Chapter 2 - “Found anything capable of destroying a syndicate?”
Dry amusement colored his voice.
Sienna glared.
Her eyes were red.
“I told you.”
“He was broken.”
She pushed aside another notebook.
“These are Aqueduct betting records and pension complaints.”
Damian’s humor disappeared.
He moved behind her.
His arm brushed hers as he reached for a worn green leather ledger.
“My father was a monster.”
His voice lowered.
“Vincenzo believed fear was the only currency.”
Sienna looked toward him.
“When Robert got close to the port operations in 2013, my father decided killing him would make him a martyr.”
Damian placed the ledger on the table.
“So he destroyed him instead.”
“Fake offshore accounts.”
“Heroin under the floorboards of his patrol car.”
“Evidence designed to make your father look like one of the dirtiest detectives in the 5 boroughs.”
Sienna’s face tightened.
“It broke him.”
Damian continued.
“And I know because I was 20.”
His jaw hardened.
“I watched my father arrange it at our dining-room table.”
“If you already know what happened, why do you need his files?”
Sienna looked up.
“Your family won.”
Damian leaned closer.
“Because Vincenzo was not alone.”
His hand rested against her chair.
“The D’Agostino family backed him.”
He continued.
“And someone high in the mayor’s office helped create the paperwork.”
“Vincenzo is dead.”
“The D’Agostinos are dead.”
His voice became colder.
“I killed them when I took power.”
Then:
“But the politician who helped destroy your father is alive.”
“And he is quietly supporting a rival faction trying to take my territory.”
Damian looked toward the boxes.
“Robert knew who he was.”
“He had proof.”
Sienna lowered her eyes toward the green ledger.
This was no longer only about escaping Damian.
Her father had been ruined deliberately.
A part of her wanted to know who had helped do it.
She opened the ledger.
Columns.
Dates from 2013.
Horse names.
Odds.
“Wait.”
Damian’s posture changed.
“What?”
“My father was terrible at gambling.”
Sienna traced a line with her finger.
“But he always played trifectas at Aqueduct.”
She frowned.
“These odds make no sense.”
“Midnight Runner.”
“40-to-1.”
She looked at the date.
“A Tuesday in November 2013.”
Sienna’s pulse accelerated.
“Aqueduct was closed for renovations that month.”
Damian leaned over her shoulder.
“Coordinates?”
“No.”
Sienna studied abbreviations.
“Locker numbers.”
“And dates.”
She pointed.
“G.”
“C.”
“T.”
A pause.
“Grand Central Terminal.”
She looked up.
“He did not hide the evidence at home.”
“He placed it in long-term storage under a false name.”
For the first time, Damian looked at her with clear respect.
“Get your coat.”
He straightened.
“We’re going to Manhattan.”
The Maybach moved through midday traffic on the Long Island Expressway with 2 SUVs maintaining position around it.
The silence between Damian and Sienna had changed.
She was still his captive in every practical sense.
But they were now working toward the same objective.
“If the locker contains what you expect…”
Sienna looked toward him.
“What happens to me?”
Damian watched Manhattan appear ahead.
“You go free.”
She said nothing.
“With enough money to disappear properly.”
He continued.
“New identity.”
“New city.”
“Whatever you choose.”
“The Russo syndicate forgets you.”
The answer should have brought relief.
Instead, Sienna felt an unexpected emptiness.
She suppressed it.
Survival came first.
Grand Central Terminal was crowded.
Commuters moved beneath the vast Beaux-Arts ceiling while announcements echoed through the station.
Damian brought only Silas and another enforcer named Marco inside.
Sienna carried Robert’s green ledger.
She led them into the lower levels, beyond the Oyster Bar and into quieter corridors containing private long-term lockers.
The air smelled of stone and electricity.
“409.”
They found it at the end of a dim row.
Old brass door.
Damian nodded.
Silas used a lock-picking tool.
Less than 30 seconds later, the mechanism released.
Inside was a single battered metal box.
Sienna stared.
Damian removed it and placed it on a maintenance cart.
The padlock was cheap.
He broke it with the butt of a knife.
Inside were 3 thick manila folders.
Several USB drives.
A microcassette recorder.
Damian opened the first folder.
Sienna moved beside him.
NYPD letterhead.
Bank statements.
Surveillance photographs.
Redacted names.
Damian’s eyes moved across the top document.
“Son of a bitch.”
Silas looked over.
“It was Commissioner Ror.”
Damian kept reading.
Silas continued.
“He was laundering D’Agostino money through the city pension system.”
Then Silas’s expression changed.
“Boss.”
His voice became sharp.
Damian shut the box.
Sienna turned.
4 men stood at the far end of the corridor.
Leather jackets.
Flat caps.
Suppressed semiautomatic weapons already visible in their hands.
“Matteo.”
Damian’s voice dropped.
Matteo Russo.
His uncle.
