Chapter 2 - Unearthing the Target
Rosalind Marsh, the chief housekeeper of the Reyes estate, entered the study within two minutes. A sharp, middle-aged woman with silvering hair and thirty years of service to the Reyes family, Rosalind took one look at Damian’s face and immediately closed the door behind her.
"What's happened, Damian?" she asked, dropping the formal title she reserved for public spaces.
"Elena," Damian said, setting his hands flat on the mahogany desk. "Who recommended her to you?"
"She came through an agency, but her primary reference was a former supervisor at a commercial cleaning firm downtown. Why? Has she broken something?"
"No," Damian said coldly. "Someone is breaking her. Her arms are covered in finger-shaped bruises, Rosalind. Fresh and old. She’s terrified, lying to cover for whoever is doing it."
Rosalind pulled her breath in sharply, her hand moving to her throat. "Sweet Jesus... I had no idea. She’s always so quiet, so punctual. She never complains."
"Where does she live?"
"She rents a small apartment over on the West Side, off 24th Street. She lives with her husband—or fiancé, I believe. A man named Hector Vane."
"Find out everything about Hector Vane," Damian commanded, picking up his personal cell phone. "And do not let Elena leave the estate grounds today without my knowledge."
Five minutes later, Marcus Vance—Damian’s chief of security and long-time enforcer—entered the room. Marcus was a broad-shouldered man built like a fortress, with a quiet demeanor that belied his lethal capabilities.
"You called, Boss?"
"Marcus," Damian said, pulling up a blank secure document on his monitor. "I want a full file on a man named Hector Vane. I want his employment history, his financial debts, his associates, and his criminal record. I want to know where he drinks, who he owes money to, and what time he steps out of his front door."
Marcus didn't ask questions. He simply nodded. "How fast?"
"I want it before lunch."
While Marcus set the syndicate’s intelligence network into motion, Damian stood up and walked to the window. Down in the courtyard below, he could see Elena hanging laundry in the early morning sunlight. Her hands moved rhythmically, but every few moments she glanced nervously toward the iron gates of the estate as if expecting a ghost to walk through them.
The Reyes family controlled half of Chicago’s underworld, but they had maintained their dominance for decades because they offered stability where others brought chaos. To harm a member of his household—even the lowest-paid domestic worker—was a direct insult to Damian’s authority. But deeper than pride, a dark, protective instinct had woken up inside him.
By 11:30 a.m., Marcus returned to the study, dropping a thick leather folder onto Damian's desk.
"Hector Vane," Marcus reported, leaning against the edge of the desk. "He's thirty-two. Runs a low-level illegal gambling den out of a sports bar in Little Italy. He’s got two prior arrests for assault, both dismissed because the victims mysteriously pulled their statements before trial."
Damian opened the folder. A photograph of a sharp-featured man with slicked-back hair and a cruel, arrogant smirk stared back at him.
"Debt?" Damian asked.
"Heavy," Marcus replied. "He owes roughly forty thousand dollars to independent bookies across town. He’s short-tempered, heavily reliant on alcohol, and known in his neighborhood as a bully who likes to pick on people who can't fight back."
Damian closed the folder with a soft, heavy thud. The picture was clear now. Hector Vane was a parasitic coward who used Elena as a punching bag to vent his frustrations over his own pathetic existence.
"Where is Hector right now?" Damian asked, his voice dropping an octave.
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"He's currently at his apartment on 24th Street, likely sleeping off last night's bender. He usually heads down to the bar around three in the afternoon."
Damian stood up, adjusting his dark gray blazer and buttoning his cuffs. "Get the car ready, Marcus. We’re going to pay Mr. Vane a visit."
