Page 14 of The CEO

“When the time comes,” I answer carefully.

“And who decides when that time arrives?” He moves closer. “Me? You? Or fate?”

The threat hangs between us, unspoken but clear. Victor created me, mentored me, but he wouldn’t hesitate to eliminate me if he perceived a genuine threat to his control.

“The organization’s needs decide,” I reply. “Nothing more. Nothing less.”

He laughs, the tension breaking slightly. “Always so fucking controlled, Damien. So measured.” He pours himself another drink. “Sometimes I wonder if I taught you too well.”

I say nothing, allowing him to interpret my silence however he chooses. But it isn’t long before the cracks in Victor’s organization are too big to be ignored. My disdain for his lack of empathy begins to break through my controlled exterior.

But the final straw . . . Victor and me, standing over the fresh grave of a council member who was killed during an operation that went wrong. An operation Victor insisted on despite my objections.

“Sacrifices are necessary,” Victor says, seemingly unmoved by the loss of a man who served him loyally for fifteen years.

“This was avoidable.” I keep my voice low, though we’re alone in the cemetery.

“You question my judgment too frequently these days.” He doesn’t look at me.

“Someone should.”

His head turns sharply. “Careful, Damien. I made you. I can unmake you just as easily.”

In that moment, something crystallizes within me. Victor has lost his way. The organization I’ve helped him build, the justice I believe in delivering, are both at risk under his increasingly erratic leadership.

“The council is concerned,” I say, testing the waters.

“The council serves at my pleasure,” he snaps.

“For now.”

His eyes narrow. “Is that a threat?”

“An observation.” I adjust my suit jacket. “Change is inevitable, Victor. Even for The Shadows.”

He studies me for a long moment. “I always knew this day would come: the student challenging the master.” A cold smile spreads across his face. “But you’re not ready, Damien. Not yet.”

“Perhaps.” I turn to leave. “Time will tell.”

As I walk away, I’m already calculating: Victor’s weaknesses. The council members who would support me. The evidence I’d need to gather. The perfect moment to strike.

And seven months later, the night of the Thorne accident—when I see what Victor did while drunk behind the wheel—I realize I’ve found exactly what I need. The catalyst. The justification. The perfect opportunity to deliver justice to my mentor while assuming control of The Shadows.

Justice and ambition, perfectly aligned.

I pull myself from these memories, focusing again on the worn photograph in my hands. Eve Thorne at her parents’ funeral, unaware of how completely our fates are already intertwined. Unaware that the same man who orphaned her will die by my hand, cementing my control over an empire built on shadow justice.

An empire I’ll soon invite her to join.

* * *

The following morning finds me in my car outside her apartment building, watching as she emerges precisely at 7:42 a.m. Against Foster’s advice, I took today’s surveillance shift. Her routine is consistent—coffee from the shop two blocks away, followed by a short walk to the train station. Today, however, there’s a difference in her posture.

I don’t have to remind my driver to maintain a discreet distance as we follow her. Only she’s not heading toward theTribuneoffice . . . she’s headed toward the Financial District where Knox Tower sits.

She’s coming to me.

Good girl, Eve.

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