The Last Shadow (Shadows and Strings #3)

Epilogue

Damien ~ Six Months Later

“This is so exciting! Don’t you think so, Frankie?” Olivia can barely contain herself as she and my wife put the finishing touches on their evening looks.

“I think this is amazing,” Frankie confirms, turning to me with that gleam in her eyes I know so well. “Damien Wolfe, Humanitarian of the Year.”

I almost want to laugh at the title. Humanitarian of the Year. Who would’ve thought? Truth is, I couldn’t care less about most awards, but this one…this one matters. The software and interface we’ve developed has changed everything for people like Olivia. Her progress has made her both a celebrity and a miracle. We’ve proven what I’ve always suspected. The human brain is far more resilient than our fragile bodies.

“I’ll have the most beautiful dates in the room,” I say, meaning every word.

“Charmer,” Frankie mumbles, looking absolutely stunning in her champagne gold dress that hugs every curve. “And damn straight you will.” The sparkle in her eyes makes me wish we could skip this whole thing. I can’t wait to get her home later.

“Yes, and if we don’t get into the limo now, we’ll be late,” I remind them.

Frankie scoffs. “You’re the guest of honor. They literally can’t start without you.”

She has a point, but still. “Let’s go.”

The ride to the theater is quiet, at least on my end. My mind keeps drifting to other details beyond tonight’s award. Sure, I’m proud of what Dr. Atkins and I have accomplished, but there are still names on The List waiting to be scratched off, and the hunger for that never quite leaves me.

“Wow,” Olivia breathes out. “I can’t believe this. It’s like the Oscars but for nerds.”

Frankie and I share a laugh at her unintentionally backhanded compliment. I turn to my wife, studying her face. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. No.” She shakes her head. “I’m ready.”

The red-carpet circus takes ten minutes before we’re finally inside and led to our seats. Front and center, naturally. We’re sharing a table with other honorees, which suits me fine. Despite what Frankie says about my brilliance, I have zero desire to be in the spotlight more than my work and wealth already force me to be.

“It’s packed in here,” Olivia whispers to Frankie, her earlier excitement giving way to nerves.

“These things are always filled to the brim,” Frankie reassures her with practiced ease. “Just smile and act like you belong because you do. Besides, I see a few people around the room trying to work up the courage to come and talk to you.”

“No!” Olivia’s eyes go wide as she frantically scans the room.

“Yes. I’ll help you get started and then I have to play the role of arm candy to the big guy,” Frankie tells her.

Olivia snorts. “More like he’s your arm candy.”

Frankie’s laugh carries across the table. “I’m not sure which of us you just insulted, but I’m still going to introduce you.”

I watch them walk away together, satisfied. Olivia needs someone like Frankie in her corner, someone she can trust and rely on. Settling back in my chair, I observe the room with careful attention. All the so-called important people in the city are here in their fancy dress. The mayor’s chatting up the chief of police while the district attorney huddles in the corner with Jay and another award recipient. Civil servants rubbing elbows with the elites.

One big fucking fraud.

But that’s not my focus tonight. No, my attention is fixed on something— someone —else. He doesn’t deserve the long, happy life he’s living, free to roam the streets. Not after what he did.

What he failed to do.

What they failed to do.

I can’t act now, of course, but as the night progresses, a plan takes shape in my mind. It wouldn’t take much, especially keeping my promise to Francesca to make it clean and quick. Well, maybe not too quickly, but clean and efficient.

When I take the stage, the award feels heavy in my hand as I face the crowd for my acceptance speech. Nothing special, but somehow different. I thank the voters, the people who genuinely care about making a difference in this world, and of course, the assholes who fund it all.

“This all started as a small project with a very specific purpose: to help my sister. All I wanted was to hear her voice again and I worked diligently with the help of Dr. Atkins to make it happen, and now here we are.”

A ripple of laughter moves through the room, and I feel myself relax slightly. The speech flows perfectly because I won’t accept any other outcome. I’ve spent weeks preparing, crafting every poignant, heartfelt word until the audience is completely pulled in. When they rise to their feet with thunderous applause, I say, “Thank you. Truly.”

