Page 11 of The CEO

“Damien.”

“Well, Damien,” he says, extending his hand toward me, “I think you and I have much to discuss about your future.”

I take his hand, the sticky blood on my fingers transferring to his skin. Even though I have no concept of what’s happening in the moment, something shifts in the universe. A path opens before me—one paved with power and control rather than vulnerability and fear.

Victor Messini sees something in the blood-covered child before him. Something valuable. Something he can shape.

But I see something in him too: a way out. A way forward.

I blink, pulling myself back to the present. The memory fades, but the lessons it taught remain—the beginning of the path that led me here. To Eve. To The Shadows. To the empire I’ve built on the foundation of that first blood-soaked revelation: that justice delivered personally carries a satisfaction nothing else can match.

After Foster leaves, I remain at my desk, reviewing the file he’s compiled. Every detail of Eve’s life for the past six months is meticulously documented. I flip through the dozens of photos that Foster and his men have collected. I haven’t allowed myself to look through this yet. In each image, she seems lost, dissociated from the crowd around her. Like she’s observing her reality rather than participating in it.

Recognition stirs in me. I know that isolation—the feeling that comes from existing in this world but not feeling like you belong, like you’re never truly seen for who you are.

I flip to a photo from one of her recent dates—a lawyer, according to Foster’s notes. She’s smiling politely, but her eyes still hold that distant look of someone a million miles away. The man seems completely entranced by her, and I don’t blame him. He’s eagerly leaning forward while she’s leaning back, her arms crossed over her body in a protective manner. Her body language makes it clear she’s already decided against a second date.

“Oh, Eve,” I murmur, running my thumb over her face in the image. “How could these ordinary men with their ordinary ambitions ever hold your interest?” Satisfaction curls through me. She needs someone who understands the darkness she carries—the justice she silently seeks.

Someone just like me.

I close the file and stand, moving over to the window in my office. The empire I’ve built doesn’t just extend to the visible corporations that bear my name. It’s so much more: an invisible network of The Shadows that truly shapes Chicago.

I’ve spent fifteen years building this empire, brick by fucking brick, methodically eliminating every threat, every obstacle . . . even my mentor. All while watching Eve from a distance, waiting for the right moment to bring her into my world.

My phone buzzes with a message from Foster.

Foster

She downloaded the photos to her private computer at home.

Good, I like a challenge.

I knew she’d move fast, which is why I left no stone unturned when it came to surveilling her, but this is even faster than I expected. Between the wiretaps on her phones and the backdoor access my IT specialist created into both her work and personal electronics, soon there won’t be a single thing about Eve Thorne I won’t know.

Me

Continue observation. No intervention.

My smile slowly spreads when I realize that Eve is doing exactly what I expected her to do.

The trap has already been set; my only question is whether she’ll walk into it willingly or need to be guided more directly. I pull the photo of her from my pocket again, running my finger across it.

My memory flashes back to when Victor started showing me what this life was really like.

I stand beside Victor in the warehouse, watching him work. I’m nineteen, still learning the balance between necessary pain and pointless cruelty. Victor believes in both.

“You understand why this is necessary, Damien?” Victor asks, wiping blood from his signet ring.

“He betrayed us. Consequences must be delivered.” My words sound hollow, practiced.

Victor’s smile is cold. “Exactly. But it’s not just about punishment. It’s about a message. Everyone must know what happens when they cross us.”

I nod, face impassive, even as something inside me questions the excess. There are more efficient ways to eliminate threats. Ways that don’t involve quite so much . . . enjoyment.

The memory fades, replaced by another from two years later.

“You’re too detached, Damien.” Victor pours Scotch into crystal tumblers in his study at the original Eden. The mansion was smaller then, before I expanded it. “You execute perfectly, but without passion.”

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