CHAPTER 101: DAMON’S SHADOWS

–Deanne–

That couple—specifically Livana and Damon—are both crawling under my skin. I sank deeper into my bubble bath, eyes shut, savoring the sweet scent of vanilla foam and the chilled champagne fizzing against my lips. I plucked a slice of mango from the porcelain dish beside me and let it melt on my tongue.

Peace, at last.

Until, of course, someone had to ruin it.

Sharp knocks rattled the door. I didn’t move. Probably Livana. But no... she wouldn’t knock like that. Too aggressive. Too annoying.

"Deanne!"

I froze mid-sip. That voice. I reached for the robe I’d strategically placed nearby, my fingers brushing the concealed handgun underneath it.

My bathroom door creaked—wide open. Seriously?

Caine stood there, expression unbothered as our eyes locked.

"I’ll just invite myself in," he said, like it was the most normal thing in the world. He held up a paper bag. "Here’s your order, ma’am."

I calmly raised my gun, tilted my head, and gestured for him to step closer.

"Geez!" he flinched, shielding his eyes with his hand—fingers spread apart, obviously still peeking.

"Perv."

"It’s not my fault you decided to bathe with the door wide open," he muttered, extending the bag as far as his arm would go. He was still several feet away, like I had cooties.

I snatched it and flicked my wrist to shoo him away.

He shut the door behind him—finally.

"Geez, why are your clothes all over the damn floor?" he hissed from outside.

"Don’t touch my clothes, perv!"

"I’m not a perv, okay? You told me to deliver your food, dummy!"

A second later, I heard the main door to my bedroom click shut.

I wiped my hands on a towel, stowed the gun back under the robe, and pulled out the burger—thick, juicy beef patty, crisp lettuce, tangy pickles, fresh tomato, and a warm, buttery bun. I took a huge bite and let out a satisfied hum as I leaned against the headboard of my tub.

Then came the knock. Again.

"D! Wanna watch a movie?"

"I’m fine here," I said through a mouthful of burger.

"No, I mean The Movie. The live one. Sophia and Sparrow."

My eyes snapped open. "What do you mean? They can’t leave any evidence!"

His head popped in, that irritatingly smug face of his appearing like a cartoon villain.

"But they’re doing it anyway. Can I come in?"

I lifted the tablet as a sign of truce.

"Yeah, fine. Sit."

He plopped down on the carpet beside the tub like it was movie night and not a live feed of an assassination attempt. "They’re not broadcasting it publicly to avoid intervention, but Livana said there’s a 90% chance it won’t get hacked. And if it does, no record will remain."

"That’s sick," I muttered, watching the screen as Alejandro’s men and Dela Vega’s guys surrounded the cabin. "But why are they in our territory?"

"You don’t know?" he raised a brow. "Damon planned this. The bait? That device Livana’s been guarding? It’s there."

I narrowed my eyes. "And no one told me?"

"Don’t look at me. I just found out now. Damon was all hush-hush. Said it was a surprise for his wife."

Of course. Because heaven forbid the rest of us get a memo.

I went quiet, eyes glued to the screen as the situation escalated. Sophia and Logan fought back, clearly outnumbered. Then someone dropped.

"A sniper," Caine muttered, eyes narrowing.

I took another bite and nodded slowly.

"I understand now," I said, chewing thoughtfully.

"What?"

"God, you’re slow," I said through a mouthful of beef, glaring as he reached into my paper bag. "Hey! Why are you stealing my food?"

"I bought that, thank you. I’ll bring you two tomorrow."

I rolled my eyes. We watched the carnage unfold in companionable weirdness—me half-naked under bubbles, him beside the tub, unfazed, focused entirely on the screen. Not a twitch of arousal. Just casual snacking and murder-watching.

"The government doesn’t want us involved," I said, sipping my champagne.

He nodded, wiping his mouth. "Yeah. That’s why my boss told me to wear a mask."

"Perfect. You’ll look great robbing a bank."

"That’s what I told him."

I finished the burger and pointed at the screen. "But if they’re gunning for Alejandro Madrigal, where the hell is

he?"

Caine just smirked.

I tilted my head. "Hey, Caine. If Livana’s got a full Chess Officials lineup... what does Damon have?"

He smirked again and shook his head.

"Ugh. What kind of friend are you?"

"The hot one," he said, grabbing my champagne and finishing it in one gulp. I glared at him, unimpressed.

