Two Little Secrets From My Boss

Chapter 145

Daphne’s POV

The takedown happens at dawn. I watch from the security room, monitors glowing with multiple camera feeds, as Dad’s plan unfolds with military precision.

The screens show everything—thermal imaging from the private security teams, body camera footage from the lead operators, a wider aerial view that someone is feeding from a drone positioned above the target location.

"Alpha team in position," a voice crackles through the speakers. "Confirming one heat signature inside, ground floor, east side of the structure."

"That matches his sleep pattern," Dad says, leaning forward in his chair. "He's been using the downstairs bedroom. Bravo team, what's your status?"

"Perimeter secure. No secondary vehicles, no signs of additional personnel. We're ready to breach on your mark."

Xander stands beside me, his hand gripping my shoulder. Archie is at the communications console, coordinating with the federal team that's staging three blocks away. Mom hovers near the door, unable to sit still, her fingers twisted together in anxious prayer.

"Federal assets are two minutes out," Archie reports. "They'll move in immediately after our team secures the subject."

Dad nods, his eyes never leaving the screens. "Alpha team, you are cleared to breach. Execute."

The next thirty seconds happen in a blur of coordinated violence. I watch the body camera footage as operators flow through the rental property's front door—quick, silent, professional.

They clear the hallway in seconds, stack up on the bedroom door, and breach with a precision that makes it look choreographed.

Salazar doesn't see it coming.

The man who spent weeks watching my daughters, who knew their favorite toys and sleep schedules, who made me feel hunted in my own home—he's in handcuffs before he fully wakes.

The body camera shows him blinking in confusion, mouth opening to protest, then going silent as the reality of his situation sinks in.

"Subject secured," the team leader reports. "No resistance. No weapons on-site. Federal team can move in."

"Copy that. Excellent work." Dad allows himself a single nod of satisfaction before turning to Archie. "Get the legal team on the line. I want documentation of everything before they transport him."

I grip the edge of the console, watching Salazar's face on the monitor as officers lead him away. He looks smaller than I imagined, ordinary. Just a man in rumpled pajamas—middle-aged, soft around the middle, unremarkable in every way.

Not the monster my nightmares had constructed. Just a man with grudges and debts, now facing consequences he didn't anticipate.

"Is that really him?" Mom’s voice is barely above a whisper. "That's the man who was watching Nina and Lisa?"

"That's him." Dad’s voice carries grim satisfaction. "Victor Salazar. Currently being detained on federal charges related to financial crimes, with additional charges pending for stalking, harassment, and making terroristic threats."

"He looks so... normal."

"Most dangerous people do. That's what makes them dangerous."

The federal team arrives on-site, their vehicles visible on the aerial feed. Officers swarm the property, beginning the methodical work of evidence collection. Salazar is transferred to a federal vehicle, his face captured one last time on camera before he disappears from our screens.

It's over.

The immediate threat is neutralized. My daughters are safe.

The relief hits like a physical wave—crushing, overwhelming, stealing the strength from my legs. I have to sit down before my knees buckle, lowering myself into the nearest chair with hands that won't stop shaking.

"Daphne?" Xander is beside me instantly. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. I just need…" My voice catches. "Give me a minute."

Around me, the household exhales collectively.

My mother is crying quietly, tears streaming down her face as she watches the monitors show a threat being dismantled. Dad stands at the console, his rigid posture softening by degrees as confirmation reports flow in—evidence secured, suspect in custody, no complications.

"The surveillance equipment around the estate has been neutralized," Archie reports, phone pressed to his ear as he coordinates the aftermath. "Blackridge is sweeping the tree line now. They've already found three cameras and a signal relay station. This guy was more sophisticated than we initially thought."

"All the more reason to be grateful we moved when we did," Dad says. "Another week and he might have escalated."

"What happens now?" Mom asks, wiping her eyes. "With the legal process, I mean. Will he actually go to prison?"

"The federal charges alone carry significant sentences. Add the state charges for stalking and harassment, and he's looking at decades."

Dad finally allows himself to sit, the exhaustion of the past weeks catching up with him.

"More importantly, his network has been exposed. The financial structures he was using to pressure the family are being dismantled as we speak. Even if he somehow made bail, he'd have no resources left to continue."

"So it's really over," I say. "The girls are actually safe."

"The immediate threat is neutralized, yes."

Dad meets my eyes with the careful honesty I've learned to expect from him.

"I won't promise there will never be other threats—your husband's position makes that impossible. But this particular danger has been eliminated. You can breathe again, Daphne."

Breathe. I'm not sure I remember how.

Xander finds me in the security room after the others have dispersed—Mom to check on the sleeping twins, Dad to debrief with the legal team, Archie to coordinate with law enforcement on evidence processing.

The monitors still glow with feeds that no longer show anything threatening. Just empty rooms, quiet streets. A world returning to normal.

Xander pulls me into his arms without speaking. I bury my face in his chest and shake—deep, wracking tremors that I couldn't release while the operation was unfolding, while I needed to be strong.

"It's over," he murmurs into my hair. "You're safe. The girls are safe. It's over."

"I know." The words come out broken. "I know it is. I just can't—"

"You don't have to explain. You don't have to be anything right now except here."

I cling to him, letting the fear and tension of the past weeks drain out of me in shuddering waves. He holds me through all of it—steady, solid, the anchor I've learned to trust.

But beneath the relief, something else stirs.

The nausea I've been ignoring surges without warning—a violent twist in my stomach that has nothing to do with adrenaline or fear. I pull back from Xander, pressing a hand to my mouth, willing my body to settle.

"Daphne?" He frowns, concern flickering across his features. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Just…" I swallow hard, fighting the wave. "Just the adrenaline crash. My body doesn't know what to do with relief, apparently."

"You're pale. Maybe you should sit down again."

"I'm fine. Really." I force a smile that probably doesn't convince either of us. "It's been an intense few weeks. My system is just catching up."

He studies my face for a long moment, and I can see him weighing whether to push. I pray he doesn't. I'm not ready for the questions I can see forming behind his eyes—questions I don't have answers to yet.

"Okay," he says finally. "But if you're still feeling off later, we're calling the doctor."

"Deal."

I'm not fine.