Chapter 3 - THE INTERROGATION OF VICTOR LANE
Within fifteen minutes, Victor Lane was brought into the small sitting room of the west residence. Two of Marcus’s men flanked him, though they weren’t touching him; Damon’s orders were absolute until the facts were verified.
Victor looked entirely out of place in the modest quarters. At sixty-two, his silver hair was combed back with military precision, his tailored charcoal suit unwrinkled despite the chaos. But as his eyes landed on Damon standing beside the window—and then on little Ruby clinging to Damon’s trousers—a brief, microscopic flash of panic crossed his features before he smoothed his expression into one of offended dignity.
“Damon, what is the meaning of this?” Victor demanded, adjusting his gold-rimmed glasses. “Your men dragged me out of the conference room as if I were a common criminal. I demand an explanation. The investors from Phoenix are still waiting—”
“Let them wait,” Damon interrupted.
His voice was dead calm. Too calm.
Damon walked slowly across the room until he stood a few feet from his oldest adviser. The height difference between them wasn't massive, but the sheer physical presence Damon projected made the older man take an involuntary half-step back.
“Victor,” Damon said softly. “Eight months ago, you personally handed me Selena Castillo’s employment file.”
“Yes. A routine hire. Highly qualified. Widowed, former administrative assistant for a legal firm in Tucson. Excellent references.”
“References that you verified?”
“Of course. Why are we discussing a housekeeper’s paperwork while million-dollar deals are hanging in the balance?”
Damon reached into his pocket, pulled out Selena’s phone, and tossed it onto the small coffee table between them. The screen lit up, displaying the unfinished draft message.
Victor glanced down at it. His face didn't pale—which in itself was wrong. A man surprised by a kidnapping would show shock, confusion, or anger. Victor showed only a cold, calculating stillness.
“A domestic dispute, no doubt,” Victor said smoothly. “Some former partner tracking her down. It happens all the time with women from her background. We should notify the local sheriff and let them handle it.”
“She didn't have a former partner, Victor,” Damon said, his eyes locking onto the older man’s pupils. “According to the federal database your security clearance gives you access to, Selena Vance was an administrative assistant for a federal prosecutor in Chicago who put away half the syndicate leadership in the Midwest twelve years ago. Then she vanished into witness protection.”
Victor didn't blink.
“That’s an absurd conspiracy theory,” Victor replied, though his voice had lost a fraction of its warmth. “Where did you get that nonsense?”
“From the safe in my father’s old study,” Damon said. “The one you told me six years ago was empty.”
The silence that fell over the room was absolute.
Even Ruby seemed to sense the sudden drop in temperature; she pressed her small face tighter against Damon’s knee, whimpering softly.
Victor’s mouth tightened into a thin, hard line. The mask of the loyal, grandfatherly adviser slipped away, revealing the cold, predatory corporate vulture underneath.
“You were never supposed to look in that safe, Damon,” Victor said, his voice dropping all pretense of warmth. “Your father knew how the world worked. He knew that alliances require leverage. The Romanos in Phoenix wanted Selena found five years ago. When she slipped through their fingers, they planted her here in your estate through a shell company I managed.”
Damon’s hand curled into a fist so tight his knuckles turned white.
“You invited them into my house?”
“I secured our commercial pipeline across the state line,” Victor snapped back, stepping forward defiantly. “You think you built this empire on concrete and handshakes alone, Damon? It was built on agreements you were too soft to make! The Romanos wanted her quiet because of what she testified to in Chicago. I simply provided the address.”
Before Victor could finish his sentence, Damon moved.
It wasn't a punch. It was a single, violent motion that caught Victor by the collar of his expensive suit, lifting the older man off his feet and slamming him hard against the stone wall of the cottage.
The pictures hanging on the wall rattled. Victor gasped, his glasses flying off his nose and shattering on the floor.
“Where is she?” Damon hissed, his face inches from the adviser’s twisted expression.
“I don't... I don't know,” Victor choked out, his hands clawing uselessly at Damon’s forearms. “The Romano enforcers were supposed to take her quietly tonight. They didn't tell me they were moving early—”
Marcus stepped forward, grabbing Damon’s shoulder.
“Boss. Leave him to me. We have incoming vehicles on the north service road. Three black SUVs. No transponders.”
Damon stared at Victor for one more agonizing second, then shoved him hard against the floor.
“Lock him in the cellar with the rest of the trash,” Damon ordered without looking back.
May you like
He scooped Ruby up into his arms once more, pulling her head into his chest.
“Hold on to me, sweetheart,” Damon whispered against her dark curls. “We’re going for a ride.”
