MAFIA BOSS CANARY.

CHAPTER 9: The boy he used to be

Rosalie had expected many things from the Voss family estate. Peace and quiet were not among them. The next morning she woke to raised voices echoing down the hallway. For one alarming second she thought someone was being attacked. Then she recognized August Voss's voice and relaxed. Slightly. Pulling on a robe, she stepped outside her room only to find Damien standing rigidly in the corridor while his grandfather pointed a cane at his chest like a loaded weapon. Several servants were pretending not to watch.

"You're hopeless," August declared. "Absolutely hopeless."

Damien pinched the bridge of his nose. “Good morning to you too." "Don't interrupt me while I'm criticizing you."

Rosalie pressed her lips together to stop herself from laughing. Unfortunately, August noticed. The old man's entire expression brightened immediately.

“Good morning, my dear." The warmth in his voice contrasted so sharply with the hostility directed at Damien that she nearly laughed again.

Breakfast turned into another battle, though this time Rosalie found herself enjoying it. August insisted she sit beside him while Damien occupied the opposite end of the table like a disgraced criminal. Every few minutes the old man instructed servants to bring additional dishes, convinced she wasn't eating enough. When Rosalie finally protested, August looked personally offended.

“You young people are all the same. No appreciation for proper meals." Damien took a sip of coffee.

“You've said that every hour since we arrived."

August narrowed his eyes.”Nobody asked for your opinion." Rosalie almost choked on her tea.

The servants suddenly became very interested in the walls. Even Damien seemed to be fighting a smile. For the first time since marrying him, she was seeing a version of Damien that existed beyond the cold, calculating mafia boss. Around his grandfather, he wasn't feared or obeyed. He was simply a grandson enduring a lifetime of accumulated criticism.

Later that afternoon, while exploring the estate, Rosalie accidentally discovered a section of the mansion that felt different from the rest. The polished luxury gave way to something older, more personal. Family photographs lined the walls. Children's drawings sat framed beside expensive artwork. Curiosity led her farther down the corridor until she stopped outside a partially open door. Inside stood a room frozen in time. Books filled the shelves. A telescope faced the window. Model airplanes hung from the ceiling.

"Damien's room," August spoke from behind explained quietly nearly giving her a scare.

He hasn't changed much of it." Rosalie looked around again, struggling to connect this room with the man she had married. Nothing about it matched the ruthless king she knew. It belonged to a lonely boy.

August slowly entered the room and picked up a faded photograph from the desk. For several moments he stared at it before speaking. "People see power and assume it creates happiness." His voice had become unusually soft. "They never see the price." Rosalie remained silent. Something told her this wasn't a conversation she should interrupt. "Damien was sixteen when his parents died, After that, he stopped being a child. He inherited responsibilities no teenager should ever carry, Everyone praises strength. Nobody asks where it comes from." Rosalie glanced around the room again. Suddenly it didn't feel abandoned. It felt haunted.

That evening a storm rolled across the mountains. Rain hammered against the windows while thunder shook the estate. Dinner ended early, leaving most of the household indoors. Rosalie found herself in the library with Damien, the first time they had been truly alone since arriving. For several minutes neither spoke. Rosalie stared at him. Eventually Rosalie set her book aside. "Your grandfather showed me your room." Damien froze. It lasted only a second, but she noticed. "Did he?" "You looked different." Damien stared into the fire. "That room belongs to someone else." "The boy you used to be?" For a moment something vulnerable appeared in his eyes. Then it vanished. "The boy I had the luxury of being."

Much later, after everyone retired for the night, August watched from the upstairs balcony as Rosalie and Damien crossed the hallway below. They weren't holding hands. They weren't smiling. Yet for the first time, they were walking side by side instead of keeping distance between them. The old man hid a satisfied grin. Progress was progress. Unfortunately, neither of them noticed the black SUV parked beyond the estate gates.