Chapter 2 - The silent winter
The tension in the ballroom was thick enough to choke on. The elegant guests, usually so loud and arrogant, were completely silent, their eyes darting between the mafia boss and his fallen fiancée. Damian did not break eye contact with Vivienne. Her dangerous smile lingered, a silent taunt that she held the cards to the one mystery that had haunted him for three years.
Clear the room, Damian ordered, not raising his voice.
His men, dressed in sharp black suits, instantly moved in. Within three minutes, the lavish Christmas party was over. The golden doors of the ballroom shut, leaving only Damian, Holly, and a smirking Vivienne among the glittering wreckage of the gift boxes.
Pack your things, Damian told her, his tone completely flat. You are moving to the guest house at the edge of the property. If you try to leave the gates, my men will bring you back. You are going nowhere until you tell me what you know.
Vivienne dusted off her silver gown, her rosy skin flushed with a mix of anger and triumph. You can lock me up, Damian. But you need me. You always have.
As Vivienne was escorted away by two towering guards, Damian turned his attention entirely to his daughter. He knelt down, the midnight-black fabric of his tuxedo stretching over his athletic frame, and pulled Holly into a gentle, protective hug. He smoothed the satin ribbon in her hair, whispering that she was safe and that no one would ever make her leave.
Later that night, the mansion was entirely quiet. The giant Christmas tree glowed in the dark, casting long, golden shadows. Damian sat in his private study, a heavy glass of amber liquid in his hand. On his desk sat a framed photograph of his late wife, Elena. She had the same fair, rosy complexion and bright eyes as Holly. The police had ruled her car crash on a slippery winter road a tragic accident. Damian had accepted it, drowned in grief.
But Vivienne’s words played in his mind on a loop. If her mother’s secret will be buried forever.
Damian picked up his phone and dialed his most trusted underboss, Marcus.
I need you to pull the police files from Elena's crash, Damian commanded. Every photograph. Every witness statement. And I want a full background sweep on Vivienne's movements from three years ago. We missed something.
May you like
As he hung up, Damian noticed something resting on the corner of his mahogany desk. It was Vivienne’s silver evening clutch, left behind in the chaos of the ballroom. He opened it. Inside, tucked behind a compact mirror, was a small, cheap burner phone. Damian pressed the power button. The screen lit up, showing a single sent message from an hour ago.
The message read: He is asking questions. Initiate phase two.
