Chapter 2 - THE RAVEN CANE
I should have left.
Damian had promised I could.
The penthouse elevator was less than fifty feet away.
My shoes were beside the bed.
My coat was hanging over a dining chair.
I could have put both on, walked downstairs, found a twenty-four-hour coffee shop, and spent the rest of my life pretending I had never seen Damian Russo look afraid of a pocket watch.
Instead, I stayed.
Not because I was brave.
Because Damian had just said something that made every instinct in me scream that walking into the street might be the most dangerous thing I could do.
“You saw my uncle,” he said.
“I saw a man with a cane.”
“The cane is custom-made.”
“That doesn't mean it was him.”
“No.”
For the first time since entering the room, Damian looked almost grateful that I had challenged him.
“No, it doesn't.”
He set the watch carefully on the bedside table.
Then he picked up his phone.
He didn't dial.
He simply stared at the screen.
“Do you have cameras behind the restaurant?” I asked.
His eyes moved to me.
“The Obsidian Room has cameras everywhere.”
“Then check.”
A long pause.
“I don't own the Obsidian Room.”
I almost laughed.
Everyone in the staff assumed he did.
Apparently my face showed it.
“One of my companies owns the building,” he explained. “The restaurant is controlled separately.”
“That sounds like owning it with extra paperwork.”
For half a second, something almost resembling amusement appeared on his face.
Then vanished.
He called someone.
“Pull the exterior security feeds from the Obsidian Room.”
A voice answered.
Damian looked at me.
“What time?”
“Maybe one-thirty.”
“From one fifteen until two.” He paused. “Every camera facing the rear alley and service street.”
Another pause.
“No. Don't tell anyone why.”
He disconnected.
“How many people do that when you call?”
“Do what?”
“Immediately obey.”
His gaze held mine.
“Enough.”
That answer was somehow worse than a number.
I reached for my shoes.
“I told you what happened.”
“You did.”
“You promised I could leave.”
“I did.”
Yet he wasn't moving toward the door.
I slipped my shoes on despite the pain.
“What?”
Damian leaned against the dresser.
“What were you planning to do with the watch?”
There it was.
The question I didn't want.
“I don't know.”
“That's not true.”
His tone wasn't cruel.
Just certain.
I looked away.
“I thought maybe it was worth something.”
“How much?”
“I didn't know.”
“So you took it.”
Shame burned across my face.
“I found it in the snow.”
“You didn't turn it in.”
“No.”
“Why?”
My phone buzzed.
The sound was so sudden that I jumped.
MAYA appeared on the screen.
A text.
Still awake? Nurse says I can have real coffee after the procedure. This is officially my reason to survive.
My throat tightened.
Damian couldn't see the message from where he stood, but he saw my expression.
“Who's Maya?”
I locked the screen.
“My sister.”
“And the watch?”
I stayed silent.
He waited.
People probably confessed to Damian Russo because he knew how to make silence heavier than words.
“Thirty-five thousand dollars,” I finally said.
His brow tightened.
“What?”
“That's how much I'm short.”
“For what?”
I hated discussing Maya with strangers.
Especially this stranger.
But nothing about the night was normal anymore.
“She needs a bone-marrow transplant.”
Damian's posture changed.
A fraction.
“She has severe aplastic anemia. Insurance pays for most of the hospital care, but there are other costs. Donor processing. Housing. Specialized services. Everything.”
“How old is she?”
“Twenty.”
His eyes dropped briefly.
“I'm sorry.”
I had heard that phrase hundreds of times.
From doctors.
Friends.
Coworkers.
People online.
Usually it sounded automatic.
Damian's didn't.
I nodded.
“I thought an antique dealer might give me something for it. It was stupid.”
“Desperate isn't the same thing as stupid.”
I looked at him sharply.
“People with money love saying things like that.”
His jaw tightened.
I immediately regretted it.
“I'm sorry.”
“No.”
He studied me.
“You're right.”
That surprised me more than anger would have.
His phone vibrated.
He answered.
Listened.
His expression hardened.
“What do you mean missing?”
Silence.
“All of them?”
He stood straighter.
“Send me the timestamps.”
He ended the call.
“What happened?” I asked.
“The rear feeds are gone.”
“Gone?”
“Deleted.”
A cold feeling spread through me.
“You think someone erased them?”