The applause is nice, but it doesn’t feed me the way certain other things in life do. Still, I give them the expected smile as I thrust the golden trophy skyward, pretending it means everything. The applause swells even louder, and finally I’m back beside Francesca.

“That was some speech. Consider me impressed.” She bumps her shoulder against mine before pulling me into a hug. “Good job. No, great job.”

“Thank you, my pet.” I kiss the top of her head, my gaze connecting first with Jay, then the former chief of police, before I offer a bland smile to everyone watching.

Frankie pulls back, studying me with that sharp detective’s eye before turning to flash a brilliant smile at the crowd. “What’s going on in that beautiful head of yours?”

Like she doesn’t already know. “Just thinking. About The List.”

I feel her body go rigid as she leans into me. “I thought the boys from Hope House were all taken care of. Damien, you promised.”

That’s what I told her, and it wasn’t a lie. “They are,” I assure her truthfully. “The problem is that they aren’t the only ones on The List.” I hold her gaze, willing her to understand what I’m really saying. “Do you even want to know more?”

She nibbles her bottom lip, her tell when she’s weighing something carefully. “Nope. But thank you for asking.” Those full, glossy pink lips draw closer until they press against mine. When she pulls back with a soft moan, her eyelids flutter like butterfly wings. “That never gets old.”

“Never,” I agree, pulling her against me while cameras click frantically around us. “Can we get out of here now?”

Her head falls back with that thrilling laugh I love. “You don’t want to meet with your adoring crowd?”

“Fuck no,” I growl, nibbling her ear.

“But Olivia is having so much fun.” She gestures to where my sister stands laughing with a group, looking completely in her element.

“One hour,” I tell her. “And I’m leaving with or without you.”

Something flashes in her eyes before she grabs my lapels, pulling me close. “How about you get out of here right now?” she says, reading me like a book. “Slip into something a little more comfortable?” Her eyebrow wiggles make me want to laugh. “And Olivia and I will join you at the penthouse in about two hours. Is that enough time?” She doesn’t ask for details, but her eyes tell me she knows exactly what’s on my mind.

“Yes, that should be more than enough time. Thank you.” I stare at this woman. This impossible, perfect creature seems too good to be real, like something I conjured up from my twisted mind. “Thank you, kitten.”

“My pleasure.” She kisses both my cheeks and whispers, “go now and be slick about it.”

I smile, shaking hands with professional acquaintances as I make my way out, breathing in the slightly sticky evening air.

Then I’m on the move, catching a cab down the street before jumping out a few blocks later. I repeat this dance several times before stopping to change clothes and collect the tools I need.

Time to scratch another name off The List.

My kit isn’t what it used to be, not since I made that promise to Frankie about keeping things clean and simple. No more spectacles with my enemies. Still, some tools are necessary, and I grab what I need before heading to North Hollywood where the streets stretch wider and quieter at this time of night. The ranch house is easy to find, with its sloped roof and those shabby green shutters that have definitely seen better days.

The driveway sits empty as I cruise past, parking a few blocks away before doubling back on foot. Security is absolute shit here. I slip inside like I’m walking through my own front door, and then I wait.

And wait.

Twenty minutes pass before headlights flash from the street, turning into the driveway before the engine cuts off. I stay perfectly calm because this isn’t the last name on The List, but it’s close. This name isn’t about Olivia’s safety or peace of mind. Oh no. This is pure, stone-cold vengeance.

The front door’s squeaky hinge tells me exactly where my prey is and where he’s heading. Keys drop into the wooden tray beside the front door. He toes off his shoes with a grunt before walking through the living room and into the kitchen to grab a beer. His usual ritual.

I wait in the den, surrounded by a leather sectional and oversized television. When he hits the light switch, a harsh golden light floods the room. His reaction is immediate.

“Jesus fuck,” he growls, spotting my silhouette. “You scared the ever living fuck outta me. What do I owe this visit?”

