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The Mafia Boss Was Losing Billions Without an Interpreter, Until the Invisible Maid Spoke One Sentence and Became the Only Woman Powerful Enough to Save His Empire / Chapter 4 / 10

Chapter 4 - Shadows of the Past

Damon set the whiskey bottle on the nightstand, his eyes locked onto Ivy with laser intensity. "Why would someone send an assassin for a woman who was supposed to be dead?"

"Because Preston Wade wasn't just incompetent," Ivy said, her voice dropping. "He was deliberate."

Damon’s posture went rigid. "Explain."

"Preston's mistranslation with Faucher wasn't a mistake of syntax," Ivy explained, pacing the perimeter of the room. "He deliberately changed couper les ailes to sound like an insult to trigger a shootout. If Faucher had pulled that knife and killed you, Preston’s true handlers would have taken over your supply routes within forty-eight hours."

Damon’s jaw clenched so hard a muscle twitched near his ear. He turned toward the door. "Rocco! Bring Preston to the basement."

Ten minutes later, Ivy followed Damon down into the subterranean vaults of the estate—a cold, soundproofed room of bare concrete and harsh overhead lighting. Preston Wade was zip-tied to a steel chair, trembling violently, his expensive suit ruined by sweat and terror.

"Damon! I swear to God, I didn't know!" Preston sobbed. "It was just a bad translation! I was nervous!"

Damon didn't answer. He leaned against the concrete wall, pulling a dark silver tactical knife from his belt and casually tracing the edge with his thumb.

"Ivy," Damon said softly without looking away from Preston. "Ask him who paid him in Russian."

Preston’s eyes went wide as saucers. "How... how did you—"

"You have a Swiss bank transfer notification on your phone that popped up during dinner," Ivy said coldly, stepping into the white light. "Account origin code 042. That’s Red Star Syndicate out of Volgograd. You sold out the Cole family for three million dollars."

Preston broke completely. "They were going to kill me if I didn't! Nikolai Volkov... he said if I didn't force a war between Damon and the French, he’d put my family in the river!"

Damon stepped forward, the cold fury radiating off him like heat from a furnace. "Volkov," Damon whispered. "He's moving faster than I thought."

He turned to Rocco. "Get him out of my sight. Lock him in the holding cell downstairs until we decide what to do with him."

As Rocco dragged the crying translator away, Damon turned to Ivy. The quiet tension between them had morphed into something electric—a shared understanding of the shadows they both inhabited.

"Volkov wants my territory," Damon said, standing just inches from her. "He knows I control the deep-water ports. If he takes them, he controls the entire Eastern seaboard."

"He knows about me now," Ivy said quietly. "I ruined his plan."

"Then we turn the tables," Damon said, reaching out and gently touching her jaw, his thumb brushing across her skin. The gesture was surprisingly tender for a man built of violence. "You're not just my voice anymore, Ivy. You're my partner in this."

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Ivy felt a shiver run down her spine—not from fear, but from the sudden, overwhelming intensity of his gaze. "Partnerships in this world usually end in blood."

"Then we'll make sure it's theirs," Damon whispered.

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