Chapter 3 - The viper in the snow
The morning sun reflected blindingly off the fresh snow covering the Romano estate. The cinematic beauty of the winter morning stood in stark contrast to the dark reality unfolding inside the mansion. Damian sat in the dimly lit security room, watching the monitors. Camera four showed the isolated guest house where Vivienne was being held. She was pacing gracefully, still wearing the remains of her elegant holiday attire, looking entirely unbothered by her captivity.
Marcus entered the room, his heavy boots silent on the carpet. He handed Damian a thick manila folder.
You were right, boss, Marcus said, his American accent thick with disbelief. I pulled the burner phone records. Vivienne has been communicating with a secure server in Chicago for the last four years. That predates her relationship with you. It predates Elena’s death.
Damian opened the folder. The bright overhead light illuminated the pages. They were financial wire transfers, hundreds of thousands of dollars moving from Vivienne’s accounts to offshore shell companies. But it wasn't just money. There were GPS logs.
Look at the date on page four, Marcus pointed.
Damian’s eyes narrowed. It was the exact date of Elena’s car crash. The GPS data from Vivienne’s old phone showed she was parked less than half a mile away from the icy ravine where Elena’s car had gone off the road. She had watched it happen.
Why didn't my security team catch this three years ago? Damian asked, his voice deadly calm.
Because someone wiped the estate's server that night, Marcus replied grimly. Someone on our payroll helped her. She has a rat inside this house, Damian.
Damian looked back at the monitor. Vivienne had stopped pacing. She was looking directly into the security camera, her fair skin glowing in the morning light, her lips curved into that same calculating, vicious smile. She knew he was watching. She wanted him to know she was completely in control, even behind locked doors.
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Keep Holly by my side at all times, Damian ordered, standing up and adjusting the cuffs of his pristine white shirt. Trust no one. Not the staff, not the guards. We are going to smoke the rat out, and then I am going to tear Vivienne's entire world apart.
But as Damian walked out into the grand hallway, adorned with beautiful green wreaths and red ribbons, he didn't realize that the rat wasn't just a guard. The rat was the person currently making Holly's morning hot chocolate in the family kitchen.
