The devil's last bride

Chapter 5: Cracking the code

The rain had turned into a steady, freezing drizzle by the time two black armored SUVs pulled up to the private rear entrance of the Moretti compound. Inside Damien's study, the air was thick with the scent of gun oil and cold espresso. Mike

was standing near the door, sliding extra magazines into his leather shoulder holster, while Damien stood by the window, speaking quietly into a secure satellite phone.

"Tell the council I'll be at the venue in two hours," Damien said into the receiver, his voice flat. "And make it clear—if anyone brings heavy artillery into the room, I'll take it as an act of hostility." He hung up, tossing the phone onto his desk before turning his attention back to Elena. She

was still sitting at the small round table near the hearth, surrounded by open ledgers, a yellow legal pad, and a silver pen running across line after line of numbers. "We leave in twenty minutes," Damien told her, stepping closer. "You don't need to be staring at those numbers right now." "Vanezza was killed less than an hour ago, and my father's note specifically mentioned a black rose," Elena said without looking up from her pad. She drew a neat circle around a set of recurring three-digit codes. "This isn't a coincidence, Damien. Look at this." Damien leaned over the table, resting his hands on the polished wood. Elena pointed her pen at a column of figures from six months prior. "My father wasn't just

managing money for the Moretti family. These three-digit routing codes correspond to offshore accounts tied directly to Vanezza's shipping ports in Naples, as well as two other major families. He was running a shared ledger."

"A joint slush fund," Damien murmured, his eyes narrowing slightly as he read her notes. "That kind of cooperation hasn't existed between the families in twenty years."

"Because someone forced them to cooperate," Elena said, finally looking up to meet his dark gaze. "Or organized it for them. Every time money moved into this specific account, a small percentage was diverted to an untraceable domestic bank right here in the city. The transfers were authorized using a judge's seal." Mike paused mid-motion, looking over from the doorway. "A judge? Your old man was

paying off judges?" "No," Elena replied softly. "A judge was directing where the money went." She reached down, her thumb sliding over the cool silver pendant hanging at her throat as

she focused on the puzzle. "My father didn't just hide this ledger to protect himself from the mafia. He hid it because he found out who was actually pulling the strings behind the whole syndicate."

The Devil's Last BrideDamien stared down at her, his expression unreadable for a long moment. There was a faint

shift in his eyes—a quiet recognition of just how sharp she really was.

"If that's true," Damien said quietly, "then Vanezza wasn't killed because of a family feud. He

was killed to keep him from talking."

"Exactly," Elena said. "And if my father left the key to this cipher in his personal safe, we need to

figure out where-"

Before she could finish her sentence, a sudden, sharp snap echoed from the courtyard

outside, followed immediately by the dull thud of a body hitting the stone patio right beneath

the study window.

Mike's hand went straight to his weapon. "That was the guard on the balcony."

Damien didn't hesitate. In one fluid motion, he reached across the table, grabbed Elena by

the arm, and yanked her out of her chair just as the large floor-to-ceiling glass window shattered

inward.

Heavy automatic gunfire ripped through the study, shredding the walnut bookshelves and

blowing paper ledgers into a cloud of white confetti.

Damien threw his body over Elena, slamming her down behind his heavy mahogany desk as

glass rained over them. The sheer weight of his frame kept her pinned safely against the floor,

his broad shoulders blocking the spray of wood splinters and metal fragments.

"Stay down!" Damien commanded over the deafening roar of bullets.

Mike was already behind the overturned leather sofa, firing three controlled shots back

through the broken window. "We've got at least four coming through the courtyard garden!

Silenced automatics, night vision!"

"Perimeter team!" Damien shouted into his wrist radio, drawing his own heavy pistol with his

free hand while keeping Elena pinned beneath him. "We have a breach at the south wing! Move

in!"

Silence fell from the radio—nothing but a harsh, continuous hum of white noise and static.

"Jammer," Mike cursed, ducking as another burst of gunfire chipped the marble mantelpiece

above his head. "They've killed the comms!"

Elena's heart was hammering violently against her ribs, the metallic taste of adrenaline

sharp on her tongue. But lying beneath Damien, feeling the absolute stillness and control in his

posture despite the chaos around them, kept her from screaming.

Damien lowered his head until his dark eyes were inches from hers. "Are you hit?"

"No," Elena whispered, her voice surprisingly steady despite her fast breathing. "I'm fine."

"Good. Keep your head against the floor and do not move."

Damien pushed himself up slightly, peering over the edge of the heavy desk. Through the

smoke and shattered glass, two figures clad in dark tactical gear stepped into the room, their

weapons raised.

The Devil's Last BrideElena's eyes widened as she noticed a detail on the chest plate of the lead intruder—a small,

silver lapel pin shaped like a scales of justice, pinned right above a dark fabric patch stamped with the image of a black rose.

Damien raised his weapon, racking the slide with a lethal clack that cut through the sound of burning paper.

"We have a breach," Damien said coldly, his voice dropping into a register that sent a chill down Elena's spine. "Get under the desk."