Damian gave me a look that made the question unnecessary.
I reached for my coat.
“I really should go.”
“No.”
The word came too quickly.
I froze.
“You said—”
“I know what I said.”
He crossed the room but stopped several feet from me.
“If those cameras were deliberately erased, whoever did it may know someone witnessed what happened.”
“You think they saw me?”
“I don't know.”
“They didn't.”
“You hid behind a dumpster.”
“Yes.”
“There are windows above that alley. Delivery entrances. Cameras we may not know about.”
My heart began beating harder.
“I have to get to the hospital.”
“Not alone.”
I laughed once.
It sounded nervous.
“Mr. Russo—”
“Damian.”
“I am absolutely not calling you Damian.”
“Fine.”
He picked up the watch.
“What did the man in the camel coat look like?”
“Maybe late forties. Gray hair. I only saw him for a few seconds.”
“Height?”
“A little shorter than you.”
“Face?”
“He had blood—”
I stopped.
The memory made my stomach twist.
“His lip looked injured. I couldn't see much.”
“Did he see you?”
“No.”
“You're certain?”
“I think so.”
Damian pressed the hidden catch again.
The compartment opened.
He removed the small iron key.
It was ordinary.
Almost disappointingly so.
No markings.
No number.
Just dark iron with a narrow shaft and an unusually shaped end.
Damian held it beneath the bedside lamp.
“My father had this watch when I was a kid.”
I didn't speak.
“He never let anyone touch it.”
Damian turned the key over.
“He told me the watch was older than the Russo family in America.”
“Was it actually a clock?”
“Once.”
“What happened?”
“My grandfather removed the mechanism.”
“Why?”
Damian looked at me.
“Nobody ever told me.”
He placed the key in his palm.
“My father disappeared for six hours the night he died.”
The room felt colder.
“Where did he go?”
“We never found out.”
“And the watch?”
“Missing when his body was found.”
I knew better than to ask how he had died.
Damian continued anyway.
“The police believed it was connected to organized crime.”
A bitter smile touched his mouth.
“They weren't wrong.”
There was no pride in the admission.
“My father had enemies. So did our family. Vincent helped me identify every person who might have ordered it.”
“Your uncle raised you?”
“My mother died when I was fourteen. Vincent became more like a second father.”
That made the betrayal in Damian's expression easier to understand.
“How long has he used the cane?”
“Five years.”
“So maybe someone else had it.”
“No.”
Damian shook his head.
“The silver raven was made for him after a spinal injury. There is only one.”
I remembered the man walking through the sleet.
He hadn't needed the cane.
Not really.
It had touched the ground only occasionally.
Like a man carrying a signature.
“Maybe somebody stole it.”
“Possible.”
“You don't sound convinced.”
“I'm trying not to be convinced.”
A soft chime sounded from somewhere near the front door.
Damian's body immediately became alert.
He looked at his phone.
Then at me.
“Stay here.”
“Who is it?”
“Someone I trust.”
That did not reassure me.
He left the bedroom.
I listened.
A male voice spoke in the living room.
Then another.
Low.
Controlled.
I looked at the watch on the bedside table.
Thirty-five thousand dollars.
An hour ago, it represented money.
Now it represented murder.
I wished I had never touched it.
Footsteps returned.
Damian entered with a man around forty wearing a charcoal coat.
He had closely cut hair and the expression of someone who noticed exits before furniture.
“This is Adrian Cole,” Damian said.
Adrian nodded.
No smile.
“He manages security.”
“That's a polite description,” Adrian said.
I stared at him.
Damian ignored that.
“Tell her.”
Adrian took out a tablet.
“The restaurant's rear cameras were manually wiped at 2:03 a.m.”
“What does manually mean?”
“Someone with administrative credentials deleted the local files and then removed the cloud backups.”
“Who has those credentials?”
“Restaurant management. Building security. Three corporate administrators.”
My stomach tightened.
“Mr. Rossi?”
Adrian looked at Damian.
Then back at me.
“Yes.”
I felt sick.
“He sent me upstairs.”
Damian's eyes sharpened.
“What?”
“My manager. Mr. Rossi. He gave me the master key. He said the cleaning crew had left.”
“When?”
“About twenty minutes before you came home.”
Damian and Adrian exchanged a look.
“What?” I demanded.
Adrian spoke carefully.
