Chapter 3 - The Ghost of the Past
Damon descended the grand spiral staircase of the main foyer with a speed that felt uncharacteristic for a man who prided himself on absolute composure.
By the time he pushed through the heavy oak doors leading out to the East Wing courtyard, Diego and Salvo were already standing at a respectful distance, their weapons holstered but their hands twitching with nervous tension. They looked at Damon as if he had just walked out of a burning building.
“Mr. Castellano,” Diego stammered, stepping forward. “We checked the perimeter security logs. The biometric gate sensors didn't register a breach. The thermal cameras... they showed nothing until she was already inside the courtyard. It’s physically impossible.”
Damon didn't answer him. His gaze was fixed entirely on the center of the courtyard.
The little girl was kneeling beside the Warden, scratching the thick fur behind the dog's left ear while the ferocious beast leaned into her touch like an overgrown puppy. When she heard the crunch of Damon’s leather shoes on the gravel, she lifted her head.
Her eyes were striking—a sharp, piercing amber-brown that caught the afternoon sunlight. There was no fear in them. No hesitation. Just an unsettling, ancient familiarity.
Damon stopped three feet away. He adjusted his Tom Ford jacket with mechanical precision, his face a mask of calculated control, though his pulse hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird.
“What is your name?” Damon asked. His voice was smooth, devoid of warmth, yet careful not to frighten her.
“Lily,” the girl replied instantly, her voice clear and steady.
“And how did you get past the gates, Lily?” Damon continued, his gray eyes scanning the high stone walls topped with razor wire and motion sensors. “There are twenty guards, three biometric checkpoints, and a perimeter security grid that cost more than most commercial office buildings.”
Lily smiled faintly, patting the Warden’s head as the dog let out a deep, rumbling sigh. “The gates are for people who don't know the way. I know the way.”
Damon’s jaw tightened. “Who brought you here?”
“Nobody,” she said simply. She reached into the pocket of her oversized denim jacket and pulled out a small, tarnished silver pendant on a frayed leather cord, holding it out toward him in her palm. “She said if I ever got lost, I should bring this back to the man with the cold eyes and the glass house.”
Damon stared down at the pendant.
The air left his lungs in a sharp, sudden rush.
It was a custom-made silver cufflink bearing the Castellano family crest—specifically, the pair he had commissioned four years ago. He had given them to only one person. The woman who had quietly entered his tightly controlled fortress, trained the most vicious dog in his empire, and then vanished into thin air on a rainy Tuesday morning three years ago, leaving behind nothing but an empty bedroom and a locked safe.
Clara.
May you like
“Where is she?” Damon demanded, stepping closer, the veneer of corporate coldness cracking open to reveal a raw, dangerous urgency that made even Diego step back.
Lily looked up at him, her amber eyes reflecting the towering glass facade of the estate. “She’s not far. But she said you had to solve the first riddle before she’d let you see the rest of the board.”
