DAMIAN BLACKWOOD
The silence of those three months was a cage, and I was the animal pacing around in it.
I found how much of nothing that happened amazing. There were no new messages. No suspicious characters to be seen lurking around on my high-end cameras. No new bits of news from Vincent's spy circle. The fake number never messaged again and rather remained a phantom, assigned to a burner phone that might have been turned to ash.
The stillness made me believe that my empire-a legacy formed from decades of Black and Blackwood family heirlooms while being built upon blood, toil, and bargains that made lesser men tremble-was intact, but there remained at the same time the cold press of an intangible knife against my throat. Still, I prepared and waited to see what would happen, refus