I watch him closely, noting he’s slightly inebriated and not as sharp on the uptake as usual. “You don’t owe me anything for this visit. Consider it on the house.”

“Oh.” He nods, a smirk playing on his lips. “You think you can stop the payments now that you married her?”

“The payments.” I savor the word, letting silence stretch between us. “They were never about the money, Detective. They were about keeping you exactly where I needed you. Coming back, again and again, thinking you had the upper hand.”

His smirk falters. “What are you talking about?”

“Hope House.” I lean forward, watching the color drain from his face at those two simple words. “You remember Hope House, don’t you? September 15th. The night they took my sister to Saint Mary’s Hospital. You were there. I saw you. Standing in that hallway, pocketing an envelope while she fought for her life three doors down.”

“Ancient history,” he grunts, but his hand trembles as he lifts his beer. “And your sister was?—”

“A vegetable. Yes, that’s what you said back then, too. Such a convenient excuse to bury the case, wasn’t it? But we both know there was evidence. Witnesses. Everything needed to put those monsters away. Everything except an honest cop.”

He surges to his feet, swaying slightly. “You think you can prove any of this? After all these years?”

“Prove it?” A soft laugh escapes me. “Hawkins, I don’t need to prove anything. While you were busy counting your money, watching your bank account grow, I was taking everything that mattered to you. I married your daughter, Detective. Your own flesh and blood. Sweet Francesca, who’s quite the catch, never knew her real father was the corrupt piece of shit who let this all happen.”

Pain twists his face. “She was never supposed to know.”

“But she does. And she knows you were fucking her mother until she committed suicide once she realized you’re a dirty cop. And what a great man her father was. You know, the one who raised her? Well, until you had him killed.” I can’t help the scoff that escapes.

“You don’t know that.”

“I do. I know everything. I know you burned your own daughter’s house down, so she couldn’t figure out how dirty you are. You thought it would give you the upper hand. I know how you took bribes while other girls at Hope House suffered the same fate as my sister. How you looked the other way, again and again, padding your pockets while families got destroyed.”

“Francesca will never forgive you,” he stammers, finally understanding the gravity of his situation.

“Forgive me?” The knife catches the dim light as I step forward. “Francesca will never know. But she’ll be taken care of because she’s mine now. Just like your reputation is mine. Your pride is mine. Your future…”

I step closer, my knife high in the air, watching the arrogance in his eyes finally give way to pure horror. “That belongs to me, too.”

I walk through the penthouse door just after midnight. Frankie is standing directly in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, her silhouette sharp against the city lights. Something’s different. Something’s off.

“It’s done,” I say simply.

She turns. And then she laughs. Not a chuckle. Not a giggle. A full, throaty laugh that sends ice through my veins. In her hand, she’s holding a thick manila folder I’ve never seen before.

“Done?” Frankie’s smile is dark, almost predatory. “Oh, Damien. My precious pet . We’re just getting started.”

She tosses the folder at my feet. I hesitate for a moment, then bend down to pick it up, my heart races as I open it.

Inside are meticulously organized documents—surveillance photos, bank records, and encrypted communications. Every detail about the man I just murdered, but also hints of his connections to my own life. The handwriting in the margins? It’s unmistakably Francesca’s.

“What is this?” I demand.

“I’ve been watching you, studying you. Learning your every move. You thought you were the hunter, but you’ve always been my prey.”

She steps closer, her eyes glinting with a darkness that rivals my own. “Checkmate, Mr. Wolfe.”

I smile. The thrill of our game ignites something deeper within me. “You’ve captured your king, my queen. But tell me—” I trace my thumb across her lower lip, hearing her breath hitch. “Did you account for the knight’s sacrifice?”

She tilts her head, her gaze locked on mine, a slow smile curling at her lips. “Knights sacrifice...for their queen, don’t they?”

Before she can say another word, I pull her close, our lips crashing together into a kiss that burns through me like wildfire.

In this final moment, there’s nothing left but two twisted souls bound in darkness, choosing each other over everything else. And that’s the most wicked promise of all.