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“Katie,” he says gently, “my name is Damian. I’m one of the good guys, I promise.”
I can’t help but find a touch of irony in the fact that the Don of the Iacopellis is calling himself a “good guy”, but I’ll let it slide for now. The most important thing is making Katie feel safe and comfortable.
Damian pauses, considering his next move. Then, a small smile plays at the corner of his lips. “Hey, Katie,” he says softly, “would you like to see a picture of my dog, Biscotti?”
Katie’s eyes widen slightly, but she still refuses to let go of me. Damian simply nods and pulls out his phone, beginning to scroll through photos and videos of his girl.
As Damian narrates the pictures, his tone warm and inviting, I can see the tension slowly start to leave the child’s body. She doesn’t release her grip on me, but her eyes are glued to the screen, mesmerized by the images of the dog.
Damian chuckles as he shows a video of Biscotti chasing one of the Iacopelli soldiers, and I watch as a flicker of a smile crosses Katie’s face. It’s a small, fragile thing, but it fills me with a sense of hope.
“Biscotti looks like a fun friend,” Katie murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper.
Damian nods, his expression one of genuine warmth. Is this how he was with Alessandra?
“She is,” he says. “She’s my best girl. She’d love to meet you, if you’d like.”
Katie’s gaze flits between Damian and me, as if seeking my approval. I offer her a reassuring smile, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.
“I think that would be nice,” I say softly. “Biscotti is a very good dog. She would like you.”
The tension in Katie’s shoulders eases slightly, and I breathe a sigh of relief. Though she’s still clinging to me, the sight of her relaxing, even if just a little, is a testament to Damian’s compassion and patience.
He’ll be such a wonderful father, I think to myself, imagining him holding a little girl with dark, curly hair and hazel eyes. It warms my heart.
As we continue to sit with Katie, sharing stories of Biscotti’s antics, I can’t help but feel a surge of love and gratitude toward Damian. In the midst of this chaos, he’s found a way to offer comfort and solace to a traumatized child, proving that there is indeed a glimmer of light in the darkness.
35
ALEXIS
After we had tucked a sleepy Katie into a hotel bed, Damian received a text that set his face into a grim line.
“We’re needed downstairs,” he tells me after I reassure Katie that we will be back with some pizza and ice cream. “The interrogation has begun.”
Damian, Nat, Edo, and I head down to the basement, where Vincente and Emma are being held in a windowless, soundproof room. The air is thick with tension as we enter, the gravity of the situation weighing heavily on all of us. Damian takes my hand in his, lacing our fingers together.
Vincente sits before us, his face bloodied and bruised, the evidence of his torture clear. Emma sits in the chair beside him, her face white with panic. When she sees me, her eyes bulge and her screams are muffled by the gag.
I turn my head away from her.
Bobby regards Vincente with a cold, unrelenting gaze. “Talk,” he demands, leaving no room for defiance.
Vincente glares back, his expression defiant despite his battered expression. “I won’t tell you a fucking thing,” he spits.
Bobby raises an eyebrow. “No? Let’s refresh your memory, then.” He presses Play on a recording device sitting before him. Vincente’s voice echoes through the basement room.
“Poor little Alexis had been so frightened after I killed her mother. I was supposed to kill Alexis too, but she managed to escape me. But now I’m so glad I didn’t. She’s so much more useful to me now.”
As the recording cuts off, Bobby’s gaze settles on Vincente, his expression transforming into something truly terrifying. The Don of Invicta is no longer a distant, unreadable figure but a true embodiment of menace and rage.
Damian’s grip on my hand tightens, a silent gesture of support. I’m left reeling as I hear Vincente speak so callously about my mother’s murder, to know that he had intended to end my life as well.
The air in the room seems to grow even thicker with tension, the weight of the revelation and the palpable threat of violence hanging heavily upon us all. I find myself holding my breath, bracing for whatever retribution Bobby has in store for Vincente.
“You let your own brother take the fall for your actions,” Bobby says silkily, dangerously. I can’t help but shiver at the pure fury in Bobby’s voice. “Lorenzo had nothing to do with Rebecca’s murder.”
Nat’s face crumples in anguish.
