Chapter 2 - My Abusive Boyfriend Was Only the Bait—And the Man Who Chose Me Had Been Sitting at Damian’s Family Table All AlongFor the next forty-eight hours, I barely slept.
Damian wanted me out of New York.
I refused.
“That's not bravery,” he said.
We were standing in the Tribeca apartment kitchen at two in the morning.
“Then what is it?”
“Stubbornness.”
“You're one to talk.”
“I'm professionally stubborn.”
I folded my arms.
“You're not sending me anywhere.”
“I could.”
I stared at him.
He sighed.
“Bad joke.”
“Very.”
“I'll work on boundaries.”
“You should.”
Something had changed between us.
Not romance.
Not yet.
Something more dangerous.
Trust.
Damian had every reason to take control.
Instead, he kept asking.
Do you want security downstairs?
Do you want someone accompanying you to work?
Do you want me in the room when you talk to investigators?
Do you want the curtains closed?
Small questions.
Ordinary questions.
But after Trent, being asked felt revolutionary.
I said yes to security.
No to an escort.
Yes to a lawyer.
No to leaving New York.
And yes to helping Damian find out exactly what Luca had done.
Because the records were mine.
Not literally.
But I understood them better than anyone.
Luca had built his scheme on one assumption.
Nobody would examine boring restaurant bookkeeping closely enough to see the pattern.
He was wrong.
I spent three days reconstructing eighteen months of payments.
Marwick Freight.
Bellrose Consulting.
East River Maintenance.
Hawthorne Food Services.
All fake or partially fake.
Invoices had been inserted into normal payment batches.
My credentials had been used after midnight.
The dates bothered me.
Then I saw it.
Every fraudulent login occurred on a night Trent had stayed at my apartment.
I felt sick.
Damian was standing behind me.
“What?”
I pointed.
“He waited until I fell asleep.”
Damian didn't speak.
“He'd ask if I wanted wine. He'd cook. He'd tell me I worked too hard.”
My voice cracked.
“Then he'd wait.”
Damian pulled out the chair beside me.
“Sit.”
“I am sitting.”
“For once, don't argue.”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don't.”
I looked at him.
He realized what he'd said.
Something passed between us.
Then he looked away.
“Keep going.”
I did.
The deeper I went, the uglier it became.
Luca hadn't merely been stealing.
He had been moving legitimate money into shell companies, then returning portions as cash to businesses connected with Damian.
The transactions were designed to resemble laundering.
And every approval appeared connected to me.
If authorities discovered the pattern without context, I would look like the accountant facilitating it.
Damian would look like the beneficiary.
Luca would look invisible.
“He planned this for years,” I said.
“Eighteen months minimum.”
“He chose me because I had access.”
“Yes.”
“And Trent?”
“Disposable.”
The word made me shiver.
I hated Trent.
But I didn't want him dead.
Maybe that made me weak.
Maybe it made me human.
At 4:13 the next morning, Damian received a call.
They found Trent.
Alive.
Barely.
He had been beaten and abandoned in a storage unit in Red Hook.
His ribs were broken.
His left hand was fractured.
But he could talk.
And he wanted a deal.
I went to the hospital.
Damian told me I didn't have to.
“I know.”
Trent looked smaller in the hospital bed.
For months, he had filled every room I entered.
Now he looked pathetic.
His face was swollen.
One eye was closed.
When he saw me, he started crying.
“Tess.”
I remained near the door.
Damian waited outside.
That had been my choice.
“Why?” I asked.
Trent looked down.
“I owed money.”
“To Luca?”
“To people connected to him.”
“How much?”
“Seventy grand.”
I almost laughed.
“You told me it was twelve.”
“I lied.”
“No kidding.”
“He offered to clear it.”
“In exchange for me.”
Trent nodded.
“How did you find me?”
“He showed me your picture.”
My stomach twisted.
“Before we met?”
“Yes.”
“What did he tell you?”
“That you worked for Rossy. That you were lonely. That you had access.”
“Lonely.”
The word hurt.
Because I had been.
Trent continued.
“I was supposed to date you for a few months. Get your passwords. Copy whatever I could.”
“Then leave?”
“Yes.”
“But you stayed.”
He looked ashamed.
“I liked the apartment. The money. You paid for things.”
There it was.
Not love.
Convenience.
“You told Damian you fell in love with me.”
“I did.”
“No.”
I stepped closer.
“You loved what I did for you.”
He started crying.
“Maybe.”
“Did Luca tell you to hit me?”
Silence.
“Trent.”
“The first time, no.”
I closed my eyes.
“The others?”
“He said fear made people easier to control.”
My stomach turned.
“The night you strangled me?”
Trent looked away.
“He wanted your laptop.”
“What?”
“He told me to make you leave the apartment.”
