CHAPTER 160: HIS CRIME

–Caine–

After that passionate call with my gorgeous girlfriend, I left my room, cleaned up, and then glared at Damon.

"You know I hate lying to my lady."

Damon only shrugged. "Don’t worry about it. Livana knows where we were. Tell her when we get back."

I sighed and sank into the chair across from him. My phone had been tampered with; to get them off our line, I had to—of all things—phone-sex my Deanne. I didn’t care if they were listening. Let them eavesdrop and envy me hearing my private siren moan for me as she came. God, I don’t want phone sex—I want my gorgeous Deanne to ride me until I die.

We weren’t in Chile. We were in Istanbul. Damon had men arranged with the same height and features who could pass for him. We needed to finish this. Damon would be disguised, and so would I.

We prepared before we left: an artist to make us look nothing like ourselves, prosthetics, padding—yes, even a convincing big belly. We slung our duffel bags over our shoulders and headed out.

"How long are we going to keep this up?" I asked Damon, who strolled casually, belly and all.

"Until the job is done. Flawlessly. I want to be with my wife as soon as possible."

"I want that, too—not to be with your wife, but to take my Deanne from her," I said, smiling at the thought of her. Deanne—sharp, brilliant, ruinously beautiful—had already sorted things: investments, cash hidden away, gold and jewels tucked where only she could find them. She was worth a small empire and then some.

Damon scoffed, smirking at my little drama. He looked wrinkled, older, ridiculous in the disguise, and I couldn’t help but enjoy it. We went to the bank to deposit money under the names that Livana and Damon had agreed on. The child hadn’t been born yet; for now, the account was under Livana’s mother’s name. I don’t know exactly how they’d done it, but it kept the government from seizing the money. Accounts under Livana’s dead mother couldn’t be frozen.

Damon also slipped a letter into the safe for his future son or daughter. I didn’t catch the name. The money stayed under the mother’s name. Once Istanbul was done, we’d move on and repeat the process at another bank.

"How many names did you use?" I asked.

"Three." He grinned. "If it’s a boy, one will be under his name. If it’s a girl, two will be hers."

"Two?" I raised an eyebrow.

"Girls need pampering. Boys need to learn to provide for the family." He smirked.

"That’s wise." I nodded.

"You should do the same while we’re here," he suggested with a shrug. I noticed his fake beard slipping, so I stepped closer, cupped both his cheeks, and fixed it with careful fingers. It was my usual way of looking after Damon, though most of our friends liked to joke that we were a couple. He smirked slowly.

"Don’t worry," I said with a wink. "I gave Deanne cash. She’ll keep it safe for us."

"Wow—your girlfriend?" Damon teased, arching a brow. "Aren’t you afraid she’ll run off with the money?"

"Deanne has more money than I do," I replied lightly. "At least, that’s what I believe."

I smirked back. Deanne already had everything in motion: businesses, investments, vast sums quietly multiplying. She bought gold and jewelry like a woman building a dynasty. For the whole day, we did nothing but funnel millions of Turkish lira into safe havens.

Where did he get it? He had businesses here too—some legitimate, most not. Politicians were tangled in the web, crooked networks humming along without a hitch. They wouldn’t dare squeal. That was how the Blackwells built their empire over more than a century: old money, filthy rich. And of course, to keep suspicion at bay, they paid an obscene amount in taxes—enough to look respectable, untouchable.

"Let’s go to Greenland next," Damon said with that grin of his. I almost forgot—Livana had a residence there as well, under a caretaker’s name. I don’t know all the details of how she did it, but we spread the wealth, we seeded safe houses. And all the while my mind drifted to my Deanne: clever, lethal, the only woman I’d ever let get away with calling me soft.

–Livana–

The food steadies me, gives me a burst of energy. The pain in my head isn’t as massive as before—more like a faint echo than a drum.

Logan, who’s been staying with us, speaks first.

"I’ll take the room across from yours," he says.

"No, I’ll take that room." Jane’s voice is firm and professional.

"Oh, why don’t both of you stay there, since you both like it?" I suggest lightly, my tone teasing while I gauge their reactions. Logan sighs.

