Page 23 of The Shadow King's Brother

Stay calm. It’s nothing.

Whatever this B.C. is, I’ll figure it out, solve it, and make it go away.

This might actually be a good exercise for my skills as a private investigator—something to help me sharpen my instincts. Maybe this is the kind of case I need to cut my teeth on, to see if I really have what it takes.

I head to our home office through the mansion—Don’s old study, where he and my father used to talk business. Business means blood diamonds, jewelry, drug smuggling, and laundering the money until it looks clean. That was my father’s job—he was good with numbers and even better with people.

Don and my father were best friends since childhood. They started life together, lived it together, and, in the end, they died together—almost. Both were murdered in the same year—by Vinny.

I enter the room.

The quiet of the mansion is almost too much today. The computer screen flickers to life as I touch the mouse, its glow cutting through the dim space. I start digging into the feeds from the safe house Jackson mentioned.

It’s not a simple task.

The safe house has been locked down for over a year, meaning no one has come in or out. The feeds should still be here—somewhere. But they’re buried under layers of encryption, likely compressed and archived in offsite cloud storage to save space. A maze of forgotten files, guarded by digital demons.

If there’s ever a time to play private investigator, it’s truly now.

I start clicking through folders, following a trail of timestamps and security logs. But something feels off. Some files are missing, not just hidden—wiped clean.

“Where are you?” I mutter, scanning the screen. "This is a digital murder for Victoria Galli to solve... Isn’t it?"

Their existence is erased, as if they were never there.

Why is that? And more importantly—who?

Whatever I’m about to find, it’s trouble. Someone’s hiding something. Something big.

I crack my knuckles and rub my Chi-Rho tattoo, settling in for the long haul.

This is for you, Dad.

My fingers fly across the keyboard, scanning through data and trying to piece it all together. These aren’t just deleted files. This is the mess left behind by a careful cover-up.

I know my way around computers, but this? This is way over my head.

Damn it.

Beads of sweat run down my forehead. Is it warm in here? Mrs. Gambini probably heated the room, knowing someone would want to work here today. But for once, her good intentions are working against me. I blink and try to focus on the computer screen again.

The system resists, pushing back, but so do I.

With every ounce of focus and determination, I press on, my eyes burning and my fingers aching. I have to do this for Jackson and his kids. I need to know the truth.

I piece together the shattered fragments, frame by frame, line by line—rebuilding what’s been erased, like fixing a broken mirror. But I know the reflection will only show bad things.

Time slips away as the room darkens around me. Hours feel like minutes as I stitch the pieces together, following the breadcrumbs, folders within folders. Some files are nonsense, others lead to dead ends, but a few are right there—hidden in plain sight, like someone tried to distract me from them.

Come on, Nica.Tap. Tap. Tap.

Finally, the feed flickers to life, like a heart trying to beat after being still for too long.

There.

It’s running. I can’t believe it.

Rubbing my temples, I start watching the safe house footage. The house is located in the woods.

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