“Why?”
“So someone could copy the drive.”
The pieces clicked.
The argument.
Trent accusing me of cheating.
Throwing my purse.
Grabbing my throat.
Then suddenly leaving to buy cigarettes.
He hadn't lost control.
He had created a distraction.
“Was someone inside while you attacked me?”
Trent nodded.
I nearly vomited.
I walked out.
Damian stood in the hallway.
He saw my face.
“Don't ask.”
“I wasn't going to.”
“Good.”
I walked past him.
He followed.
Outside, cold rain struck the pavement.
I finally stopped beneath the hospital awning.
“I want him prosecuted.”
“Trent?”
“Yes.”
Damian nodded.
“And Luca.”
“Yes.”
“No disappearing.”
A faint smile.
“No disappearing.”
“I mean it.”
“So do I.”
That was the first moment I realized Damian Rossy might be capable of becoming something other than the man people whispered about.
Not innocent.
I wasn't stupid.
But different.
The problem was Luca knew we were closing in.
Three days later, Oak Haven's liquor storage room caught fire.
Small fire.
Contained quickly.
Then someone sent me photographs.
Me entering work.
Me leaving the apartment.
Me buying coffee.
Beneath the final photograph:
YOU SHOULD HAVE LEFT WHEN TRENT TOLD YOU TO.
I showed Damian.
He went frighteningly still.
“No.”
I grabbed his sleeve.
He looked at me.
“No what?”
“No becoming whatever you're thinking about becoming.”
“Tessa.”
“I mean it.”
“He threatened you.”
“Then we document it.”
“He photographed you.”
“Document it.”
“He—”
“Damian.”
He stopped.
“I spent a year being afraid of a man who believed fear gave him ownership over me.”
I stepped closer.
“I will not escape Trent just to become something you protect by controlling.”
His anger slowly changed.
“You think that's what I'm doing?”
“I think you're tempted.”
He looked away.
Then nodded.
“Yes.”
The honesty disarmed me.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Admitting it.”
He exhaled.
“I'm not good at this.”
“At what?”
“Caring about someone without solving the problem for them.”
My heart stumbled.
“Maybe don't call me a problem.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I do.”
We stood too close.
I could smell his cologne.
For one dangerous second, I wanted him to kiss me.
Then I stepped backward.
Not yet.
Maybe never.
But not yet.
The investigation accelerated.
Damian's attorney brought in forensic accountants.
Federal investigators became involved after the shell companies crossed state lines.
Damian gave them legitimate records.
That decision shocked everyone around him.
Including me.
“You understand what they'll examine?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Everything.”
“Everything I'm giving them.”
“That's still dangerous.”
He smiled.
“Concerned about me?”
“Concerned about payroll.”
“Liar.”
I rolled my eyes.
The family council meeting remained scheduled.
Damian refused to cancel it.
“Luca expects me to.”
“So?”
“So he'll be there.”
“You're using yourself as bait.”
“Yes.”
“That's stupid.”
“Probably.”
“I'm coming.”
“No.”
I stared at him.
He corrected himself.
“I would prefer you didn't.”
“Better.”
“Tessa.”
“The evidence centers around my accounts.”
“You don't owe anyone an explanation.”
“I owe myself one.”
That ended the argument.
The meeting took place inside a private event room above an old Italian restaurant in Brooklyn.
Twelve people sat around the table.
Business partners.
Relatives.
Attorneys.
And Luca Carter.
I had met him twice before.
He was forty-one, blond, charming, with the polished friendliness of a man who remembered waiters' names because he enjoyed being admired.
When I entered beside Damian, his smile faltered.
“Tessa.”
“Luca.”
“I heard you've been having a difficult time.”
“I have.”
“Terrible business with your boyfriend.”
My skin crawled.
Damian's hand touched the small of my back.
Not possessive.
Steadying.
I stepped forward.
“Which boyfriend?”
Luca blinked.
“Trent.”
“Interesting.”
I placed a folder on the table.
“Because Trent says you introduced us.”
The room changed.
Luca laughed.
“That's absurd.”
Damian sat down.
“Then this should be easy.”
For the next twenty minutes, I explained the accounts.
No drama.
No accusations.
Just numbers.
Dates.
Logins.
Invoices.
Shell companies.
Every transaction told a story.
Luca interrupted twice.
Both times, Damian raised one finger.
Luca stopped.
Then Damian's attorney played an audio recording.
Trent.
Explaining the arrangement.
Luca's face changed.
“You're trusting a gambling addict?”
“No,” I said.
“We're trusting bank records.”
Then the door opened.
Two investigators entered.
Luca stood.
“This is family business.”
Damian looked at him.
“You made it hers.”
He pointed toward me.
“The second you chose Tessa, it stopped being family business.”
Luca stared at Damian.
