Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 81292 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81292 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
He looked through each file meticulously.
His father had trained him well. Taught him to read between the lines. None of these files would ever make it into enemy hands. He was to look at them, understand them, and then burn them.
There was never to be a paper trail. While he dealt with the Russo problem, these were merely updates he couldn’t handle in person. With each file read, he tossed the individual sheets into the fire.
It was another cold day, and the weather forecast had warned of a snowstorm coming. If that happened, it meant he would be locked in his home until it thawed. He happened to enjoy the snow and often tried to make sure he was home when it fell. He hated city life. Always had.
Born and raised in the country, this was where his heart lay. Life in the country could become quite boring to many, not to him. His father used to make life far more interesting and playful. When his mother was alive, she didn’t particularly care for the city or the glamorous life being a De Luca offered.
She’d been the kind of woman who enjoyed spending long afternoons reading in front of a roaring fire. Or in the kitchen. Damon had lost count of the number of times he found her baking away in the kitchen. She loved to cook, to serve her family.
This was where they could hide away and be natural without prying eyes. His father would only allow the guards who had sworn loyalty to him close, whereas Damon had made sure this house was heavily guarded. Once his father became ill, he hadn’t taken any chances and simply did what was necessary to keep them all safe.
When his mother died, his father had been inconsolable. Much like Milah’s father, he’d been set on a path of death and destruction. But unlike Russo, his own father had been intent on killing the men responsible.
The warpath hadn’t brought his father peace. If anything, it had only served to make him more miserable. The men responsible were killed, and they were Russo’s men. Of course, they were.
Damon had known from the start, pushing aside his grief to focus on the true act of revenge. His father had wanted swift justice. To see the Russo fall, but Damon had known that wouldn’t be easy. To see Russo suffer, he had to have patience, and right now, part of his plan was already underway.
Russo would fall at exactly the right moment. With Milah finally in his hands, there was no way Damon would fail.
With the last updates burnt, Damon decided to walk outside to enjoy the fresh air. Once outside, his guards took several steps back, giving him the space he always required to think.
Shoving his hands into his pockets, he looked up into the starry night sky. Both of his parents were dead. One taken by the enemy, another by cancer. He didn’t cry for them. Weakness was not acceptable in the De Luca family. He’d learned not to cry.
Damon recalled his father’s warning when he was younger.
“I want you to know this is not because I don’t love you. This is to make you strong. Our enemies will try to grab you, Damon. It is my job to make sure you are able to handle whatever they wish to punish you with.”
Even as he took a beating from one of the guards, he had stared into his father’s eyes and knew he did it out of love.
Throughout his life, he had watched men return to them, beaten, some blinded, some knocking on death’s door, and he had known there was always a chance. If he ended up in enemy hands, he had to be able to take the pain. So even when his own father wasn’t hurting him, he would make sure he could withstand pain.
The ink that covered his body hid a multitude of sins.
He hadn’t been captured by any of his enemies, and being a De Luca, they were far and wide. He had to deal with pain though. Being shot and slashed with a knife were some of the injuries he’d sustained. His car being driven off the road. Beaten. He’d experienced it all.
Taking another deep breath, he turned around and headed back into the house. No one stopped him as he made his way toward his bedroom where the very beautiful Milah was still recovering.
No one had been down to the caves, but he had no doubt they were nothing more than bone. The rats were very good at hiding evidence.
Once he was outside his door, he hesitated. He had tried to avoid this room for the past few days. The doctor had said she needed her rest, and he’d been more than willing to grant it.
Her time for rest would be coming to an end, very, very soon.