"Fine, it’s yours," Jane and Logan say at the same time, glaring at each other like two predators circling the same prey.

"I’m fine with sharing," Logan smirks.

"No, the room is yours, Sir," Jane replies with a tight, polite smile. She takes her luggage to the other room.

"Hey, I’m kidding," Logan laughs, but the room stays tense. Deanne and I exchange a knowing look.

As soon as Jane closes her door, I speak.

"Logan, if you like Jane so much, just ask her out."

Logan’s brows knit.

"Wait—are you saying I—" he freezes, pointing at Jane’s door. "Are you serious, Livana?"

"No. Of course not." I turn away from him, dismissive. "Call Sophia. Tell her to leave Chile."

I can feel his eyes on me, reading me. He doesn’t delay. I slip out of the room and into the bathroom.

I need a warm bath. I pull out the hand shower and rinse the tub, then turn on the water, letting it fill. The sound is steady, calming, like a heartbeat I’m trying to match.

I sigh and force my mind into stillness. The evidence still plays in my head. Deanne has it saved, ready for court. I mustn’t show weakness. Deanne and Jane must not worry about me. I have to be composed—always composed.

My untraceable phone rings from the drawer where I keep it hidden—perfect timing, almost too perfect. Sometimes I wonder if my husband knows what I’m doing and where I am without ever needing to hack me. I pick it up.

"Is this my wife?" Damon’s voice is rougher, different. "My Ice Queen?"

"What makes you think I wouldn’t recognize the King of the Underworld?"

He chuckles, and for a moment, my chest loosens.

"What are you doing?"

"I’m about to bathe. Want to join?" I smirk, putting the phone on speaker as I undress.

"I would love to."

"So, what happened in Chile?"

"Love, I’ve got a terrible problem."

"Hmm?" I pick up a bath bomb, waiting.

"Well, my double in Chile was framed. My face is at stake."

"Hmm?"

He continues, voice a mix of whining and briefing, while I light scented candles. Here in this mansion, I don’t have to pretend to be blind. Jane, Logan, and Deanne already know I can see.

"So, did he get caught?" I ask.

"Yup. And escaped," he sighs as I remove my robe and slip into the tub. "But during that time, Caine and I made sure to appear in public. Enough to show our alibi—that we’re not in Chile."

"Hmm." I lean my head against the inflatable headrest of the jacuzzi tub, letting the warmth soak in.

"But don’t worry, my love. I’ll come home in one piece."

"Make sure they don’t touch that face. And most importantly—"

"Your favorite?" He laughs. He knows I mean his manhood, though his mouth and fingers please me even more.

"Yes," I smirk—then freeze. An unusual sound filters through the line.

"Sir, we need to evacuate!" a man shouts in the background.

My eyes widen. Rustling. Gunshots. My fingers grip the tub’s edges as I pull myself upright.

"Damon?" I call. But the line goes dead.

I don’t hesitate.

"Red Knight on the line," a deep voice answers.

"The Demon King is in Istanbul. Find his whereabouts!"

"Roger that."

I hang up, reach for another phone, and call Logan. He answers immediately.

"Yes?"

"Caine and Damon are in trouble. Send Sophia and Kai to Istanbul."

"Got it."

I press a hand to my temple. The headache’s back, sharp as glass. A knock sounds at the bathroom door.

"Liva?" Deanne calls.

"Yes?"

She enters, sighing.

"I need to go to Istanbul."

I stare at her for a long moment, masking my racing thoughts.

"Don’t bother. I’ve already sent a Knight and Sophia."

"They’re arrested," she says softly.

I stay cool. Damon is too smart to make a fatal mistake. I close my eyes, exhaling slowly.

"As their lawyer?"

She smiles faintly. "Yes."

"Fine." I wave her off. "Catch a flight. Now."

"Relax, Liva. I think your husband will enjoy their prison," Deanne chuckles.

I let out a bitter laugh. My head still throbs. I glance at the mirror. They’re trying to frame my husband, to pin a crime on him. We’ve been careful—meticulous. They couldn’t find a loophole. So they’ve built a trap we can’t easily sidestep.

But I will.