Chapter 9 - The Traitor's Perfume
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Volkov stared at the quivering silver knife embedded in the table, then lifted his cold eyes to Damian. For a long, agonizing second, the two apex predators silently measured each other. Volkov knew he was outnumbered in Damian’s fortress, but his arrogance was boundless.
"You defend a dead man's spawn, Romano," Volkov sneered, backing away slowly. "Keep her close. Because when the time comes, I will burn this mansion to the ground just to hear her scream."
He turned and marched out of the dining room, his heavy footsteps echoing down the marble hallway.
The rest of the dinner was incredibly brief. The minor bosses, terrified by the open declaration of war, quickly made their excuses and fled into the night.
When the heavy doors finally closed, leaving Damian and me alone in the dining room, the adrenaline crash hit me like a physical blow. I slumped back in my chair, my hands shaking uncontrollably.
Damian pulled the knife smoothly from the wood, tossing it onto a silver platter. He walked over to my chair, dropping to one knee right beside me. He took my trembling hands in his, his thumbs gently rubbing warmth back into my skin.
"You were magnificent," Damian murmured, his dark eyes blazing with intense, fierce pride. "You looked the devil in the eye and didn't blink."
"I was terrified," I admitted, a shaky laugh escaping my lips.
"Fear is natural. Courage is acting despite it," he said softly, leaning forward to press a lingering, grounding kiss to my knuckles.
Before the moment could deepen, Gabriel burst into the dining room, his face pale and tight with urgent fury.
"Damian," Gabriel interrupted, completely ignoring the intimacy of the moment. "We have a massive problem. Volkov didn't just come here to make threats. He came to deliver a message."
"What message?" Damian demanded, standing up instantly, the lethal boss returning to his posture.
"I was running a sweep of the perimeter after he left," Gabriel explained, holding up a small, clear plastic evidence bag. Inside the bag was a specialized, military-grade laser targeting module. The exact same kind used by the shooter who shattered my chair.
"We found this mounted in the ventilation grate directly above the dining room windows," Gabriel said grimly. "It wasn't left behind by the first shooters. The dust around the grate was freshly disturbed. Someone planted this inside the house tonight."
Damian’s jaw clenched so hard I thought his teeth would shatter. "We have a rat inside the estate."
I stared at the small plastic bag, my mind racing. A rat. Someone who had access to the dining room. Someone who knew the layout of the security cameras.
Then, a sudden, sickening memory hit me.
"Victor," I whispered, the name dropping like a stone in the quiet room.
May you like
Damian turned to me. "The estate manager?"
"When Volkov walked in, I smelled something familiar," I explained rapidly, standing up. "A very specific, expensive cologne. Bergamot and cedar. It’s the exact same cologne Victor Crane wears. I used to wash his suits when I worked in the laundry room."
