A Veil Of Vengeance

Chapter 4: Dangerous Games

Damian’s POV

Who the hell was that with Lia? I barked into my phone, pacing the VIP section of Velvet Pulse, the club’s neon glow pulsing below. The security feed showed her slipping into the back hallway, then that creep with the silenced g*n cornering her. My blood boiled.

No ID yet, boss, Vito replied, his voice tense through the line. Not one of ours. Could be Moretti’s. Want me to pull her out?

Not yet. I gripped the railing; eyes locked on the feed. Lia’s hand had twitched toward her thigh—carrying a weapon, no doubt. She wasn’t just an artist. “Tail him. I want to know who he answers to.”

“On it,” Vito said. “You sure about this girl? She’s got you rattled.”

She’s got my attention, “I snapped, cutting the call. Lia Russo. Her poem had cut too deep, her Italian too perfect, her nerve too steady. Nonna’s warning rang in my ears: Trust no one.

Mr. Volkov? Sal’s gruff voice pulled me back. He loomed at the stairs, sweat beading on his brow. “You wanted to see me?

What’s with your keychain, Sal? I nodded at the pendant dangling from his belt, its intricate design catching the light. “That’s a Volkov heirloom. Where’d you get it?

My pops, Sal said, shifting. Said it was a gift from your old man, back in the day. Why?

Lia saw it. Looked like she’d seen a ghost. I stepped closer, voice low. She ask you anything about it?

Nah, boss. Sal shook his head, too quick. “Just stared, then bolted to the stage.”

Bolted, huh? I studied him, my gut twisting. Keep that pendant out of sight. And don’t talk about it. Clear?

“Crystal.” Sal nodded, but his eyes darted away. Anything else?

Find out who that guy was in the hallway with her. Now. I turned back to the feed, but Lia was gone. Damn it.

Lia Russo’s clean, boss, Vito said, catching me in my office an hour later, the club’s noise muffled behind the door. “No record, no priors. Just an artist from Italy, surfaced in New York last month.

“Too clean.” I leaned back in my chair, the hand of Hamsa tattoo on my arm itching under my sleeve. “Nobody’s that spotless. Dig deeper.”

“Deeper than a blank slate?” Vito snorted, crossing his arms. “You sure this isn’t personal? You were eyeing her like she’s more than a poet.

She’s trouble. I sipped my whiskey, her words—chains forged in blood—echoing in my head. But she’s useful. Her art’s drawing crowds, and crowds mean business. Invite her to the gala next week. My guest.

Your guest?” Vito’s brows shot up. “Nonna’s going to lose it. She’s already on your case about Moretti’s moves.

Let Nonna worry about her knitting. I smirked, but my chest tightened. “Lia’s got something I need. I just don’t know what yet.

“Careful, boss,” Vito said, heading for the door. “Women like that? They’re a blade in the dark.”

Damian, you’re playing with fire.” Nonna Isabella’s voice crackled through my phone as I stepped onto the club’s rooftop, city lights sprawling below. “This Lia Russo, she’s no artist.”

She’s a poet, Nonna. I kept my tone light, but my eyes scanned the skyline, half-expecting Lorenzo Moretti’s men. She’s harmless. I’m vetting her.

“Harmless?” Nonna scoffed, her Italian accent thick with scorn. “She looked at Sal’s pendant like it burned her. That’s no coincidence. You know what that pendant means.

A family trinket. I gripped the phone, my neck tattoo pulsing with my heartbeat. Old history. Nothing to do with her.

History bleeds, Damian. Her voice softened, but it carried a warning. “Your father ignored signs, and it cost him. Lorenzo’s circling, and now this girl shows up? Dig into her, or I will.

I’ve got Vito on it.” I exhaled, frustration flaring. “Lorenzo’s the problem, not Lia. His men hit our warehouse tonight. Left a message—‘Traitor.’ With a pendant like Sal’s.

A pendant?” Nonna’s tone sharpened. “That’s a message, Damian. Someone knows too much. You trust this girl?

“Not yet.” I glanced at the club’s entrance below, where Lia was stepping out, her black dress catching the streetlights. “But I’m keeping her close.

“Close is dangerous,” Nonna said. “You’re not your father. Don’t make his mistakes.

“I won’t.” I hung up, watching Lia hail a cab. She moved like she knew she was being watched. Smart girl.

Boss, you need to see this. Sal burst onto the rooftop, holding his tablet, his face pale. Security footage from the hallway. That guy with Lia? He’s gone, but he left something.”

“Show me.” I grabbed the tablet, the grainy feed showing Lia facing the man with the g*n. Her voice was muffled, but her stance screamed defiance. Then he slipped her a note and vanished.

What’s the note say?” I demanded, zooming in. The paper was too small to read, but Lia’s face, shock, then fear, told me enough.

Can’t tell, Sal said, wiping his brow. But there’s more. Check the warehouse feed from tonight.

I swiped to the new footage. The crate with Traitor spray-painted, the pendant dangling from a noose. But now, a new detail—a figure in the shadows, slipping something into the crate before the camera cut out.

Who the hell is that? “I growled, my pulse spiking. Run facial recognition.

Already tried, Sal said, voice tight. “No match. But boss… that pendant? It’s not just like mine. It’s got an inscription. Same as the one my pops got from your old man.

“An inscription?” I grabbed his keychain, turning the pendant over. Etched in tiny script: Per Sempre. Forever. My father’s promise to a family we buried years ago. Who else knows about this?

“Nobody breathing,” Sal said, but his eyes flickered. Unless… someone’s digging up the past.

“Find that guy from the hallway,” I ordered, shoving the tablet back. And get Lia’s address. I want eyes on her.

Boss, you sure?” Sal hesitated. If she’s tied to this…

She’s tied to something, I cut him off, my gaze drifting to the street where Lia’s cab had disappeared. “And I’m gonna find out what.”

“Damian!” Vito’s voice crackled through my earpiece, urgent. “Just got a tip. Lorenzo’s men are tailing Lia’s cab. And they’re not alone, someone’s feeding them her location. From inside our crew.

“Who?” My voice was ice, but my blood ran hot, the pendant burning in my hand. Someone was playing me, and Lia Russo was at the center of it.