Chapter 7 - The Betrayal Within
The guest suite in the west wing of the Cain Estate was larger than Rosa's entire apartment downtown. It featured plush king-sized beds, velvet curtains, and a private balcony overlooking the rear gardens.
For three days, Rosa and Sophia lived inside the gilded sanctuary. While Rosa insisted on continuing her daily cleaning duties to earn her keep, Damon made sure a security detail followed them whenever they moved around the grounds.
On Friday evening, a heavy storm rolled over the city once again. Lightning flashed across the dark sky, illuminating the tall stained-glass windows of the grand library.
Damon was sitting at his mahogany desk, reviewing financial ledgers, when Marco entered without knocking.
Marco’s face was grim.
"Boss," Marco said quietly, closing the double doors behind him. "We have a leak."
Damon slowly set his gold pen down on the desk. "Go on."
"Our security team intercepted an encrypted radio transmission originating from inside the estate twenty minutes ago," Marco explained, placing a digital tablet on the desk. "Someone inside this house sent our perimeter guard schedules and the layout of the west wing to Lorenzo Moretti’s chief enforcer."
Damon’s eyes turned to ice. "Who sent it?"
"The transmission came from a burner phone registered to a cell tower on the north side of the grounds," Marco said. "There are only five people on staff who had access to that wing tonight: the chef, two night guards, Arthur the driver... and the head housekeeper, Martha."
Damon stood up from his chair, pulling his suit coat on. "Bring Martha to the basement holding room. Quietly. Don't disturb Rosa or the child."
Ten minutes later, in the cold, concrete basement beneath the estate's wine cellar, sixty-year-old Martha sat tied to a wooden chair under a single hanging lightbulb.
Martha had worked for the Cain family for over fifteen years. She had cleaned Elena's room, prepared meals for little Mia, and managed the estate's domestic staff with quiet efficiency.
Damon walked into the cold room, his hands in his pockets, stopping three feet in front of her.
Martha was sobbing, her shoulders shaking violently. "Damon... please... please forgive me!"
"Why, Martha?" Damon asked, his voice deathly quiet. "Fifteen years. You were treated like family."
"They... they have my grandson!" Martha wept desperately. "Lorenzo’s men snatched my ten-year-old grandson from his school in Southie yesterday! They said... they said they would kill him if I didn't give them the security codes for the west wing tonight!"
Damon stayed silent for a long moment. The rage that usually consumed him in moments of betrayal was replaced by a grim, dark understanding. Lorenzo didn't care about honor. He used innocent children as leverage.
"When are they coming, Martha?" Damon asked softly.
"Midnight..." Martha whimpered, her tears dripping onto the cold floor. "Lorenzo sent a strike team. Six men. They're going to breach the west wing gate at midnight to take the maid's daughter... they want to use her to force you to surrender the shipping docks."
Damon checked his platinum wristwatch. It was 11:15 PM.
He looked at Marco, who was standing by the heavy door.
"Keep Martha here," Damon ordered. "Send two of our best men to South Boston immediately to locate Martha's grandson. Break down every door in that neighborhood if you have to, but bring that boy back alive."
"And what about the strike team coming here at midnight, boss?" Marco asked, his hand resting on his weapon.
May you like
Damon looked toward the cold concrete ceiling, his jaw set like iron.
"We let them in," Damon whispered. "And we make sure none of them ever leave."
