Chapter 5 - The Confession of Marcus Sullivan
By midnight, the master suite had been secured by a fresh rotation of loyal guards brought in from the outer perimeter. The bodies of the mercenaries had been cleared away, and the shattered oak door was temporarily barricaded with heavy furniture.
Marcus Sullivan, the head butler who had supposedly served the Volkov family for two decades, sat tied to a straight-backed wooden chair in the center of the room. His immaculate grey suit was rumpled, and a ugly purple bruise blossomed across his left cheekbone where Viktor had introduced him to the wall.
Damian sat in his wingback chair, cleaning the slide of his Walther with an oily cloth, while I sat nearby with Lila asleep in my lap, her head resting against my shoulder.
“Twenty years, Marcus,” Damian said quietly, not even looking up from his pistol. “My father trusted you. I trusted you. And you sold our shipping manifests to Vince Maroni for a fraction of what our docks generate in a single week.”
Sullivan spat a glob of blood onto the Persian rug, glaring defiantly up at the boss. “You’re a dying man, Damian. The old days are over. Maroni offered stability. He offered a partnership with the Chicago syndicates instead of your endless, bloody vendettas.”
“Stability?” Damian laughed softly, a cold, humorless sound. He snapped the pistol slide shut with a sharp click. “Maroni is a butcher who doesn't know how to run a ledger. He would have drained Grayhaven dry within six months and turned Baltimore into a war zone.”
“At least I wouldn't have been ruled by a ghost!” Sullivan snarled, straining against the ropes. “You’ve been half-dead inside ever since Isabella died five years ago! You stopped expanding, you stopped taking risks, and the family is paying the price for your grief!”
The temperature in the room instantly dropped to absolute zero.
Damian stood up slowly. Every movement was deliberate, heavy with a lethal, coiled fury that made even Viktor take a cautious step back.
He walked over until he stood inches away from Sullivan.
“Never,” Damian whispered, his voice vibrating with a terrifying, suppressed rage, “speak her name again.”
Sullivan flinched, finally realizing the lethal error he had made.
Before Sullivan could speak, Damian’s fist connected with his jaw with bone-crushing force, sending the chair tipping backward onto the floor. Sullivan groaned, unconscious before he even hit the carpet.
“Viktor,” Damian said coldly, not turning around. “Take him down to the salt flats. Let Maroni find his favorite butler in a block of ice by morning.”
“Done,” Viktor nodded, signaling two guards to haul Sullivan’s limp body out of the room.
When the heavy oak barricade was dragged back into place, the room settled into a heavy, suffocating silence. Damian stood by the fireplace, staring into the flickering flames, looking older and more exhausted than I had ever seen him.
“You lost your wife,” I said softly, breaking the silence.
Damian didn't look back. “Five years ago. A car bomb meant for me. She took the ignition key instead.”
“I’m sorry,” I murmured, shifting Lila slightly in my arms. “I know what it’s like to lose your world. When my husband walked out after Lila was diagnosed... when the fire took what was left... I thought the grief would drown me.”
Damian turned slowly, looking at me across the dim room. The firelight cast sharp, golden shadows across his face, highlighting the deep vulnerability hidden beneath his armor.
“You survived,” he noted quietly.
“I had to,” I replied. “Because of her.”
Damian walked slowly toward us. He stopped a foot away, looking down at Lila’s peaceful sleeping face. Without asking, he reached out and gently adjusted the blanket over her shoulders.
“She saved my life tonight, Elena,” Damian whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “Not just from the poison. She... she woke something up inside me that I thought was buried permanently.”
“She has a way of doing that,” I smiled faintly.
Damian looked up, meeting my eyes with a burning, undeniable intensity. “Stay here, Elena. In Grayhaven. Not as a maid. As my head of household... and as my guest. Maroni won't stop with Sullivan. The war is coming to our doorstep, and I need people around me I can actually trust.”
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I looked down at my sleeping daughter, then back at the most dangerous man in Baltimore. The safe, quiet life I had dreamed of was gone. But looking into Damian’s eyes, I realized I didn't want safety anymore.
I wanted justice.
