I told you to stay away from the office tonight, Damon. I told you I didn't want your… shady associates anywhere near my merger."

Damon let out a short, dry laugh as he stepped toward his brother. The height difference was negligible, but the energy was worlds apart. Lucien was a scalpel; Damon was a sledgehammer.

"Your merger?" Damon sneered. "You mean the deal that was about to go up in flames because you were too busy playing God to notice the girl was being hunted? While you were upstairs counting your imaginary gold, Lucien, I was in the dirt cleaning up the mess you left behind."

"You brought her back in an armored vehicle surrounded by men with dirty records longer than my arm!" Lucien hissed, stepping into Damon’s space. "I am trying to build a legitimate legacy, Damon. I am trying to take this company to the global stage, and every time I do, you drag us back into the gutter with your 'underworld' posturing. You’re a liability."

"A liability?" Damon’s voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "Look at me, big brother. Look at this building. Look at your bank account. You think you got those through 'legitimate' negotiations? You got them because I made sure the people who tried to stop you disappeared. You’re ungrateful. You sit on your throne of glass and pretend you don’t see the blood on the floor, but without me, you wouldn’t even have a chair to sit on."

"I didn't ask for your help tonight," Lucien snapped, finally flicking a glance toward me as I was already getting bored of their banterings. "She was supposed to take the bus. It was a lesson in humility."

"It was a death sentence," Damon barked. "She was grabbed by a lowlife named Jace. If I hadn't been in the area for my own business, she’d be in a shipping container by now."

Lucien’s jaw tightened. The mention of a kidnapping attempt clearly rattled him, but his pride wouldn't let him back down. "And what 'business' were you handling in the warehouse district, Damon? More black-market nonsense?"

Damon straightened his leather jacket, a smirk playing on his lips. "I was setting a meeting. There’s been a shift in the local power balance. One of the old rivals is making a move on our southern routes."

I stood by the car, watching the two titans clash. The rivalry between them wasn't just about business; it was about the very soul of the Hart name. One wanted the light, the other owned the dark, and they both hated how much they needed the other.

"Who?" I asked, my voice small in the vast garage. "Who is making a move?"

Damon turned to me, his eyes cooling. "Nothing for you to worry about, Scarlett. Just a relic from the past. A man who thinks he can take a bite out of my territory."

"Tell me the name, Damon," I insisted.

Damon sighed, flicking a glance at Lucien before looking back at me. "Vincenzo. Vincenzo Moretti. He’s been quiet for years, but he’s back, and he’s looking for blood."

The name hit me like a physical blow. The world seemed to tilt on its axis. My breath hitched in my throat, and I felt the blood drain from my face until my skin felt like ice.

Vincenzo.

The silence that followed was deafening. Both brothers were now staring at me, Lucien with a suspicious narrowing of his eyes, and Damon with a sudden, sharp curiosity.

"Scarlett?" Lucien stepped forward, his voice losing some of its edge. "You look like you’ve seen a ghost. What is it?"

I couldn't speak. My mind was racing back to a time before the Eclipse, to a name whispered in terror in the hallways. Vincenzo Moretti wasn't just a rival to the Hart brothers.

And if he was back, it meant the Hart brothers weren't the only ones who are out for my destruction.