“Mr. Rossi clocked out at 1:58.”
“No, he didn't.”
“The system says he did.”
“He was there.”
“At 2:45?”
“Yes.”
Adrian's expression changed.
Damian's voice became cold.
“Check every exit.”
Adrian immediately left.
I stared at Damian.
“You think Rossi erased the cameras?”
“I think someone used his credentials.”
“He gave me the key.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Damian didn't answer.
A terrible idea entered my mind.
“What if he wanted me to find something?”
“Or wanted someone to think you did.”
My legs felt weak.
I sat on the edge of the bed.
Damian crouched several feet away, bringing himself closer to eye level.
“You need to listen carefully.”
His voice was calm.
“Do not call Rossi.”
I nodded.
“Do not tell anyone what you saw.”
Another nod.
“Do not post anything. Do not message coworkers. Do not answer unknown numbers.”
“This is insane.”
“Yes.”
“I have to go to Maya.”
“I'll take you.”
“I don't need—”
“You're going to a hospital where your sister is publicly registered under her own name.”
I stopped arguing.
Damian's expression softened.
“If someone knows who you are, that is the first place they'll look.”
The thought hit me like ice water.
“No.”
“I'll put security outside her floor.”
“No men with guns standing outside my sister's room.”
“They won't look like security.”
“No.”
“Then they'll look like tired cousins.”
Despite everything, I stared at him.
“Do you make jokes?”
“Rarely.”
“That was terrible.”
“I know.”
For one strange second, neither of us looked away.
Then Adrian returned.
His expression had become much more serious.
“Rossi's car is still in the employee garage.”
“Where is he?” Damian asked.
“We don't know.”
“What about the service doors?”
“One opened at 2:51 using his badge.”
My pulse accelerated.
“That was after he gave me the key.”
Adrian nodded.
“Camera?”
“Also wiped.”
Damian stood.
“Find him.”
Adrian hesitated.
“There is something else.”
He turned the tablet around.
A photograph filled the screen.
It was grainy footage from a traffic camera one block from the Obsidian Room.
Timestamp: 1:42 a.m.
A black sedan sat beside the curb.
Next to it stood a man wearing a camel-colored coat.
My breath caught.
“That's him.”
“You're sure?” Adrian asked.
“Yes.”
The image was blurry, but the coat was unmistakable.
Adrian enlarged it.
Another person stood beside the sedan.
Mostly hidden.
Only one hand and part of an arm were visible.
In that hand was a black cane.
The silver handle reflected the streetlight.
A raven.
Damian stared at it.
Nobody spoke.
Then Adrian swiped to the next image.
The figure had turned slightly.
This time, his face was visible.
Damian took one step backward.
I didn't need anyone to tell me who it was.
Family resemblance can survive a bad photograph.
The same dark eyes.
Same strong jaw.
Older.
Heavier.
Silver in his hair.
Vincent Russo.
Damian's uncle.
The man who had raised him.
And in the photograph, Vincent wasn't walking away from the injured stranger.
He was facing him.
Talking to him.
Like they had arranged to meet.
Damian stared at the image.
Then at the antique watch.
Ten years of loyalty collapsed behind his eyes.
“Find Vincent,” he said.
Adrian didn't move.
“Damian.”
“What?”
“His phone is off.”
Damian's face hardened.
“When?”
“Since 2:06.”
The penthouse became silent again.
Then my own phone rang.
Unknown number.
All three of us stared at it.
I didn't answer.
It stopped.
A second later, a text appeared.
No name.
No greeting.
Just seven words.
YOU PICKED UP SOMETHING THAT ISN'T YOURS.
My mouth went dry.
Then another message arrived.
THIS DOESN'T HAVE TO INVOLVE YOUR SISTER.
I stopped breathing.
Damian took the phone from my shaking hand.
He read the message.
Whatever uncertainty had remained in his face disappeared.
“Adrian.”
“I saw it.”
Damian's voice turned frighteningly calm.
“Get a team to Mount Sinai.”
I stood so quickly that the room tilted.
“I'm going with them.”
“Yes.”
He closed his fingers around the old silver watch.
“And I'm coming too.”
Because the mystery was no longer about his father.
It was no longer about an antique key.
May you like
Someone had just threatened Maya.
And the look in Damian Russo's eyes told me whoever sent that message had made a mistake they were about to regret.
