A Mafia Boss Ignored Every Beautiful Woman At His Gala — Then Chose The Woman Who Had Enough Evidence To Send Him To Prison.

PART 5

“Victor received twelve million dollars over the last nine months.”

Damian did not react.

“You’re not surprised.”

“My uncle believed he should inherit the family.”

“Did your father disagree?”

“My father believed Victor enjoyed power too much to be trusted with it.”

“So Victor poisons your father, steals from your businesses, finances an attack, and leaves your name in the records.”

“That is one possibility.”

“It is the obvious possibility.”

“Obvious possibilities can be manufactured.”

Emma leaned back.

“You don’t want it to be him.”

“Victor taught me how to drive. He attended every school performance my father missed. When my mother died, he sat outside my bedroom every night for a month because I was afraid to sleep.”

The admission changed the man sitting across from her. For one moment, Emma saw a grieving boy beneath Damian’s controlled exterior.

“Love doesn’t make someone innocent,” she said gently.

“No.”

“It only makes the truth hurt more.”

His gaze met hers.

“You speak from experience.”

Emma returned to the screen. “We’re discussing your family.”

“We have discussed my education, my father, my uncle, and my business. I know nothing about you except that you distrust compliments and buy dresses on clearance.”

“You heard that?”

“I hear everything you say.”

She hesitated.

“My father left when I was twelve. He told my mother he needed a more exciting life. What he meant was a younger woman and fewer bills.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I wasn’t. Not after I saw how peaceful our house became.”

“Your mother?”

“She owns a diner in Rockford. She still thinks forensic accounting means I count dead people’s money.”

Damian smiled.

Emma’s heart performed an inconvenient movement.

“She raised you well,” he said.

“She raised me loudly.”

“Why accounting?”

“Numbers stayed where I put them. People didn’t.”

His smile disappeared.

Emma realized he understood that answer too well.

At nine, Mateo entered carrying a phone.

“We found Mercer’s vehicle near O’Hare,” he said. “Abandoned. His passport is gone.”

“He’s running,” Emma said.

“Or someone wants us to believe he is,” Damian replied.

Mateo placed the phone before them. Security footage showed Mercer leaving the hotel through a loading dock moments before the attack. He entered a black sedan driven by Elias Ward, Damian’s chief financial officer.

Emma froze the image.

“Elias had access to every company account.”

Damian’s face hardened. “For eleven years.”

“Then Victor may not be your only traitor.”

A housekeeper entered and spoke quietly to Mateo. His expression changed.

“What happened?” Damian asked.

Mateo looked at Emma. “There was an explosion at her apartment building.”

The room tilted.

“My mother?”

“She wasn’t there. We confirmed she’s safe in Rockford.”

“My neighbors?”

“Two people were treated for smoke inhalation. No fatalities.”

Emma stood so quickly that her chair fell backward.

“I need to go.”

Damian caught the chair but did not touch her.

“You cannot.”

“My home just exploded.”

“That is why you cannot.”

“My files, my clothes, my photographs—”

“I will replace everything.”

“You cannot replace everything!”

Her voice broke.

Damian stopped.

Emma pressed both hands to her mouth. The apartment had been small, but it was hers. Her mother’s handwritten recipes were in the kitchen. Her grandmother’s quilt was folded over the couch. A photograph of Emma at eight years old, sitting on her father’s shoulders before he left, remained in a drawer she rarely opened but could never throw away.

Damian approached slowly.

“May I touch you?”

The question startled her.

He had remembered the condition.

Emma nodded.

He placed his hands on her shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I know money cannot replace what was taken.”

Tears burned behind her eyes.

“I spent years building a life no one could take away.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t.”

“My father built an empire because he believed power would make our family untouchable. My mother was killed by a drunk driver. My brother died before he turned twenty. My father was poisoned at his own table.”

His grip remained gentle.

“Power protects less than people imagine.”

Emma closed her eyes.

For the first time since the ballroom, she allowed herself to lean against him.

Damian held her without possession or demand. One hand rested between her shoulder blades while the other cradled the back of her head.

“You are allowed to mourn it,” he murmured.

She cried for less than a minute.

Then she stepped away and wiped her face.

“Who knew my address?”

“My people. Your firm. The hotel.”

“Paul Mercer assigned me to the audit and Elias Ward knew about the accounts. They were working together.”

“Most likely.”

Emma looked at the laptop.

“They didn’t bomb my apartment to destroy evidence. The original files are on the firm’s server.”

“They bombed it to frighten you.”

“Or to make everyone believe I died.”

Damian understood immediately.

“If the police report you dead, the audit stops with you.”

“And Mercer returns later, pretends he survived the attack, and controls whatever version of the report reaches federal investigators.”

Mateo leaned over the table. “Can we prove it?”

Emma reopened the transfer map.

“Yes, but not by changing the ledger.”