Chapter 2 - The Unraveling of the SyndicateBy 3:00 a.m., the storm over Oyster Bay had reached its peak, rattling the reinforced glass of the Rossi estate while the interior remained locked in a suffocating, charged silence.
Cheyenne was no longer on the floor. Damen had carried her—she had gone rigid and weightless in his arms, expecting punishment with every inch—and placed her gently on the edge of the massive four-poster bed. He had summoned Dr. Alistair, the syndicate’s trusted underground physician, who arrived within twenty minutes with a battered medical bag and a face carved from granite.
Alistair had examined Cheyenne's back in quiet, grim silence, applying antiseptic and sterile bandages to the minor friction burns caused by the torn lace, while Damen stood by the window, watching the rain blur the lights of the perimeter fences.
"The scars are old, mostly," Alistair had murmured quietly to Damen in the hallway outside the bedroom. "Some dating back five, maybe ten years. But there are fresh contusions beneath the ribs. Whoever did this to her wasn't just punishing her—they were systematically breaking her spirit on a daily basis. Lawrence Hastings is a monster."
"He was a monster," Damen had corrected, his voice devoid of all warmth.
Now, sitting in his downstairs study with the door securely locked, Damen stared at the financial ledgers and dossiers detailing Lawrence Hastings's assets. But the numbers didn't matter anymore. The bankruptcy filings, the seized accounts, the foreclosed properties—they all seemed too merciful for a man who had inflicted such calculated cruelty on his own child.
A sharp knock broke the silence.
The heavy mahogany door opened slightly, and Mateo, Damen’s most lethal enforcer, stepped inside, water dripping from his black trench coat.
"Boss," Mateo said, keeping his voice low. "We secured the Hastings manor just like you ordered. Lawrence was there, drinking whiskey in his study, waiting for confirmation of the wedding night."
"And?" Damen asked, not looking up from his desk.
"We didn't just seize the property, Boss. We turned the place upside down. In Hastings's private wall safe, behind the dummy panels, we found a separate ledger. Not financial records. Medical records, private diaries, and photographic logs documenting every single disciplinary session administered to Cheyenne over the past twelve years."
Damen’s head snapped up. His gray eyes narrowed into lethal slits. "Bring them to me. Every single page."
"Already on your desk," Mateo replied, sliding a thick manila folder across the mahogany wood. "And Boss? Hastings tried to pull a pistol when we cuffed him. He’s currently tied up in the lower vehicle bay, waiting for your instructions."
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Damen stood up slowly. The chair scraped harshly against the floor. He picked up the manila folder, his fingers tightening around the cardboard until the edges crumpled.
"Tell the men to prep the black Lincoln," Damen said, his voice dropping into a dark, terrifying monotone. "We are going to have a family reunion."
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