Chapter 11

Damien’s POV

The feed opened and there she was, framed in the hallway like an object I had left lying around for her to find.

Lilith stood with her face tipped up at the molding, eyes fixed on the small red blink I had installed. She did not move when she noticed the camera; instead she looked directly into it, and the tiny change in her expression was everything.

She found it. She paused long enough for me to enjoy it, like someone who has found money tucked into an old coat pocket.

I smiled before I knew I was smiling. Not the smile to be seen, not the smile that placates people. This one belonged to me alone.

“She found it,” I said out loud, because saying it made it more real. Because the idea of her knowing there were eyes on the house, on her, was intoxicating in a way I refused to apologize for.

Rafe, my second in command, came in after a soft knock. He was silent as always, tall and broad-shouldered, a soldier in every bone of his body.

He stood by my desk like he had been planted there, arms folded, expression unreadable. He watched Lilith on the screen the way a good soldier watches a map. He didn’t ask why. He never had to.

“Remove that camera tonight,” I told him. “Replace it with something less obvious. I’ll put another in tomorrow.”

He simply nodded. That was all I needed. He understood the calculus without me spelling it out. I wasn’t angry that she had seen it. The placement had been deliberate.

People who know me assume I always want to hide what I do. The truth is I enjoy the small theatrical things. I like to know how people react when they discover they are being watched.

Rafe cleared his throat and asked the question that mattered. “What about the prisoner?”

I closed the laptop with a deliberate motion and let the click fill the space. Closing the feed was satisfying in a physical way, like shutting a door on a room you never wanted anyone else to enter.

“We’ll get what we need from him,” I said. The words came out calm, almost casual. There was no hurry in them. There never is. When you enjoy the hunt, you are patient.

I like the process. I like watching men unspool under pressure.

Rafe didn’t waste time. And neither did I. We both left the office and took the elevator down to the lower levels of the mansion. Most people who visited this place never knew these floors existed. On the surface, my home looked like a comfortable cabin tucked into the woods, quiet and harmless. But everything real lived beneath it.

The first door opened into a hallway lined with steel and reinforced concrete. Fluorescent lights buzzed softly above us. Surveillance screens blinked on both sides, showing every angle of the mansion. The air felt colder here, even though I kept the temperature controlled. It was the kind of cold that came from machinery.

The Discipline Room had no pretense. Alessandro Vitelli, the Don of the Roman Mafia sat in the center, cuffed to a chair, a strip of red where hope should have been on his face.

His shirt was torn, his mouth gagged. He had tried to fight earlier; that was useless. It was a waste of energy. I prefer men to conserve it until they can spend it on pleading.

Rafe took off the gag. Alessandro spat the moment his mouth was free. “You think you can do this to me? My men will find you. You hear me? They’ll…”

I stepped forward, not hurrying, not reacting. My presence alone made his words die out quicker than any blow would have. When Rafe removed the blindfold, Alessandro blinked twice in the bright light, and then he froze completely.

“No,” he whispered. “No… not you. Not you. You bastard.”

I raised an eyebrow. “That’s a big word for a man in your position.”

His mouth trembled. His eyes darted from me to Rafe, then back to me. He didn’t understand yet. He would.

Rafe handed me a folder. I flipped it open lazily, letting each document rest in my hand long enough for Alessandro to see the truth in them.

“You tampered with my brother’s shipment,” I said calmly. “And you know Lucian is hunting the man responsible.”

I let the papers fall onto the metal table beside him.

“You stole documents from the Verona archives,” I said. “You moved them through a safehouse. You intercepted one of Lucian’s routes.”

“And you planned to vanish before anyone found out.”

Alessandro’s still.look unbothered, but I wasn’t finished.

Rafe handed me the second folder.

Photos slid out across the table. Alessandro’s eyes widened immediately, and his breathing became uneven when he saw them.

Women.

Several of them.

None of them his wife.

His face was completely drained of color.

“Please...” he whispered. “Damien… please don’t show those to Bianca. She’ll kill me. You don’t understand, she’ll…”

“She will,” I agreed calmly. “And I do understand. Which is why we’re here.”

He broke quickly after that. Told me everything. The location of the stolen documents. The password. The safehouse. The reason he targeted Lucian’s shipment. And the final detail that made Rafe exchange a brief glance with me.

He wasn’t working alone.

When Rafe stepped out to verify the information, Alessandro sat trembling in his chair. He didn’t beg. He didn’t plead. He simply stared at the photos and waited.

Rafe returned a few minutes later. “Everything checks out.”

The words barely left his mouth before I lifted the gun and fired once.

I wiped the gun on his shirt because the work we do must leave no fingerprints beyond the pattern we intend. I handed the pistol to Rafe. “Clean it up,” I said. “Pin it on him.”

Rafe nodded.

We left the room without another look at the body.

Upstairs, the house felt warmer again. The contrast was almost amusing. I walked into the bathroom and turned the shower on, letting the steam fill the space.

Water rushed over my shoulders, washing away the scent of the underground. My mind drifted briefly to Lilith’s face earlier, her widened eyes catching the blink of my camera. A faint smile tugged at my mouth.

“Still a scaredy cat, Lilith,” I murmured.

After the shower, I moved into the kitchen and began cooking. Nothing special. Pasta, garlic, olive oil. Something to occupy my hands so I wouldn’t stare at my phone like some desperate idiot.

Eventually, I picked it up.

“What are you doing?”

That was all I sent.

Minutes passed.

No reply.

I stirred the pan, checked again.

Still nothing. Then I waited, which was a thing I do well.

A faint irritation crawled up my neck, though I wasn’t sure if it was irritation or something far more dangerous.

Rafe call came in.

“All done,” he said. “They’ll think he did it.”

“Good,” I replied. “Let’s see how it unfolds.”

I hung up, exhaled slowly, and returned to the kitchen.

My phone remained blank.

No message from her.

My hand curled lightly against the counter.

Then the phone rang again. An unknown number.

“Lilith?” I said without hope.

A woman’s laugh came through the line instead. Soft, amused, too pleased with herself.

“Miss me already?” she cooed.

My entire expression hardened. The woman’s voice dripped with amusement, sultry and smug.

“I heard you’re back in the city,” she purred. “Let’s meet. Tonight.”

I didn’t respond. My jaw tightened until my teeth pressed together.

“Don’t pretend you don’t owe me a night, Damien,” she a

dded, voice almost mocking.

A long silence stretched. Then, barely above a breath, I said her name.

“Isabella.”