“What do you mean, the target was her?” Damon’s voice dropped into a terrifying, icy register that made the seasoned IT specialist step back involuntarily.
“The contract… it specifies her identity, Boss,” the technician stammered, fingers flying across the tablet to pull up decoded files. “Look at the routing number of the transaction. The funds routed through Vance Financial didn’t originate from a generic corporate account. They came from a private offshore portfolio managed directly under the personal trust of Arthur Vance himself.”
Arthur Vance.
The patriarch of the city’s most untouchable elite dynasty, a man whose hands supposedly stayed clean while politicians and judges danced to his tune.
Damon stared at the glowing screen, his mind racing through a maze of dark realizations.
Silas Reed wasn’t just a turncoat bought out by a rival mobster.
He was a pawn in a much larger, cleaner corporate war—a war where human lives, including a waitress with seventeen dollars to her name, were apparently disposable line items.
“And why would Arthur Vance want a low-income restaurant worker eliminated?” Damon demanded, his eyes narrowing as a cold fury settled deep within his chest.
“We… we dug into her background file that just popped up from the municipal archives,” the technician replied, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. “Keisha Monroe isn’t just an ordinary waitress. Three months ago, her older brother worked as a junior accountant at Vance Logistics. He died in a supposed ‘industrial accident’ right after downloading a massive encrypted ledger containing records of illegal offshore dumping and money laundering.”
Damon went completely rigid.
The pieces clicked together with brutal clarity.
The laser sight outside, Silas inside, the photograph taken that afternoon, the contract signed by a multi-billion-dollar empire—it wasn’t a random hit.
It was an execution designed to silence the last surviving relative carrying the bloodline of the whistleblower.
And Silas, his most trusted enforcer, had sold his soul to the highest bidder in the upper echelons of society.
“Boss!” Another guard sprinted down the hallway from the elevators, out of breath. “The operating room just called. The bullet missed her vital organs by centimeters, but she’s awake. And… and she’s asking for you.”
Damon didn’t hesitate a second longer.
He shoved past his men, his tailored suit jacket swaying as he strode toward the recovery ward, every single footstep echoing like a death knell down the sterile hospital corridor.
Inside the dimly lit recovery room, the rhythmic beep of the heart monitor provided the only soundtrack to the heavy silence.
Keisha lay propped up against the pillows, her left shoulder heavily bandaged, her skin pale under the fluorescent lights.
When the heavy oak door clicked open, she turned her head slowly.
Her dark eyes met Damon’s fierce, unreadable gaze.
“You’re still here,” she whispered, her voice raspy from the anesthesia and blood loss. “I thought a guy like Damon Cross would have more important things to do than babysit a wounded waitress.”
Damon closed the distance between them in two long strides, stopping right beside the hospital bed.
He didn’t smile.
Instead, he placed both hands on the metal guardrail of the bed, leaning down slightly so she had no choice but to look straight into his dark, intense eyes.
“You saved my life, Keisha,” Damon said, his voice low, steady, and dripping with an unspoken, lethal promise. “And in my world, that creates a debt that can never, ever be wiped clean.”
Keisha swallowed hard, a flicker of nervous defiance flashing in her eyes despite her weakness.
“I didn’t do it because I wanted to join your world,” she retorted softly. “I just… I saw a man about to die, and my legs moved before my brain could stop them. Believe me, if I knew it involved elite corporate conspiracies and a traitorous hitman, I would have kept pouring water.”
A rare, fleeting ghost of a smirk touched the corner of Damon’s lips before vanishing instantly.
“Too late for regrets now,” Damon replied, reaching out to gently push a stray lock of hair away from her damp forehead—a shockingly tender gesture from a man whose hands were stained with blood. “Arthur Vance wants you dead. Silas Reed is currently hunting you to finish the job.”
Keisha’s breath hitched.
The name dropped into the room like a live grenade.
“Arthur Vance… Who is that? Why would anyone want me dead?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly as the full weight of the terrifying reality crashed down upon her.
“Because of your brother,” Damon stated plainly, watching her expression shift from confusion to absolute horror. “They think you have the ledger he left behind. They think you’re a threat to an empire worth billions.”
