DANGEROUS TO LOVE

The photograph was twenty-three years old, but the man in it had never looked more dangerous. Damon Black stared at it beneath the dim lights of the rooftop bar, his fingers tightening around the edges. His father stood beside a younger Richard Hart, both men dressed in expensive suits. They were smiling at the camera, their arms resting casually across each other's shoulders, like men who trusted each other with their lives. Three days after that photograph was taken, Damon's father was dead. And Richard Hart had walked away without a scratch. For twenty-three years, Damon had searched for answers. He had followed false leads across cities, questioned men who suddenly developed convenient memory problems, and watched evidence disappear whenever he came close to uncovering the truth. A few had disappeared altogether. But Damon had never stopped searching. Now, someone had sent him a photograph he had never seen before. It had arrived that afternoon in an unmarked envelope at his temporary apartment, without a return address or any explanation. On the back, five words had been written in black ink. Some dead men stay buried. Damon turned the photograph over once more. He recognised the building behind the two men. It had been demolished years ago, but he remembered the name of the company that once occupied it. His father had worked there shortly before his death. Why had Richard been there? And why had someone waited twenty-three years to send him this photograph? "You're doing that thing again." Varney's voice pulled him from his thoughts. His oldest friend dropped into the chair opposite him, placing a glass of whiskey on the table. He took one look at Damon's face and sighed. "What thing?" "Looking like you're deciding whether to kill someone or attend their funeral." "Depends on the person." Varney shook his head. "One day, I'm going to ask you a normal question and get a normal answer." "Don't hold your breath." Varney leaned back, studying him. They had known each other long enough for him to recognise when Damon was hiding something. "I heard you resigned." "Then you heard correctly." Varney frowned. "You don't walk away from a position like that without a reason." "I have a reason." You found another clue about your father? Damon's fingers stopped moving. Varney noticed. "That's what I thought." Damon slipped the photograph into the inside pocket of his jacket. Richard Hart had spent years building a respectable name. He had expanded his business, acquired properties across the country, and presented himself as a devoted father and a generous philanthropist. Damon knew better. Richard Hart had murdered his father. Damon remembered fragments of that night: a raised voice, the slam of a door, his mother's trembling hands as she pulled him away from the window. He had been too young to understand everything happening around him, but he remembered his father's absence afterwards. He remembered the funeral. He remembered the questions nobody answered. And he remembered the name, Richard Hart. Over the years, Damon had gathered enough evidence to know that his father's death had not been an accident. Richard had made sure of that. "What exactly are you planning to do when you find him?" Varney asked. Damon looked at him. "Get the truth." "And if the truth isn't enough?" "Then I'll decide what comes next." Varney's expression hardened. "That's exactly what worries me." "You don't have to worry about me." A movement near the rooftop entrance caught Damon's attention. A man wearing a black cap stood beside the doorway, watching him through the crowd. He wasn't drinking or talking to anyone. His gaze remained fixed on Damon. Then the man turned his head slightly. A dark tattoo was visible beneath his ear. Damon went still. He knew that mark. Morozov's people. The man raised his phone, took a picture, and slipped through the entrance. Damon was already on his feet. "Stay here," he told Varney. He crossed the rooftop, pushed through the door, and entered the stairwell. Footsteps sounded above him. He took the stairs two at a time, reaching the upper landing just as the man turned. The g*n appeared without warning. Damon threw himself sideways. The shot shattered a glass panel behind him. He hit the floor hard, rolled behind a concrete pillar, and drew his own weapon. "You're getting careless, Black!" the man shouted. Damon fired once. The attacker ducked and ran toward the rooftop exit. By the time Damon reached the door, the man was gone. He stepped outside and scanned the surrounding buildings. Traffic moved below, headlights cutting through the evening haze. His phone vibrated. An unknown number. You can't hide forever. Damon stared at the message. He had left that life behind, but Morozov's people had never accepted his disappearance. His resignation from his former security position had been deliberate. He needed to move without attracting attention, and he couldn't afford to have Morozov's people following him into every place he went. Apparently, they had found him anyway. For a moment, two dangerous pasts seemed to be closing around him at once. Then his phone rang again. Varney. Damon answered. "I have a job for you," his friend said without greeting him. "And before you accept it, think it through." "I'm listening." "Private protection. The client is Richard Hart's daughter." Damon's eyes narrowed. Richard Hart's daughter. Damon looked down at his jacket, where the photograph rested against his chest. For years, he had searched for a way into Richard's world. Now an opportunity had appeared without him having to force his way through the gates. "Send me the details." "Damon, listen to me. Tread carefully." "I know what I'm doing." He had enemies of his own. Morozov's people were still hunting him, and entering the Hart household would expose him to risks he couldn't entirely control. But he had spent twenty-three years searching for Richard. He wasn't about to turn away when an opportunity finally presented itself. "I'll be fine." Damon ended the call. He had no intention of hurting Amelia Hart. Whatever Richard had done, she wasn't responsible for her father's past. But Damon wasn't going to let Richard escape him again. And if the truth turned out to be worse than he imagined, Richard would finally have to answer for it. Damon slipped his phone into his pocket and headed for the elevator. Richard Hart had no idea who was coming for him. And Damon intended to keep it that way.