“You'd turn blood over to them?”
Damian's face remained calm.
“You confused blood with loyalty.”
Luca's smile vanished.
“You think you're clean now because you're sleeping with your bookkeeper?”
The room froze.
My face burned.
Damian stood.
I caught his wrist.
“Don't.”
Luca smiled.
“See?”
I released Damian and stepped toward Luca myself.
“No.”
He looked at me.
“You see a woman standing beside a powerful man and assume she must belong to him.”
My voice remained steady.
“That's exactly why your plan failed.”
His smile faded.
“Trent thought I belonged to him.”
I pointed toward the financial records.
“You thought I was just an access code with a face.”
I looked around the table.
“But I'm the person who found your theft.”
Luca said nothing.
“And Damian?”
I glanced at him.
“He's the first man in a long time who learned that helping me doesn't mean owning me.”
Damian's eyes met mine.
Something softened.
Investigators approached Luca.
He didn't resist.
Not then.
But as they escorted him toward the door, he turned.
“This isn't finished.”
Damian smiled coldly.
“For you, it is.”
I thought he was right.
We all did.
We weren't.
Because Luca had prepared one final move.
That evening, I returned to the Tribeca apartment.
Security was downstairs.
Damian was meeting with attorneys.
I locked the door.
At 9:17, the lights went out.
I froze.
Then my phone lost signal.
Not normal.
I walked toward the bedroom.
A sound came from the hallway.
Metal against metal.
Someone was opening the door.
I reached for the panic button Damian had installed.
Nothing.
Dead.
The door opened.
A man entered.
Not Luca.
Not Trent.
Someone I'd never seen.
He wore gloves.
And in his hand was a photograph of me.
He closed the door.
“Ms. Morgan.”
My heart hammered.
“What do you want?”
“Mr. Carter asked me to retrieve something.”
“He's in custody.”
“He planned ahead.”
“What?”
The man smiled.
“Your laptop.”
It was on the desk behind me.
The laptop containing copies of every ledger I'd reconstructed.
Every transaction.
Every piece of evidence.
I backed toward it.
The man reached inside his jacket.
I didn't wait to see what he was reaching for.
I grabbed the ceramic lamp and threw it.
It struck his shoulder.
I ran.
He caught my sweater.
I screamed.
The fabric tore.
I kicked backward.
My heel connected with his knee.
He swore.
I reached the hallway.
Then another figure appeared at the stairwell.
For one horrifying second, I thought Luca had sent two men.
Then I recognized Damian.
He had taken the stairs six floors after discovering the elevator had been disabled.
The man behind me stopped.
Damian looked past me.
His face became something I had never seen before.
Not rage.
Decision.
“Tessa.”
“I'm okay.”
“Come here.”
I moved toward him.
The intruder reached into his jacket again.
Damian shoved me behind the wall.
Security arrived seconds later.
The man was restrained.
No gunfire.
No bodies.
No disappearing.
Police took him away.
I sat on the stairs shaking.
Damian crouched in front of me.
“Look at me.”
The words took me back to his office.
To my bruised throat.
To the first time he'd discovered the truth.
I looked at him.
His hand rose.
Then stopped.
“Can I?”
I nodded.
He touched my cheek.
Gentle.
Careful.
Nothing like Trent.
“I thought I was too late,” he whispered.
“You weren't.”
His forehead touched mine.
“I don't know how to do this.”
“Do what?”
“Love someone without becoming terrified of losing them.”
The world stopped.
I stared at him.
“You said love.”
“I know.”
“Damian.”
“You don't have to say anything.”
For once, the most powerful man I knew looked afraid.
So I kissed him.
Only once.
Soft.
Brief.
Then I pulled back.
“This doesn't mean you own me.”
“I know.”
“It doesn't mean I need rescuing.”
“I know.”
“And if you ever put a tracking device in my phone—”
He almost smiled.
“Already removed it.”
My mouth fell open.
“What?”
“Bad joke.”
“Damian!”
He laughed.
And I realized I had never heard him laugh before.
Not really.
Then my phone finally regained signal.
It immediately began ringing.
My attorney.
I answered.
“Tessa, we have a problem.”
I looked at Damian.
“What?”
“Trent Hale has disappeared from protective custody.”
My stomach dropped.
“How?”
“We don't know.”
Then another call appeared.
Unknown number.
I answered.
Silence.
Then Trent whispered:
“Tess, don't trust anybody.”
The line crackled.
“They're not trying to destroy Damian anymore.”
My hand tightened around the phone.
“Then what do they want?”
Trent breathed two words.
“His empire.”
Then the call died.
And beside me, Damian's face told me he finally understood exactly who had been waiting for Luca to fall.
Someone higher.
May you like
Someone smarter.
Someone neither of us had been looking at.
