Chapter 31: Mysterious Helper

By the time Damian’s car rolled through the wrought iron gates, the dashboard clock had just turned 2:57 p.m.

Twenty Shots’ residence stood in one of the quieter, more insulated corners of Chicago’s upper-class sprawl, tucked behind manicured hedges and a privacy wall dressed in thick ivy. The house rose three full stories, tall rectangular windows lining the front, their black steel frames cutting sharply against the cream-colored exterior. A balcony stretched across the second floor, supported by understated stone columns that lent the home a courthouse-like gravity.

House arrest suited a man who could afford comfort.

At exactly 3:00 p.m., Damian and Clara stepped out of the car. The afternoon sun hung steady overhead, casting a clean, even light across the property. The front doors opened before he could knock.

“Danny boy, I’ve been looking for you!”

Twenty bounded out with a bottle of expensive champagne and three glasses in hand. Without waiting for a reply, he slid between Clara and Damian, draped an arm around each of their shoulders, and steered them inside as if they were lifelong friends.

The foyer was vast yet uncluttered. The ceiling soared upward, crowned by a modern chandelier composed of suspended glass rods that shimmered like frozen rain. Directly ahead, a floating staircase curved upward in a graceful arc, its solid oak steps supported by a frameless glass railing.

To the right, an open-concept living area stretched wide, anchored by a low Italian leather sectional in muted charcoal. A wall-length fireplace, set within polished black stone, ran horizontally beneath a mounted abstract painting that looked expensive enough to require no signature.

Everything in the room had space to breathe.

Even the air carried a faint scent of oud layered over something citrus beneath it.

“Have a seat, both of you. Let’s talk.”

Twenty gestured toward the two-seater couch, then planted himself on the single-seater opposite them, separated only by a sleek glass table. As Damian and Clara sat, Twenty pulled out a cigarette and lit it. He took a deep drag, burning nearly one-third of the stick in a single inhale before releasing a thick stream of smoke through his nostrils like an exhaust pipe.

“Do you smoke?”

Without waiting for an answer, he slid the pack across the table and began uncorking the champagne. Before Damian could move, Clara reached for the pack and drew out a cigarette, much to his surprise.

With her small, delicate frame, she placed it between her lips and lit it.

“You smoke?” he asked, curiosity tinged with intrigue.

“Yes… yes I do.”

Clara still could not meet his gaze after everything that had happened in his office. Her face flushed at the memory, and she quickly turned away. The gesture did not escape Twenty’s sharp eyes. He shot Damian a knowing look, the unmistakable “you are fucking your secretary” expression, complete with a proud grin and a discreet thumbs-up.

Damian only chuckled, took a cigarette from the pack, lit it, and leaned back. Tilting his head toward the ceiling, he drew deeply, the stick burning steadily in his grasp, which caught Twenty’s attention.

“We have a bloody professional,” Twenty muttered in disbelief, drawing Clara’s gaze as well.

She followed his line of sight and stared in shock as Damian continued inhaling until the cigarette burned down completely in a single drag. He flicked the spent remnant away and released the entire cloud through his nose, prompting Twenty’s grin to widen.

This white boy kept surprising him with every encounter.

“So tell me the solution to my problem you came up with.”

Twenty slid a half-filled glass toward Damian, expectation written plainly across his face. Clara’s gaze mirrored it. She, too, was eager to hear the answer he had spoken of with such certainty.

With a mischievous smile, Damian lifted his glass and took a slow sip. He did not rush. He savored the taste for several seconds before lifting his eyes to meet theirs directly.

“It’s not a what, it’s a who.”

Both of them instinctively leaned in.

“Who is the who?” Clara asked before Twenty could.

Damian’s smile broadened into a grin. He drained the remainder of his glass in one smooth swallow and set it back on the table.

“It’s a person who must not be named,” Damian began, reaching casually for the cigarette pack. “But I’ll tell you what he does.”

“He erases evidence. He changes testimonies. He makes prosecutors disappear if necessary, and he can influence judges for the right amount.”

He allowed the words to settle, and the room fell silent for over a minute. Twenty held Damian’s gaze, searching his eyes for even the faintest trace of deceit. After several long seconds, he found nothing but the same steady confidence the man had displayed since their first meeting.

Hff.

Twenty exhaled heavily and leaned back, folding his arms across his chest.

“Can you set up a meeting with this mysterious man you speak of?”

At that, Damian’s smile split into a full grin.

“Of course.” He clapped his hands together and rose to his feet. “He will approach you two nights from today. Be prepared to receive him.”

Twenty and Clara were left stunned. The more Damian spoke of this person, the more enigmatic he seemed.

“We are not coming along?”

Clara was baffled that Damian was willing to leave their client in the hands of a stranger. Damian, however, merely shrugged as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

“Our job is to handle the legal side of things. His job is to make the work easier by doing what no one should be proud of. We live in two different worlds, so it’s best not to get involved.”

“Smart man. Very smart.” Twenty nodded enthusiastically, clapping his hands together. “You keep surprising me, Mr. Hill. If this friend of yours turns out to be who you say he is, I’ll throw you a bonus when all this is over.” He winked.

Damian maintained his calm expression and offered a mild nod of acknowledgment. Yet deep within, his heart pounded with excitement. These new powers were not something he intended to waste.

He planned not only to use them to make his work easier, but to profit from them as well. A prince of hell deserved luxury, and he had no intention of waiting for the rest of his wives to return before claiming that life, especially since he had no idea when they would arrive.

“Hahaha. I’ll be looking forward to that,” he said with a grin.

The three continued discussing the case, extracting every additional detail they could from Twenty to build a solid defense. By the time they finished, the sun had begun to sink, painting the sky in deep shades of amber.

This day had finally come to an end.

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