Chapter 2 - THE NINTH DAY
Damian Costa had faced men pointing guns at his chest without blinking.
Yet standing outside his mother’s bedroom, listening to a twenty-six-year-old maid complain about an alternator, he suddenly felt absurdly uncertain about whether to enter.
He hated the feeling.
So he opened the door.
Tessa stopped talking.
Her head turned sharply.
For half a second, surprise flashed across her face.
Then recognition replaced it.
Everybody working at the Costa estate knew Damian.
Most people became different when he entered a room.
Their backs straightened.
Their voices changed.
Their eyes dropped.
Tessa merely stood.
“Mr. Costa.”
Damian’s gaze moved to his mother.
Beatrice was awake, propped against two pillows.
Her silver hair had been brushed neatly. A pale blue blanket covered her legs. On the table beside her sat a half-finished bowl of soup.
Beatrice looked at Damian.
Nothing.
No recognition.
That hurt more than he allowed his face to show.
Then she looked toward Tessa.
“There you are,” Beatrice murmured.
Tessa smiled.
“I’m right here.”
Damian’s jaw tightened.
His mother remembered the maid.
Not her son.
The thought should have made him angry.
Instead, it made him ashamed.
Tessa noticed his stare.
“She’s having a clear afternoon.”
“I can see that.”
His tone was colder than he intended.
Tessa’s shoulders stiffened.
Damian hated himself for noticing.
He stepped closer to the bed.
“Mother.”
Beatrice frowned.
“You’re blocking the television.”
There was no television on.
Tessa glanced at him.
Damian expected pity.
He saw none.
She simply moved the wooden chair aside.
“Sit.”
Damian looked at her.
People did not order him to sit.
Paul had once joked that Damian would eventually shoot someone for using the wrong verb tense around him.
Tessa pointed toward the chair.
“If you loom over her, she gets anxious.”
Damian stared at her for three seconds.
Then he sat.
If any of his captains witnessed it, the story would circulate through Chicago before sunset.
Beatrice studied his face.
“You look tired.”
Damian froze.
The same sentence she had spoken when he was seventeen and came home after breaking three ribs in a street fight.
“Do you know who I am?”
He immediately regretted asking.
Tessa lowered her eyes.
Beatrice tilted her head.
Something moved behind her cloudy gaze.
“My boy?”
Damian could not breathe.
“Yes.”
Beatrice touched his cheek.
Her fingers trembled.
“My angry boy.”
His eyes burned.
He caught her wrist gently.
“I’m not angry.”
Beatrice smiled faintly.
“You always were.”
Then the moment disappeared.
She looked toward Tessa.
“Did we feed the dog?”
There had been no dog in twenty years.
Tessa responded without hesitation.
“He ate already.”
“Oh.”
Beatrice settled back.
Damian sat motionless.
Tessa quietly collected the empty dishes.
He watched her wrap her injured palm around the tray.
“You should have stitches.”
She glanced down.
“It’s fine.”
“It isn’t.”
“I’ve had worse.”
“That wasn’t a question.”
Tessa’s mouth tightened.
Something nearly resembling annoyance appeared in her eyes.
“You’re very good at giving orders.”
Damian almost smiled.
Almost.
“My house tends to encourage the habit.”
“Maybe that’s the problem.”
Silence.
Damian slowly looked at her.
Tessa seemed to realize what she had said.
But she did not apologize.
Interesting.
Before Damian could respond, Beatrice reached blindly toward Tessa.
Tessa immediately took her hand.
“Stay.”
“I’m working, Beatrice.”
“Stay.”
Tessa looked toward Damian.
He should have ordered her back to housekeeping.
Instead he said, “Stay.”
Tessa sat.
Beatrice closed her eyes.
Within minutes, she slept.
Damian and Tessa remained on opposite sides of the bed.
For once, Damian did not know what to say.
Tessa did.
“You should visit her more.”
His stare sharpened.
“You don’t know how often I visit.”
“I know she looks at the doorway whenever footsteps pass.”
The words struck harder than an insult.
“My business keeps me occupied.”
“She doesn’t know what your business is.”
“You know enough not to discuss my business.”
“I wasn’t discussing it.”
Tessa met his eyes.
“I’m discussing your mother.”
Nobody spoke to Damian like that.
Nobody who wished to remain employed.
He stood.
“So you believe you understand her better than I do after one week?”
“No.”
Tessa’s voice softened.
“I think I understand what waiting feels like.”
Damian said nothing.
She looked at Beatrice.
“My sister spent almost three years in hospitals.”
His pulse changed.
So she talked about her sister voluntarily.
“I kept thinking I had more time. More conversations. More normal days.”
Tessa swallowed.
“Then there weren’t any.”
Damian had ordered Paul to investigate her life.
Suddenly knowing those details without her permission felt invasive.
“What was her name?”
