Chapter 3 - The Trap is SetDropping silently from the ceiling into the shadows of the library, Damian moved like a ghost, while Martha followed closely behind him. They positioned themselves behind the heavy mahogany bookshelves just as Victor Renzi walked toward the wet bar to pour himself a glass of whiskey.

"You should check the bathroom again," Julian Vance urged, pacing nervously near the fireplace. "I don't like leaving loose ends."

"Relax, Julian. No one survives forty seconds of that aerosol mix," Victor scoffed, raising his glass. "Damian is dead. The empire is ours."

"Is it?"

The single word cut through the silence of the library like a blade of ice.

Victor froze, his whiskey glass halting halfway to his mouth. Julian spun around, his face instantly draining of all color as Damian Falcone stepped out from the shadows into the dim lamplight, looking entirely alive, dangerous, and accompanied by Martha Bellini.

"D-Damian..." Victor stammered, dropping his glass. It shattered against the Persian rug, the dark amber liquid spreading like blood. "You... you were in the gas chamber—"

"I was," Damian said smoothly, stepping closer with every word. "Which makes your disappointment all the more revealing, Victor."

Victor’s hand instinctively dropped toward the holster beneath his suit jacket, but before his fingers could wrap around the grip, Damian's silver-plated pistol was leveled dead-center at Victor's chest.

"Don't," Damian warned softly. "You've betrayed enough trusts today."

Julian Vance backed away slowly toward the heavy oak doors, his hands raised. "Damian, this is a misunderstanding! Victor went rogue, he manipulated the security logs—I had nothing to do with the gas—"

"You helped launder the payoff from the New York syndicate through the legal shell accounts, Julian," Martha interrupted, stepping out from the shadows. Her voice was steady, ringing with absolute authority. "My brother tracked those exact wire transfers before they killed him. He recorded every single transaction on that memory card."

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Julian stopped backing away. The panicked facade vanished, replaced by a cold, desperate sneer.

"So what if we did?" Julian hissed, realizing there was no way out. "You think you're untouchable, Damian? You think running this city like a medieval king makes you safe? The world has moved on. The syndicates wanted stability, not your archaic code of honor. You were obsolete the moment you let sentimentality cloud your judgment."