Chapter 3 - the ghost of warehouse four
The air inside the private study grew cold as Damon stared at the photograph in his hand.
Four years ago, when Warehouse 4 had burned to the ground, Damon had been told that Leo Rossi died in an accidental electrical fire. He had personally compensated Alina with a generous pension, unaware that his own head of security and his uncle were running a shadow operation right beneath his feet.
"Marcus wasn't the only one who lied to me, was he?" Damon whispered, his voice dangerously low.
Alina looked up at him, her dark eyes filled with a quiet, fierce intelligence. "Leo hid a second key inside his watch, Mr. Moretti. The metal key Mia found today... it doesn't open a door in the warehouse."
Damon picked up the scorched key from his desk, examining the intricate notches along the metal shaft. "It’s a safety deposit box key."
"Yes," Alina confirmed. "Vault Fourteen at the Boston Harbor Depository. Leo told me that if anything ever happened to him, the evidence that could bring down the traitors was inside that box."
Suddenly, the heavy oak doors of the study opened, and Dante Russo stepped into the room, flanked by two armed guards. His charcoal suit jacket was unbuttoned, his hand resting near his holster.
"Boss," Dante said, his voice flat and controlled. "Silas Moretti just arrived at the main gate. He’s demanding an emergency meeting regarding the upcoming European shipping contract."
Damon set the photograph face down on his desk, slipping the scorched key into his black suit coat pocket.
"Let him in, Dante," Damon ordered calmly. "And bring him to the library."
Dante bowed his head and exited the study.
Once the door closed, Damon turned to Alina, leaning down to look into her eyes. "Alina, take Mia to the master guest suite on the third floor. Marcus will guard the door. You are completely safe here."
Alina looked into his piercing blue eyes, feeling a strange, profound sense of trust settle over her heart for the first time in four years. "Thank you, Mr. Moretti."
Damon reached out, gently patting three-year-old Mia’s head. "You're a very smart girl, Mia."
Mia smiled innocently, hugging her stuffed rabbit against her pink floral dress. "Get the bad men, Mr. Damon."
Damon offered a rare, breathtaking smile before turning and walking out toward the library.
Five minutes later, inside the grand two-story library, Silas Moretti stood near the marble fireplace. At sixty-five, Silas carried an aura of arrogant, aristocratic authority, wearing an expensive charcoal coat and holding a silver-headed walking cane.
"Damon," Silas greeted smoothly, his voice raspy and artificial. "I hear you locked down the estate over a domestic staff discrepancy. We have a fifty-million-dollar shipping deal with the Italian delegation tomorrow. You cannot afford distractions."
Damon walked slowly across the Persian rug, stopping five feet from his uncle. He pulled the scorched metal key from his pocket and set it cold onto the marble table between them.
May you like
Silas’s eyes locked onto the key, and for a fraction of a second, his arrogant expression completely shattered.
"Four years ago, Silas," Damon said, his voice a low, chilling rumble. "You burned Warehouse Four to cover up your illegal weapons network. And you murdered Leo Rossi."