A man quietly building power in the Bronx and waiting for a moment to remove his nephew.
Somehow, his people had followed them.
“Damian.”
The lead gunman called down the tiled corridor.
“Your uncle sends his regards.”
He raised the weapon.
“Give us the box.”
A smile.
“And we only shoot the girl.”
“Silas.”
Damian remained perfectly calm.
“Left.”
Gunfire began almost immediately.
Suppressed shots cracked through the corridor.
Bullets struck marble.
Stone fragments filled the air.
Damian seized Sienna around the waist and threw her behind a large pillar.
He drew a customized Glock 19.
Unlike the attackers’ weapons, his was unsuppressed.
The first shot exploded through the underground space.
Damian moved efficiently.
Out from cover.
2 rounds.
Back behind stone.
One attacker fell.
“Marco is down.”
Silas shouted.
Sienna crouched against the floor.
Her hands covered her ears.
Marco lay approximately 3 feet away.
Blood spread beneath him.
His pistol had skidded across the polished stone and stopped close to Sienna.
Her father’s voice came back.
Knowledge is a death sentence.
But so was hesitation.
“Damian, I’m out.”
Silas attempted to reload.
One attacker was already moving around his position.
Damian was pinned by 2 shooters.
He tried to shift for an angle.
A bullet struck stone inches from his face.
Sienna looked at Marco’s weapon.
Then at the attacker closing on Silas.
She moved.
Her hand closed around the pistol.
The metal was cold.
She rose onto her knees.
The shooter was approximately 10 feet away.
His weapon was coming up.
Sienna aimed.
For a fraction of a second, she closed her eyes.
Then fired.
The recoil threw her backward.
Pain shot through her wrist.
The attacker jerked sideways and fell.
The unexpected shot caused the remaining 2 gunmen to hesitate.
Damian used the opening.
2 shots.
2 men down.
Silence returned as suddenly as the shooting began.
Sienna stared at the weapon.
Cordite filled the corridor.
She had killed someone.
The realization was immediate.
Irreversible.
Her vision began narrowing.
Then Damian was in front of her.
He kicked the weapon away.
Dropped to his knees.
His hands closed around her shoulders.
“Sienna.”
His voice was rough now.
“Look at me.”
She forced herself to focus.
Dust covered him.
A cut bled along one cheekbone.
Adrenaline had stripped away the controlled exterior she had seen since the Obsidian Room.
“You saved Silas.”
He breathed heavily.
“You saved me.”
His hands moved upward.
His thumbs touched her jaw with unexpected gentleness.
“I killed him.”
A sob broke from Sienna.
“You survived.”
Damian pulled her closer.
“In my world, there is no sin in surviving.”
He held her eyes.
“You are stronger than you think.”
His gaze lowered toward her mouth.
Then back to her eyes.
The distance narrowed.
Sienna stopped breathing.
For 1 moment, Damian Russo no longer looked like the head of a syndicate.
He looked only like a man staring at the woman who had just changed something fundamental in him.
He leaned closer.
Sienna’s eyes began to close.
“Boss.”
Silas’s voice broke through.
“We have to move.”
Damian stopped.
“Station security will be here in less than 60 seconds.”
For a brief second, Damian pressed his forehead against Sienna’s.
Then pulled away.
The mask returned.
“Get the box.”
He stood and pulled Sienna upright.
“We’re going to war.”
Their exit from Grand Central became a blur.
They did not return to Oyster Bay.
Damian redirected everyone to a secure penthouse in TriBeCa.
Once inside, Sienna placed the metal box on a glass coffee table.
She removed the first encrypted USB drive.
Damian’s laptop requested a 16-character passcode.
Sienna stared at the screen.
Then remembered her father’s patterns.
His horse names.
His obsession with numbers.
His final months.
She typed:
midnight409haze13
Access granted.
A folder appeared.
THE KINGMAKER
Sienna opened an audio file dated October 2013.
The first voice made Damian rigid.
“Vincenzo is getting sloppy.”
Matteo Russo.
Damian’s uncle.
A second voice answered.
“Arrange the hit on Vincenzo.”
Commissioner Thomas Ror.
The current NYPD commissioner.
“I’ll make sure the precinct looks the other way.”
Then:
“And if the kid doesn’t cooperate, we use the same leash we used on Detective Hayes.”
A pause.
“We bury him in his own backyard.”
The recording ended.
Damian’s face hardened.
He had believed he took power by defeating his father.
Now the evidence showed that Matteo and Ror had manipulated circumstances leading to Vincenzo’s death.
The same men who destroyed Robert Hayes had also shaped Damian’s rise.
“Ror is hosting the Police Foundation gala at the Plaza tonight.”
Damian’s voice was almost a whisper.
He turned toward Sienna.
“If I get you into their server room, can you put this onto the hotel network?”
May you like
Sienna stared at the data.
“Yes.”
Related Stories
