Chapter 39 Chapter 39
Chapter 39 Chapter 39
~ Elena’s POV
The folder felt impossibly heavy in my hands. Adrian Russo….my father’s name printed in bold font on the front. I sat in Damian’s leather chair, the room suddenly too quiet, the air too suffocating. For a second, I just stared at the paper, as if looking harder would make it change into something gentler. It didn’t.
My hands were shaking. I took a breath and opened it with trembling fingers. The photographs came first. Metal twisted like a folded toy, glass and splinters, a crushed bumper. I recognized the route from the pictures…..the one my father always took home from work. My stomach heaved; for a second, I thought I was going to be sick. I forced myself to breathe, kept going.
Pages full of numbers and timestamps followed. Notes with small, precise handwriting I did not recognize. Diagram of a car’s underside. Phone logs and witness reports flagged and crossed out. I read faster and faster, the paper blurring until on one page, my blood ran cold. It wasn’t police work. Whoever had written this knew details no police report could ever contain. How the brake line would be severed at a particular point, which lights would be cut, and where a hired car would position itself to make the scene believable. And there, in a column labeled Contractors, names I didn’t know….were men who had been paid with a time and a location. Then another photograph captured a few men at the scene, all in black, but one face was familiar……too familiar. I squeezed my eyes only to widen them a few seconds later when I noticed Marco at the scene.
My chest felt like it had been crushed. Tears sprang hot and sudden to my eyes. I flipped pages with shaking fingers until I hit the last of the transactions. The trail was clean but deliberate; the payments had a path leading right to…..my mouth went dry that instant. Right to an account that was directed to a shell company…..which, according to the knowledge I had until now, was associated with the Moretti name.
A second later, I gazed up to find Damian with all the colors drained from his face. He was standing in the doorway, as still as a statue. Silent. I didn’t know he’d come in.
“Why are you crying?“ His voice was low, too even. He reached the chair in two strides and kneeled, taking the folder from me with unusual gentleness. His fingers hovered over the pages as if touching broken glass.
“Tell me,“ I said before I could stop myself. The words ripped out of me. “Tell me this isn’t what it looks like. Tell me you didn’t—“ I couldn’t even finish the sentence.
He was looking at me but not at the file. “Elena,“ he said slowly. “Listen to me.“
“Listen to you?“ I laughed, the sound raw. “You hid my father’s file in a locked drawer. My father is dead, and you have this file hidden under your things. Tell me how that isn’t the same thing as murder.“
Damian opened his mouth. “I promised you I’d look into it,“ he said finally. “I told you I’d find answers.“
“Answers?“ I snatched the folder from his hands and slammed it down on his desk so hard the papers fanned out. “You have answers. You have a list of men, dates, and places. This wasn’t an investigation, Damian. This was planning. This is proof against you.“
He stayed calm in a way that made my skin crawl and rage furiously. “My father is dead. You handed me a photo of Luca like it was some……some mercy.“ My voice rose until it broke into a sob. “You promised he would live. You promise me—“
“And I kept my promise,“ Damian interrupted quietly. “About Luca. That doesn’t mean I’m responsible for your father’s accident, Elena.“
“You expect me to believe that?“ I stood up and stepped back from him, the room narrowing until his chest and my fists were all that existed. “You expect me to stand here and not know if the man responsible for my father’s death sits in front of me? You think I won’t—“ My words fell apart in a cracked sob.
He didn’t defend himself further. He only looked at me with an expression I couldn’t read; flat and distant. It felt worse than anger.
“You don’t get to stand there silent,“ I said. “You don’t get to hold that folder and act like you’re doing me a favor.“
He took a deep breath. “I didn’t—“ He stopped. His hand closed around the folder again, like it was suddenly too heavy to hold.
“Why?“ I demanded. “Why would you even keep this? Why hide it if it was an investigation? Why keep anything from me?“
He looked at me then, fully. “Because some truths protect you by hurting the world in someone else’s stead. Because I promised you safety, and I do what I must to keep you safe.“
“By killing him?“ I spat out, not wanting to believe a word that came out of his mouth. “By making my father’s death a business decision?“
His hand tightened on the folder. He said nothing. I couldn’t stand the silence any longer. I left the study like the room was on fire, the door slamming behind me with a sound that echoed through the halls. I went straight to a maid….one of the few faces in the house that didn’t look like a stranger, and told her to move my things to a guest room.
The day crawled by, and I kept myself locked in the new room and tried to breathe through the anger that was replacing the grief. I paced until my legs ached, then ran outside because the walls felt like they were shrinking on me.
I grabbed a car from the garage…..why I had access to, I didn’t know…and drove until the Moretti estate fainted in the background. I needed the roof of the old clock tower. It had been my hiding place since I was a child.
I climbed to the top and sat with my knees to my chest, the metal cold through my jeans. The city lights blinked below like calm stars.
My phone buzzed with Marco’s message.
That was a stupid move. You shouldn’t be out alone. I’m nearby.
I scowled and shoved the phone back into my pocket. I didn’t want anyone saving me right now. No one. A soft noise made me turn. Footsteps on the roof. Someone was approaching slowly. My breath caught when a shadow detached itself from the edges of the tower.
He stepped into the faint light, and my breath stopped. A man stood there, a gun in his hand, held low and casual. My skin went cold.