Chapter 5 - The Glass Horizon
Victor didn't flinch. He set his scotch glass down on the polished mahogany desk with a dry, deliberate clink.
“Because, cousin,” Victor said, spreading his hands in a gesture of elegant surrender, “if you throw me through that window, you’ll never find out where Elena’s real journal is.”
The entire room seemed to freeze.
Damian’s hand stopped hovering near his holster. The dark, lethal stillness that had defined his presence all evening suddenly fractured, replaced by a raw, jagged tension that rippled through his entire frame.
“What did you say?” Damian whispered.
Victor smiled, leaning back in the executive leather chair, utterly unbothered by the fact that he was standing in the crosshairs of the most dangerous man in Chicago.
“You thought Elena was just poking around old family shipping ledgers nine years ago, didn't you?” Victor said, his voice dripping with condescension. “You thought she was killed because she found out about a bad import batch or a kickback scheme with the Marchettis. How romantic. How tragically naive.”
Adriana stood a half-step behind Damian, her eyes darting between the two men. She could feel the kinetic tension radiating off Damian—he was coiled like a steel spring, ready to snap at any second.
“The ledger in the basement was a decoy,” Victor continued smoothly, gesturing toward the briefcase by the window. “A breadcrumb trail left behind for an inquisitive mind. But the real document—the complete record of every politician, federal judge, and federal prosecutor on the Voss syndicate payroll, signed in your father’s own hand—was cataloged by your sweet, innocent first wife three days before she died.”
Victor’s gaze shifted past Damian, landing directly on Adriana with a sharp, predatory glint.
“And according to my latest inventory check, Mrs. Voss... that exact journal was checked out of the municipal public library archives yesterday morning under your professional library ID card.”
Damian slowly turned his head, his dark eyes locking onto Adriana.
The air in the office rushed out of Adriana’s lungs. The floor beneath her feet seemed to tilt, and the cold, unyielding reality of the trap closed in around her.
“That’s... that’s impossible,” Adriana stammered, her voice catching in her throat as Damian’s gaze burned into her with a terrifying, silent question. “I’ve never checked out those archives. I’ve never even seen that file!”
“Haven’t you?” Victor purred, sliding a crisp, printed library log across the mahogany desk. “Your digital signature is right there, sweet cousin-in-law. Registered, timestamped, and authorized by the city’s historical preservation board. You didn't just stumble into this family tonight by accident, Damian.”
May you like
Victor stood up slowly, smoothing the lapel of his jacket as he looked between them with a triumphant grin.
“She didn't marry you to settle her father’s gambling debts, Damian,” Victor whispered, his voice echoing in the silent, dark office. “She married you because she’s the federal prosecutor’s lead archivist, and she’s spent the last two years building the RICO case that’s going to put every single one of us away for the rest of our lives.”
