Chapter 10 - Shadows of the Romano Blood
Dawn broke over the Pennsylvania estate, painting the garden in hues of soft gold and gray.
The storm had passed. Inside the sunny breakfast room, little Mia sat at the long table, enthusiastically eating pancakes covered in syrup. Her mother, Clara, sat beside her, wrapped in a warm blanket, watching her daughter with tears of relief and exhaustion.
Damian stood by the French doors, sipping his black coffee, watching the two of them.
For the first time in twenty-two years, the cold, hollow emptiness inside his chest felt manageable. The Romano empire had spent decades taking lives; today, it had saved two.
Luca walked in quietly, holding a secure leather portfolio. He stopped beside Damian, waiting until Damian stepped out onto the terrace away from Clara and Mia.
"Silvio has been transferred to an undisclosed federal holding facility," Luca reported in a low voice. "He won't survive the winter. The syndicate council voted unanimously an hour ago to ratify your absolute control over all eastern territories."
"Good," Damian murmured.
"There's something else, boss," Luca said, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. He opened the portfolio and handed Damian a manila envelope. "The forensics team finished analyzing the lockbox and the pocket watch."
"And?"
"The watch wasn't buried twenty-two years ago," Luca said, his hand trembling slightly. "The silver casing had micro-residue of modern synthetic machine oil. The winding mechanism was serviced within the last six months."
Damian lowered his coffee cup, his pulse quickening. "What are you saying, Luca?"
"The watch was wound three days ago," Luca whispered. "And the handwriting on that note found inside the rear casing? Dr. Vance ran a ink-dating test on the parchment. That ink wasn't dried twenty years ago, Damian. It was written this week."
Damian turned back toward the breakfast table. Through the glass, he saw Mia laughing as she placed a piece of pancake into the mouth of her tattered stuffed rabbit.
May you like
He slipped his hand into his coat pocket, touching the cool, smooth silver of the pocket watch.
The grandfather who supposedly died twenty-two years ago hadn't sent a relic from the grave. He was alive—and he had just used his granddaughter to bring the war to Damian's doorstep.