Tessa looked surprised.
“Lily.”
“How old?”
“Nineteen.”
“I’m sorry.”
She studied him as though unsure whether he could mean those words.
“Thank you.”
Damian left before the conversation could become anything more dangerous.
That evening, he entered the bunker.
Monitor 4 showed Tessa leaving Beatrice’s room.
He switched cameras.
Kitchen.
Hallway.
Service staircase.
Employee exit.
Tessa signed out at 7:42.
Rain had started again.
She stepped outside.
Then stopped.
A black sedan waited beside the employee parking lot.
Two men stood near it.
Neither belonged to Damian.
Tessa saw them.
Her entire body changed.
Fear.
Real fear.
One man approached.
Damian enlarged the screen.
The man grabbed Tessa’s wrist.
Damian was already standing.
Paul entered the bunker just as Damian reached for his jacket.
“Boss?”
“Who are they?”
Paul looked at the screen.
His expression hardened.
“Collectors.”
“For what?”
“Tessa’s loan.”
On-screen, the man shoved Tessa against the sedan.
Damian’s face went completely still.
Paul knew that stillness.
It was the last warning before violence.
“How much does she owe?”
“About sixty-eight thousand originally. With interest and penalties, they’re claiming one hundred eighty.”
Damian stared at the man gripping Tessa’s arm.
“Nobody touches anyone on my property.”
Paul reached for his radio.
Damian stopped him.
“No.”
Paul looked over.
Damian picked up his gun.
“I’ll handle this one.”
---
The rain felt warm against Damian’s face.
Tessa’s attacker never saw him coming.
Damian caught the man’s wrist and twisted until bone threatened to break.
The collector screamed.
The second man reached inside his jacket.
Three Costa guards materialized from the darkness and trained weapons on him.
“Bad decision,” Damian said.
The man slowly raised his hands.
Tessa stared at Damian.
Her face was pale.
Rain soaked her hair.
“Mr. Costa?”
Damian released the first collector only after forcing him onto his knees.
“Who sent you?”
The man spat rainwater.
“Private business.”
Damian crouched.
“You came through my gate.”
The man froze.
“That makes it my business.”
Recognition finally dawned.
“Costa.”
Damian smiled without warmth.
“There you go.”
“We didn’t know she worked for you.”
“She works in my house.”
“We can go.”
“No.”
Tessa stepped forward.
“Wait.”
Damian turned.
“This debt is mine.”
He stared at her.
“I don’t remember asking.”
“I borrowed the money. I’ll pay it.”
The collector laughed.
“At twelve bucks an hour?”
Damian looked at him.
The laughter stopped.
Tessa’s cheeks burned.
“I don’t want charity.”
“Good,” Damian said. “I wasn’t offering charity.”
“What are you offering?”
Damian looked at the two collectors.
“An audit.”
The men exchanged nervous glances.
Paul arrived carrying a folder.
Damian took it.
“You charged thirty-eight percent monthly interest through three shell companies, forged two payment notices, and added collection penalties prohibited under Illinois law.”
The collector’s face drained.
Tessa stared.
Damian continued.
“You also threatened bodily harm.”
He closed the folder.
“So here is what happens. The legitimate principal gets paid tonight. Every illegal fee disappears. You never contact her again.”
“You can’t—”
Damian leaned closer.
“I can.”
Silence.
The man nodded.
Damian stood.
“Paul.”
“Already handled.”
Tessa looked from one man to another.
“You paid my debt?”
“The valid portion.”
“I didn’t ask you to.”
“No.”
Damian stepped closer.
“You also didn’t ask those men to put their hands on you.”
“That doesn’t mean you own me now.”
His eyes narrowed.
“Do you think that’s how I operate?”
“I don’t know how you operate.”
There it was.
Fear.
But beneath it, defiance.
Damian found both strangely compelling.
He removed his coat and held it out.
Tessa looked at it.
“I’m wet already.”
“So am I.”
“I can take the bus.”
“There’s a thunderstorm.”
“I’ve taken buses in thunderstorms before.”
“I’m beginning to understand why your life is unnecessarily difficult.”
That earned him a glare.
Then Tessa sneezed.
Paul looked away quickly.
Damian nearly laughed.
“Get in the car.”
“No.”
Damian stared.
Tessa crossed her arms.
Paul suddenly became fascinated by the pavement.
Damian lowered his voice.
“I’m not accustomed to hearing that word.”
“You should practice.”
Before Damian could answer, the estate doors opened.
A nurse ran outside.
“Mr. Costa!”
Everyone turned.
“It’s your mother.”
Damian’s blood went cold.
“What happened?”
“She collapsed.”
Tessa moved first.
She ran.
Damian followed.
And for the first time in years, the most feared man in Chicago was not thinking about enemies, debts, guns, or power.
May you like
He was praying.
---