"This is good," he added, setting the glass down. "Now that I’ve polished off your fries, I’m leaving."

As he stood, I reached for my gun again.

He froze.

"Now tell me."

"Damon’s got Shadows," he said slowly. "Calls them by demon names."

I groaned. "So, he’s going full savage on Alejandro?"

He shrugged like that was just another Tuesday.

"I’m off to sleep," he said, handing me the tablet. "Thanks for the fries."

And just like that, he walked out.

That weird, weird man.

–Livana–

I heard them. Clearly.

The live broadcast of their little hunt for Alejandro’s head echoed faintly through my earpiece. I had placed one of my bishops to report everything—quietly observing. Since we’d positioned Sophia, Logan, Kai, and Francis as bait, I had time to work out the details of the agreement with Pedro Madrigal.

I had already validated Pedro’s claims, as Alejandro not his biological grandson. He even sent a handwritten letter of protection for my empire and Damon’s empire. No bloodshed was allowed within the family—that was the condition. That’s why he asked me to do it. But I enjoy the thrill of the game, so I’ll let my husband handle the execution. He has his own units too, groups he commands like my Chess Officials.

He told me about them—his Shadows. The Boogeyman. The Soul-Eater. Honestly, he’s such a nerd. I caught him reading dark fantasy novels back in high school. Probably because he saw me reading one and got curious... then addicted.

Now here he was, snuggled against me, half-asleep. One hand cupped my breast, the other lazily exploring between my thighs while I listened in on a live broadcast of an assassination. Romantic, isn’t it?

"I’m horny," he mumbled, voice thick with sleep.

"Just go back to sleep," I whispered with a small smile.

He exhaled and nuzzled into me, snoring within seconds. He must be exhausted—he always is after days of planning and killing. I stayed still, waiting for the steady rhythm of his breathing to confirm he was deeply asleep.

Then, I slipped out of bed. My feet were bare, and the tiles felt cool against my skin as I made my way to Grandpa’s bedroom. I peeked in; his soft breathing told me he was resting soundly.

I kept up the act. My fingertips grazed the wall gently as I walked, pretending to feel my way back like I usually do. That’s when I paused—sensing something odd in the hallway.

Caine was knocking on Deanne’s door.

Oh? These two? Finally?

I lingered, standing still, staring ahead to maintain the illusion of blindness.

Then the door creaked open. Deanne appeared, draped in an oversized jacket. I discreetly turned my eyes away—blind girls don’t stare, after all.

"Deanne?" I called softly.

"Yup?" she replied, casual as ever.

"Hmm. Why are you still awake?" I asked out of curiosity.

"I’m with Caine. We’re heading out to buy snacks."

"Hmm." I hummed but with a playful smirk across my lips.

"And maybe drive around."

"Hmm, okay. Take care—and make sure to lock the door."

"Do you want anything to eat or—"

"I’m fine." I smiled sweetly. "Enjoy, both of you."

Caine left first, and then Deanne and I locked eyes—finally. I let a little smirk form.

"Go to your room," she said with mock irritation, like I was some nosy child.

I chuckled and obeyed, making my way back.

I approached my sleeping husband and gently nudged him until he rolled onto his back. I pulled the duvet down and straddled him—not to wake him, not for sex. I simply wanted to rest there, on top of him, to feel the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath mine. Like a living, breathing mattress wrapped in heat and heartbeat.

He stirred slightly, his instincts sharper than sleep. His arms wrapped around me, possessive and sure, holding me as though I belonged nowhere else.

And I did.

But apparently, he had other plans.

His hand slid down, gripping my bottom firmly, then gently spreading my legs over him.

"No, baby," he murmured, his voice low and hoarse, half-drunk with sleep. "I might be half-awake, but I’m hard as a rock."

"Oh," I whispered, biting back a smile as I rolled my hips just slightly, teasing him—feeling every inch of him react beneath me.

He groaned, deep and guttural. The sound vibrated through his chest into mine.

What was meant to be sleep turned into something far more heated.

To my surprise, it became even more passionate than earlier—when he’d passed out too soon, leaving me just at the edge. This time, he made up for it. Every movement was precise, unrelenting, determined. He stripped me of everything, both fabric and breath, then placed me back on top of him like it was the natural order of things. As though this was where I was meant to be.

And maybe he was right.

Now, I’ll sleep.

Tomorrow, we’ll wake to the news.

About Alejandro’s head.