Chapter 18 - Shadows on Lower Wacker
The atmosphere in the penthouse office shifted instantly, the warm, reflective quiet evaporating like morning mist under a blowtorch.
Damien’s hand dropped from Ellie’s face, though his dark gaze remained locked on hers for a lingering second before he turned toward the desk. He pressed the intercom transmit button again.
“Who’s leading the delegation?” Damien asked, his voice dropping into that cold, subterranean register that commanded absolute terror among his subordinates.
“Victor Rossi,” Grant replied over the static. “He flew in from JFK two hours ago. He’s claiming the council wants an immediate renegotiation of the shipping corridor revenues, but security spotted three unlisted operatives in his tail car. They aren’t here to negotiate, boss. They’re here to test if the rumors about your distraction are true.”
Ellie felt a cold knot form in her stomach. “They know about Leo’s surgery. They think because you cleared your schedule for me, you’ve taken your eye off the board.”
“Let them think it,” Damien said calmly, though a lethal storm brewed behind his dark eyes. He reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out a heavy, matte-black encrypted satellite phone, tapping a quick sequence of numbers. “Grant. Do not let them past the third-floor reception lounge. Tell Rossi I’ll meet him in the boardroom in five minutes. And double the security detail around the Baltimore surgical wing—use our private tactical unit, not the local contractors.”
“Already on it, boss,” Grant clicked off.
Damien slipped the phone back into his jacket and turned to Ellie. The casual softness of a moment ago was completely gone, replaced by the formidable kingpin who had carved out his territory in blood, strategy, and absolute control.
“You’re staying right here in this penthouse,” Damien instructed, his tone leaving no room for argument. “The private elevator is locked down. The panic room behind the library wall is fully stocked. If you hear anything other than my voice at that door, you lock yourself inside and don’t come out until Grant confirms the perimeter is clear.”
“Damien, no,” Ellie stepped forward, grabbing his arm. “I’m not hiding while you walk into a trap set by New York capos. I’m a doctor, and I’ve spent the last two years dealing with monsters far worse than Victor Rossi. If they’re here because of me—because you chose to protect my brother—then I’m standing by your side.”
Damien looked down at her hand on his arm, then slowly up into her fierce, unyielding eyes. A muscle ticked in his jaw.
“This isn’t a hospital ward, Ellie. This is a boardroom war,” Damien said quietly. “Rossi is a viper. He doesn’t care about collateral damage.”
“Neither do I, when it comes to the people I love,” she countered, her voice steady and sharp.
Damien stared at her for a long, silent moment. Then, a slow, grim smile touched the corner of his mouth—a look of profound, terrifying respect.
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“All right,” Damien murmured, reaching for a sleek, custom-fitted holster resting in the drawer of his desk, slipping a compact firearm into his inner harness with practiced, deadly ease. “Stay behind me. The moment things get ugly, you use the private lift. Understood?”
“Understood,” Ellie nodded.
