Chapter 5 - Damian's Secret
That night, Damian took me somewhere unexpected.
His private residence.
It wasn't a mansion.
It was an old brownstone hidden behind trees in Brooklyn.
“You live here?”
“Yes.”
I looked around.
The place was surprisingly simple.
Books.
Old photographs.
A piano.
No gold.
No extravagant decorations.
“Why bring me here?”
“Because I need to tell you something.”
I sat.
He remained standing.
“My father was murdered when I was twenty-two.”
I didn't know what to say.
“By who?”
“We don't know.”
He walked toward a photograph.
“My father owned the organization before me.”
I looked at the picture.
A stern older man.
“He believed the company you work for was involved.”
“With his murder?”
“Yes.”
I stared at Damian.
“So that's why you bought it.”
“Partly.”
“What's the other reason?”
“You.”
I froze.
“Me?”
“Your mother.”
I felt dizzy.
“My mother?”
Damian nodded.
“She worked with my father.”
“What?”
“She helped him uncover a money-laundering network.”
I stared at him.
“That can't be true.”
“She disappeared afterward.”
I remembered my mother's old stories.
She had always been secretive about her early career.
Damian continued.
“She left behind a ledger.”
“Where is it?”
“We don't know.”
“Then why are you telling me?”
“Because the ledger may be hidden inside the hotel project you designed.”
I stared.
“My project?”
“The original architectural plans.”
I suddenly remembered something.
The luxury hotel concept had been inspired by an old building my mother once showed me.
A building in downtown Manhattan.
I had never understood why.
Damian noticed my expression.
“You remembered something.”
“Yes.”
I told him about the building.
He stood.
“Take me there.”
We went immediately.
The building had been abandoned for decades.
Inside, beneath layers of dust, I found a loose panel behind an old fireplace.
There was a metal box.
Damian opened it.
Inside was a ledger.
And a photograph.
My mother.
Damian's father.
And another man.
I recognized him.
Victor Kane.
My former CFO.
But the photograph was twenty years old.
Damian stared at it.
“Impossible.”
“What?”
“Victor was already working for my father.”
I looked at the ledger.
Names filled the pages.
Politicians.
Bankers.
Executives.
Judges.
Police officers.
The network was enormous.
Then we reached the final page.
There was one name circled in red.
Elias Moretti.
Damian's father.
Damian went completely still.
“What does that mean?”
He didn't answer.
I touched his arm.
“Damian.”
He looked at me.
“My father wasn't the victim.”
“What?”
“He was part of it.”
The realization destroyed everything he believed.
He had spent years hunting the people responsible for his father's death.
But perhaps his father had been killed because he was trying to escape the organization he had helped create.
Damian closed the ledger.
“We need to leave.”
“Why?”
He looked toward the doorway.
“Because someone followed us.”
A gunshot shattered the window.
Damian grabbed me and pulled me to the floor.
Glass exploded across the room.
He covered my body with his.
“Don't move.”
Another shot.
Then silence.
I whispered:
“Damian.”
“I'm here.”
“You're bleeding.”
He looked at his shoulder.
A small dark stain spread across his shirt.
“It's nothing.”
“It doesn't look like nothing.”
He smiled.
“Then stay close.”
For the first time, I realized something terrifying.
I didn't want him to die.
Not because he was my boss.
May you like
Not because he was a mafia leader.
Because somewhere between the elevator and the black notebook, I had started caring about him.
