Chapter 8 - The Friend Holding the GunAnthony Russo aimed directly at Damian's chest.
Elena studied the signature.
“You're sure?”
“I watched him sign birthday cards, contracts, checks, school forms.”
His voice was low.
“That's his handwriting.”
Anthony leaned closer.
“Could be forged.”
“It could.”
“But you don't think so.”
Damian closed the ledger.
“My father's body was identified by my mother.”
Elena looked at him.
“You didn't see him?”
“I was in London when he was killed.”
“Why London?”
“My father sent me there.”
Thomas's recording returned to both of them.
Richard had threatened Damian.
Patrick had sent his son overseas for protection.
“What happened when you came back?”
“Closed casket.”
Anthony shifted.
“The shooting was bad.”
Damian remembered.
Margaret wouldn't let him see the body.
She told him she wanted him to remember Patrick alive.
For twenty years, Damian had accepted that explanation.
Now every memory felt poisoned.
He called his mother.
She answered immediately.
“Are you safe?”
“Was my father in that coffin?”
Silence.
Damian closed his eyes.
“Mom.”
“Where are you?”
“Answer me.”
Margaret began crying.
And Damian knew.
“Elena was right,” he whispered.
“No, Damian—”
“You lied to me for twenty years.”
“It wasn't my choice.”
“Was he alive?”
“Yes.”
The word broke something.
Anthony stared at the road.
Elena touched Damian's arm.
He didn't react.
“Where is he?”
Margaret sobbed.
“I don't know.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I haven't seen Patrick in sixteen years.”
“So he lived four years after his funeral.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To dismantle Halcyon.”
Damian laughed once.
There was no humor in it.
“He let his sons bury him.”
“Damian—”
“He let me become him.”
Margaret went quiet.
That was the deepest wound.
After Patrick's “death,” Damian inherited everything.
Enemies.
Debt.
Blood.
Responsibility.
His younger brother, Nicholas, had been seventeen and furious.
Damian became father, boss, protector.
Then Nicholas disappeared eight years later.
Damian had never forgiven himself.
“Did Nicholas know?”
Margaret didn't answer.
Damian's face changed.
“Did Nicholas know?”
“Yes.”
He ended the call.
Elena watched him.
“Damian…”
“Don't.”
She understood.
He needed silence.
For once, she gave it to him.
They returned to New York before dawn.
Damian went directly to his private office.
He opened a locked cabinet.
Inside were files from Nicholas's disappearance.
Eight years of private investigators.
Photographs.
Witness interviews.
Financial records.
One item had always bothered him.
A hotel receipt from Montreal found in Nicholas's apartment.
Damian had dismissed it.
Nicholas hated Canada.
Now he looked again.
The receipt was dated two weeks before Nicholas vanished.
One room.
Registered under another name.
Paul Carter.
Initials.
P.C.
Patrick Cole.
Damian called a contact in Canadian immigration.
Records came back four hours later.
Paul Carter had crossed into Canada repeatedly for years.
One entry included a second traveler.
Nicholas Cole.
Elena found Damian staring at the screen.
“You found something.”
“My brother wasn't kidnapped.”
“What?”
“He left.”
“With your father?”
“Apparently.”
“Why would he do that?”
Damian's expression became hard.
“That's what I intend to ask.”
Anthony entered.
“We traced Halcyon's current corporate network.”
Damian looked up.
“And?”
“They own shell companies everywhere. Security. Freight. Real estate.”
“Anything useful?”
“One property outside Quebec City.”
Damian stood.
“Registered to?”
Anthony placed a photograph on the desk.
An older man stood outside a farmhouse.
Gray hair.
Broad shoulders.
Same eyes as Damian.
Elena inhaled sharply.
Patrick Cole.
Alive.
The photograph was three months old.
Damian stared at the father he had mourned for two decades.
Then another photograph appeared.
A younger man stood beside Patrick.
Nicholas.
Also alive.
Damian whispered, “I'll kill them both.”
Elena almost smiled.
“That would complicate the reunion.”
“They deserve complications.”
They traveled to Quebec that evening.
No convoy.
No visible army.
Just Damian, Elena, Anthony, and two trusted guards.
The farmhouse stood beside a frozen-looking lake despite the summer warmth.
Damian approached alone.
Elena followed anyway.
“I said stay in the car.”
“I heard you.”
The door opened before they knocked.
An older man appeared.
Patrick Cole.
For the first time in Elena's life, Damian looked like a boy.
Patrick stared at his son.
“Damian.”
Damian punched him.
Patrick hit the porch.
Elena winced.
“Okay.”
Damian stood over him.
“You're dead.”
Patrick wiped blood from his mouth.
“So I've been told.”
Damian hit him again.
This time Elena grabbed his arm.
“Enough.”
“No.”
“You need answers more than you need his teeth.”
Patrick looked at her.
Recognition appeared.
“Thomas's daughter.”
Elena stiffened.
“You knew my father.”
“I loved your father like a brother.”
“He died because of this.”
Patrick's face filled with regret.
“I know.”
The door opened again.
Nicholas Cole stepped outside.
Damian froze.
Eight years.
Nicholas looked older.
Scar across one cheek.
Same annoying half-smile.
“Hey, D.”
Damian crossed the porch and hugged him.
Hard.
Then shoved him away.
Then punched him.
Nicholas staggered.
“That feels fair.”
Damian's eyes were wet.
“You bastard.”
“I know.”
“I looked for you.”
“I know.”
“Every day.”
Nicholas stopped smiling.
“I know.”
Damian grabbed his brother and hugged him again.
Elena looked away.
Some moments deserved privacy.
Inside the farmhouse, Patrick explained everything.
Halcyon had penetrated the Cole organization deeper than anyone knew.
Patrick faked his death because exposing himself would endanger Margaret and his sons.
Years later, Nicholas discovered evidence and joined him secretly.
They had spent eight years dismantling Halcyon from the outside.
“Then why is Vincent still alive?” Damian demanded.
“We didn't know Vincent had taken control until six months ago.”
Elena frowned.
“Six months.”
Patrick looked at her.
“The month you entered Margaret's household.”
Damian stood.
“You knew about Elena?”
“Yes.”
“You watched her?”
“To protect her.”
Elena remembered the photographs.
“You took those?”
“Some.”
“Someone photographed me sleeping.”
Patrick's expression changed.
“That wasn't us.”
Damian immediately noticed.
“Then who?”
Patrick walked to a desk.
He removed a file.
Inside was a photograph of Vincent Hale.
Beside him stood another man.
Anthony Russo.
Elena's heart dropped.
“No.”
Damian stared.
Patrick said quietly:
“Anthony has been working for Halcyon for twelve years.”
Behind them, a gun clicked.
May you like
Anthony's voice came from the doorway.
“Unfortunately, he's right.”
Related Stories
