Chapter 105: Proof Of Betrayal

Chapter 105: Proof Of Betrayal
“I’ll ask one more time, what the hell’s going on here?” Damon asked.
Lindsay still had her phone in her hand, her knuckles white around it. Enzo stood rigid, eyes darting between her and Damon like he was trying to find an exit that didn’t exist.
Lindsay spoke first. “It’s nothing, Damon. You came in at the wrong time.”
“Wrong time,” he repeated, stepping closer. “That's supposed to explain why Enzo looks like he’s about to choke on his own tongue?”
She tried a small smile. “He thought I was hiding something. I told him I wasn’t. He tried to grab my phone, but I pushed him off. That’s it.”
Damon stopped a few feet from her. “You expect me to believe that?”
“It’s the truth.”
He looked at her hand. “Then unlock the phone.”
Her stomach turned. “Why?”
“Because I said so.”
She hesitated, then forced a laugh that didn’t sound like her usual kind. “You don’t trust me now?”
“I’d like to,” he said, still staring at her, “but lately you’ve been giving me reasons not to.”
Lindsay’s pulse kicked faster. “You think I’d be stupid enough to go behind your back? After everything?”
“That’s exactly what I’m starting to wonder.”
She opened her mouth, ready to argue, but Enzo cut in, “Boss, it’s not what it looks like. I heard her the other day, on the phone. She was talking to someone, and it didn’t sound like family. I thought maybe she was—”
Lindsay snapped her head toward him. “Are you serious right now?”
But he kept talking. “—feeding information to whoever’s on the other end.”
The room went still. Damon turned his attention from one to the other, eyes narrowing slightly. Lindsay could feel the air getting tighter.
“Feeding information,” Damon repeated quietly. “That’s a strong accusation.”
Enzo nodded once. “I wouldn’t have said anything if I wasn’t sure.”
Lindsay let out a shaky breath, her voice rising. “You’re twisting this, Enzo. You don’t even know what you heard.”
He met her glare. “Then tell him who it was. If it’s your mom, like you keep saying, prove it.”
Her grip on the phone tightened.
Damon turned to Lindsay. “You heard him,” he said. “You’ve got something to say?”
She straightened, forcing her expression to stay calm. “He’s lying. I wasn’t talking to anyone important. It really was my mom.”
He took a slow step toward her. “You expect me to believe that, after I just caught the two of you wrestling over your phone?”
Her voice hardened. “He was overreacting. You know how he gets.”
“I know exactly how he gets,” Damon said, eyes narrowing, “and I know what I saw. So I’ll ask again—what were you two doing when I walked in?”
Enzo let out a strained breath. “I was trying to take her phone. I thought if I could see who she’d been talking to, we could end this argument.”
Damon’s gaze lingered on him, then returned to Lindsay. “Then there’s a simple solution. Hand me the phone.”
Lindsay’s pulse quickened. “There’s nothing on it.”
“Then it shouldn’t be a problem.”
She hesitated. Enzo looked uneasy beside her. Damon caught the exchange.
“Both of you look like you’ve got something to hide,” he said. His patience was thinning. “I won’t ask again.”
Still, neither of them moved.
Damon exhaled, then turned toward the door. “Marco,” he called.
One of his men stepped in. Damon motioned to Lindsay. “Take it from her.”
Lindsay’s grip tightened around the phone. “Damon, you’re making a mistake.”
He didn’t answer. Marco reached for the device, and Lindsay tried to pull away, but he was quicker. The phone slipped from her hand, landing in Damon’s palm a second later.
“Unlock it,” he told Lindsay.
Marco gave Lindsay a rough nudge, a silent order to move. She stayed still at first, jaw tight, eyes darting between them.
“Do it,” Marco said.
Lindsay’s hand trembled as she took the phone. For a second, it looked like she might refuse, but then she pressed her thumb against the screen. Damon took the phone from her without a word. The room fell silent as he began to scroll—each soft tap of his thumb sounding louder than it should’ve. Then he stopped.
His face changed—hard and fast. The muscle in his jaw locked tight, and his hand froze mid-scroll.
Lindsay froze.
When he finally looked up, his eyes found Enzo. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
He turned the phone so Enzo could see the screen. No sound played—just the video looping, Enzo’s hand tangled in Lindsay’s hair, her mouth on his.
Enzo’s face drained of color. “Damon, listen—”
“Listen?” His tone snapped. He tossed the phone onto the table and stepped closer. “You little fucker.”
Enzo’s hands lifted slightly, palms out. “It wasn’t what it looked like. She came at me. She was trying to—”
But Damon wasn’t listening. His eyes had gone cold, detached. He reached for Marco’s holster, drew the gun without breaking his stare.
“Damon, please—”
The gunshot cut through Enzo's words, and his lifeless body dropped instantly, hitting the floor before he could finish his sentence.
Lindsay’s scream came a second later, her hands flying to her mouth. Damon didn’t look at her right away; he just stared down at the man bleeding out at his feet, smoke curling from the barrel.
When he finally did look up, his expression was unreadable.
“Now you want to tell me who the fuck you’ve been talking to?”
Lindsay couldn’t move. Her legs wouldn’t cooperate, and her throat burned from the scream that still felt caught inside her. Enzo lay motionless on the floor, a dark pool spreading beneath him.
Damon handed the gun back to Marco, calm in a way that was somehow worse than shouting. He reached for her phone again, scrolling through the recent calls.
“Who’s this?” he asked.
Lindsay couldn’t form words and just stood there. He tapped the number and pressed the phone to his ear. The line rang twice before someone answered. Nothing came from the other end at first, just the faint sound of breathing.
“Who am I talking to?” he asked.
Still silence.
He gritted his teeth. “You want her alive? Speak. You’ve got three seconds.”
Then came a familiar,  accented voice. “Damon. This is Sergei.”
Damon’s eyes darkened. “Sergei.”
“I want Lindsay alive. One wrong move, and hell’s coming for you,” Sergei said, then the line went dead.
Damon stared at the phone for a moment before turning his gaze back to Lindsay.
“You’ve been talking to Sergei?”
Her lips trembled. “I didn’t—”
The slap landed without hesitation. She staggered back, pressing a hand to her cheek.
“You called him,” Damon said. “You were feeding him information.”
Tears blurred Lindsay's eyes. Damon’s hands were clenched at his sides, knuckles white. His jaw worked, a tight, animal thing, and his eyes were hard as flint — not a shout, but a fury that made the room small and dangerous.
He looked to Marco. “Marco. Get everyone ready. We’re leaving,” he said, and he slipped Lindsay’s phone into his jacket pocket.
“Yes, boss.”