Chapter 3 - The House of Lies
“Nico!” Damian’s voice boomed off the subterranean stone walls, hard as tungsten. He snatched Camila up with his left arm, tucking her head securely against his chest, while his right hand brought the Sig Sauer up toward the ceiling. “Open this door!”
From above, past the heavy oak planks and hydraulic locks, came a low, bitter laugh.
“I really tried to keep it clean, cousin,” Nico’s voice echoed through the floorboards, muffled but clear enough to cut through the damp cold. “I had a whole scenario mapped out. You come home tomorrow, you find out Marisol ran off with some company funds, you get pissed, you move on. Simple. But you always had to come back early when things were about to turn.”
“Where is Marisol, Nico?” Damian demanded, slowly pacing backward into the shadows of the chamber, keeping his body between the door and the child.
“Marisol was too smart for her own good,” Nico replied. “She was sweeping the library air vents three days ago and caught me on a satellite call with Enzo. She panicked, stole a backup drive from my desk, and thought she could play hero. I couldn't let her leave the grounds with that drive, Damian. You understand how it is.”
“If you harmed that woman under my roof, I will strip everything you own down to the bone,” Damian said, his voice dropping into a register that made the dust shake off the ceiling stones. “And Enzo? You spent twelve years letting me believe my brother was dead?”
“Enzo didn't want to be found by you!” Nico snapped, his calm demeanor suddenly fracturing into sudden, explosive resentment. “You took the crown, Damian! You turned the family business into a squeaky-clean corporate empire! Enzo wanted the old ways! He wanted the streets, the blood, the real power! So we faked his death. He built his own network down south while I kept you blind up here. He’s been living in the south wing sub-basement for six months, running operations right under your polished shoes!”
Damian’s chest burned. The sheer scale of the deception was mind-bending. For twelve years, he had mourned his brother, carried the crushing guilt of his death, and built a fortress to protect what was left of his family—only to discover the fortress was a cage constructed by the very men he was protecting.
“You’ve got twenty minutes of air down there, Damian,” Nico said, his voice regaining its cold, professional detachment. “I’ve turned off the sub-ventilation, and the boys are pouring quick-dry concrete over the kitchen hatch right now. By the time your precious doctor friend arrives at the east gate, he’s going to find a very tragic narrative: a gas leak in the old wine cellar. A tragic accident.”
The footsteps above began to retreat.
“Nico!” Damian shouted.
Silence returned, absolute and suffocating.
Damian set Camila down gently on the damp ground. “Stay right here, baby. Don't move.”
He pulled out his phone. As expected, there was zero signal through thirty feet of solid limestone and reinforced concrete. He looked at the flash drive Camila had given him, then at the photo of his brother. He didn't have twenty minutes. If Nico was pouring concrete over the main hatch, the weight would seal them in permanently within ten.
Damian swept his phone light around the vaulted chamber. A paranoid smuggler in the 1920s would never build a basement with only one way out. He would always leave a back door for when the federal agents came knocking.
He rushed to the back wall where the dark soil was turned over. Above the dirt patch, embedded in the rough granite wall, was an old iron ring used for tethering horses or securing cargo. Damian grabbed the ring with both hands, braced his boots against the rock, and pulled with everything he had.
His muscles strained, his teeth grinding together as twelve years of built-up grief and fury poured into his arms.
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With a grinding screech of rust and stone, a section of the wall pivoted backward, revealing a dark, narrow drainage pipe lined with brick—an old storm run-off tunnel leading toward the river bluff half a mile away.
“Camila,” Damian called out, extending his hand. “Come on. We’re going for a crawl.”
