Chapter 67: Best Brother
The heat over the airstrip was a visible shimmer, a liquid distortion of the distant hangars and flat, endless sky. Damien leaned against the hood of Beth’s black Escalade, the metal too hot to touch, and watched the sleek, grey helicopter descend. The whup-whup-whup of the rotors beat against the dry Texas air, kicking up a miniature dust storm that made him squint.The bird touched down with practiced grace. The door slid open, and Marco Romano unfolded himself from the cabin, ducking under the still-slowing blades.He carried a single duffel bag, his posture loose and easy despite the long flight. Even from a distance, Damien could see the familiar cocky tilt of his head, the scar through his eyebrow a pale slash against his tanned skin.
Marco tossed his bag into the back seat of the SUV and slid into the passenger side, bringing with him a wave of conditioned air and the faint scent of jet fuel and expensive cologne. “Jesus, it’s a thousand degrees.How does she live in this? It’s like God’s blow-dryer.”
Damien got behind the wheel, the leather seats sighing under his weight. “She likes the clarity. Says the sun burns away all the bullshit.”
“Speaking of bullshit.” Marco turned, his hazel eyes sharp.“Your mother called me. Twice.”
Damien grimaced, pulling the car onto the access road that led away from the private airstrip and towards the labyrinth of back roads leading to the ranch.“Of course she did.”
“She’s in a state. ‘Marco, you talk to him.He’s with that girl again in that awful desert. He needs to come home, attend to his responsibilities.’” Marco’s impression of Sophia’s accent was cruel and perfect. “I told her you were a big boy and I wasn’t your babysitter.She did not appreciate that.”
A dry chuckle escaped Damien. “I bet.”
They drove in comfortable silence for a few miles, the only sound the hum of tires on asphalt and the low thrum of the engine. The landscape unfolded: bleached grass, twisted mesquite, the occasional skeletal windmill.“So,” Marco said, his tone shifting from light to serious. “You gonna tell me what the hell is really going on?You disappear for weeks. You surface here, with Beth.There’s whispers about Vega’s ledger, about some swamp in Louisiana. Now I’m flying into the middle of nowhere because you said you needed me. What’s the priority?”
Damien’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel.This was the moment. He’d rehearsed it in his head, but the words felt foreign, dangerous.
“The land,” Damien said, his voice low.“This place. The ranch.”
Marco waited, patient.“I didn’t know about it.Not really. Not until three weeks ago.” Damien glanced at his friend. “Beth’s family… they’re not just ranchers.They never were.”
“Okay. What are they?”
“Fixers.” The word hung in the cool, artificial air of the car.“Disposal specialists. Going back generations.”
Marco didn’t blink.“Disposal.As in…”
“As in people, Marco.Problems. Things that need to cease to exist.” Damien kept his eyes on the winding road ahead. “The ranch is a front.A very, very profitable, need-to-know contracting company. In exchange for substantial amounts of money and absolute secrecy, they make things disappear. Permanently.”
The only sound was the rush of air from the vents.Marco stared straight ahead, processing. Damien could almost hear the calculations clicking behind his eyes—the implications, the connections, the sheer scale of the secret.
“Beth,” Marco finally said, his voice flat. “She’s part of this?”
“She’s the heir to it.She walked away from it when she married me. Or tried to.Now… now she’s considering her inheritance.”
A low whistle escaped Marco. He ran a hand through his dark hair. “Holy fuck, D. And you had no idea?”
“None.” The admission tasted like ash. “She built her empire—the legitimate one, the one I knew about—from the ground up after the divorce. I thought it was a reaction, a way to prove she didn’t need me.Turns out it was a decoy. A very successful, very beautiful decoy.”
Marco barked a laugh, but it was edged with disbelief. “A country girl with a degree from Columbia playing cultured.That’s what your mother always said. Jesus.The irony could kill a horse.”
“Yeah.” Damien’s jaw tightened. “She wasn’t playing.She was hiding.From me.From my world. From hers.”
They turned onto the final, unmarked road, the one that led to the Montgomery Ranch’s imposing front gates, still miles in the distance.
“So that’s the lay of the land,” Damien said, the weight of the confession leaving him both lighter and more exposed. “Literally.You needed to know before we pulled through those gates. This isn’t just Beth’s home.It’s her fortress.It’s her family’s legacy. And it’s a business with a body count that would make even my father blush.”
Marco was silent for a long moment, watching the harsh, beautiful scenery scroll past. “And you’re here because…”
“Because I’m in love with her. I never stopped.” Damien’s voice was raw.“And because Vega’s ledger, that swamp problem… it’s connected. It’s a Montgomery contract gone wrong.Beth’s trying to clean it up. I’m trying to help.”
“And your mother wants you home for canapés and accounting.” Marco shook his head, a slow smile spreading across his face. It was the same reckless, loyal smile Damien had trusted with his life for twenty years.“Well. When you dive back in, you don’t do it halfway, do you?”
“Never have.”
“Okay.” Marco settled back in his seat, his gaze fixed on the horizon where the first hint of the ranch’s wrought-iron gates would soon appear.“So, the princess is actually a queen with a private graveyard. Good to know the playing field. Does she still make that terrifying spicy vodka pasta?”
“Yes.”
“Then let’s go home, brother.” Marco said, the word ‘home’ settling between them with a new, profound meaning.“I’m starving. And I really need a drink.”