Chapter 16

Damien’s POV

The apartment was quiet when I returned. Only a single lamp lit the room, casting a small circle of warmth over the table. Darkness filled everything else. I preferred it that way.

I set my keys down, sat at the desk, and opened my laptop. The encrypted window came up immediately. Lines of code, access logs, blueprint files. All the pieces of Verona business that Lucian thought he had buried. I clicked through them carefully. My fingers never hesitated. Everything about my work was methodical.

In one corner of the screen, a file sat open: the boutique address Lucian had registered under Lilith’s name. I hadn’t planned on checking it tonight, but my eyes kept drifting to it. Something about the timing bothered me.

Before I could click into it, my phone rang.

It was Rafe.

I answered without looking away from the screen.

“She’s home,” he said. “I dropped her off at the estate gate.”

I nodded once, more to myself than to him. “Good.”

The call ended. I clicked the boutique file open finally. It contained the ownership registration, the financial structure, and the paperwork.

Lucian had registered this business in her name.

I leaned back in my chair, one eyebrow lifting slightly. “Interesting.”

Lucian did not give gifts. Not to his wife. Not to anyone. Everything he handed out was too. Something to bind. Something to control. I stared at the file for a long moment.

So what was he shaping Lilith into? Something useful?

I closed the file with annoyance. This wasn’t about the boutique. It was about Lucian shifting his usual patterns. And when a man like him changed even one habit, it meant war was closer than it appeared.

The phone rang again.

Rafe’s number.

This time his voice was sharper. “We got something. Three of Lucian’s men are down. Warehouse breach. Bianca Vitelli hit them.”

A short silence stretched between us. Then a low breath escaped me, not quite a laugh, not quite a surprise. “Right on cue.”

“She left a message,” Rafe added.

“She always does.” I clicked closed an old dossier of Alessandro Vitelli with a single movement. “Let me guess. Something dramatic.”

“Very.”

My mouth curved faintly. “Roman pride bleeds loudest. You can always count on that.”

Rafe waited. “You want to move on it?”

“No,” I said. “Let Lucian chase her. He will be too busy putting out fires he didn’t start.”

“And that helps us how?”

“It keeps him blind.” I shut the laptop. The room darkened again. “The more distracted he is, the easier it becomes.”

The phone buzzed as I set it down.

It was a message from Lilith. “Thank you for sending Rafe.”

I stared at the screen for a few seconds. The words were soft. I felt nothing at first, then something faint and irritating tugged at my ribs.

I left the notification unread. I will let her wait. Needs always make people honest.

I placed the phone face-down.

Sleep didn’t come, but I rested in the half-dark until dawn.

The next morning, sunlight crept through the blinds. I stood in front of the open closet and pulled a dark shirt from the hanger. Buttoned it slowly, carefully, as if each movement had to align with the day’s schedule. My phone rang again.

It was Gabriel, my PA.

“You have a meeting at nine,” he said. “Senator Marcelli is expecting you. His team has already arrived.”

I barely listened. “Fine.”

He continued talking, but I had stopped hearing him. My mind drifted, not to politics or corrupt men, but to a location notification blinking discreetly on my screen.

The boutique. Lilith had arrived early.

Walking in with that quiet determination she thought she hid well.

I smirked for a moment, small and involuntary.

I ended Gabriel’s call and walked down to the private garage. Rows of engines that could outrun anyone if needed. I picked one without thinking, got in, and drove like someone who never broke a rule unless he intended to.

Blackwood Stratagem Holdings stood tall over the city, a tower of chrome hiding violence behind its clean lines. When I walked through the entrance, the staff straightened subtly. Gabriel fell into step beside me with a tablet.

“Morning, sir. The senator is already waiting in the conference room.”

“They always are,” I murmured.

He briefed me on the case as we walked, but his voice faded to background noise. My focus changed when I entered my private office and glanced at the secure screen.

Lilith was addressing her staff.

I watched a second too long, then closed the window and leaned back in my chair. The meeting with Senator Marcelli would begin in minutes, and I had to put on the mask these people expected.

The senator entered with a forced smile that did nothing to hide the fear beneath it. He was older, balding slightly, with the posture of a man used to pretending he believed in God more than his own appetites. His handshake was clammy.

“Damien,” he said. “I need your help.”

“I assumed,” I replied.

He sat. Words spilled out quickly.

A mistress to silence.

A set of leaked photos already circulating.

A hacker to track.

A political rival to destroy.

A reputation to scrub clean.

He talked for ten minutes without breathing, and I listened without emotion.

“Can you fix it?” the senator asked finally.

“Everything is fixable,” I said.

His shoulders sagged with relief. “Then tell me what you need.”

“Everything you have.” I stood. “I will handle it.”

He nodded eagerly. “Anything. Just tell me where to sign.”

I left him in the room signing papers he probably wouldn’t read.

Back in my office, I opened the live street camera feed again. The boutique sidewalk. The entrance. The windows. I wasn’t looking for anything specific, yet my gaze caught the moment Lilith stepped inside again after her lunch break. Tucking her hair behind her ear. Shoulders tense, her eyes scanning the room.

I watched longer than necessary.

The office door burst open.

I didn’t look up at first. I smelled perfume before I heard her voice.

Isabella.

She moved toward my desk like she owned the floor she walked on. Her heels clicked once, twice, then stopped near the edge of the table.

“Miss me?”

Her tone said she already knew the answer, even if she pretended to ask.

I lifted my gaze slowly. My face remained blank. “Why are you here, Isabella?”

“That is not an answer,” she teased, leaning forward slightly. “You look serious. And when you look serious, it usually means you need a distraction.”

“I do not need anything,” I said.

She tilted her head, studying me. “You used to sound different when I walked in.”

“You used to walk in for better reasons.”

Her lips curved. “Maybe I came for those reasons today.”

I said nothing.

She straightened, but her smile remained. “Damien, you are colder than usual. Did something happen? Or someone?”

“Isabella,” I said quietly, “I am not in the mood.”

“You never are.”

She tried to laugh it off, but her hand tightened on her purse. Barely noticeable. Except I noticed everything.

I leaned back in my chair. “Why are you here?”

She hesitated. Just a breath. Then she exhaled slowly. “Fine. If you won’t talk about us, then I’ll talk about something else.”

Isabella stepped closer, the confidence on her face softened into something cautious.

“Bianca Vitelli reached out to me,” she said.

My expression did not change, but something in my chest sharpened.

“She wants information. She asked what I know about the Veronas. About Lucian’s shipments. And what you might know about the missing cargo since you are back in the city.”

Her gaze followed mine, waiting for a reaction.

I gave her none.

Bianca Vitelli reaching out did not surprise me. But involving Isabella meant she was digging deeper than usual, trying to pull at the loose threads she hoped would unravel something bigger.

“Anything else?” I asked.

Isabella hesitated again. Then she stepped slightly closer, lowering her voice.

“Yes. Bianca asked about something else too.”

She paused just long enough to make it deliberate.

“She asked about the Cipher Lord.”

The room went quiet. I did not move, and my breathing stopped.

Isabella held my gaze, waiting for even a sign, but I gave her nothing.

The Cipher Lord was not a rumor. Not a myth whispered in back alleys. Not a ghost story mafia men told each other to sound brave. He existed, and the last family that provoked him vanished from the world in a single night.

I kept my voice steady.

“What exactly did Bianca Vite

lli tell you, Isabella? Why was she looking for the Cipher Lord?”

She swallowed. “Enough to make me come here, and enough to tell me one thing, your brother pissed off the wrong woman.”