Five million dollars. Marco Bellucci sold my life for that money.
"More evidence?" My voice was terrifyingly calm.
"Yes." Dmitri produced more documents. "Phone records from that period. Marco Bellucci was in frequent contact with Kieran's men. And this—"
He handed me a blurry surveillance screenshot. "This was taken two hours before your attack that night, at a South District bar. Look at this person—"
I stared at the photo. The image was fuzzy, but I recognized that hunched silhouette.
Marco Bellucci.
He sat at the bar, across from a man in a baseball cap. They leaned close together, apparently in deep conversation.
"The man in the cap is Sean Donovan, one of Kieran's lieutenants," Dmitri said. "Died in a gang firefight three years ago. But before he died, he bragged while drunk about personally orchestrating the ambush on Morozov."
"We found three independent sources for cross-verification, including two others who participated in the operation. Their accounts are highly consistent. Boss, this... appears to be true."
I shot to my feet, the chair toppling backward with a loud crash.
"What about Noelle..."
"Mrs. Morozov shouldn't know," Dmitri spoke quickly. "From the timeline, when Marco Bellucci did these things, Mrs. Morozov was only eleven. And the official story has always been that your pressure drove Marco to suicide—Mrs. Morozov likely believes that too."
I gripped the desk edge, feeling the world spin.
That ambush years ago—Bellucci had betrayed me.
What bitter irony.
"And..." Dmitri hesitated, as if there was worse news.
"Speak."
"About your request to investigate who leaked the manor information..."
"Didn't we already deal with that mole?"
"According to the latest intelligence..." Dmitri took a deep breath. "That person revealed they'd planted a deep sleeper. We interrogated him extensively—he only said it was a woman. I had him identify everyone at the manor... he pointed to Mrs. Morozov, Isabella, and three maids, said he'd seen one of them once, that these people looked similar."
"We already interrogated the maids," Dmitri closed his eyes. "They're all dead. Said nothing."
My heart turned to ice.
"Boss, are you alright?" Dmitri asked with concern.
"I'm fine." I forced myself to breathe, to stay calm. "Leave me alone."
"Yes, sir."
I leaned back in my chair, closing my eyes.
Noelle's face appeared in my mind—her excited smile under the Icelandic aurora, her shy expression when she'd actively embraced me in the bathtub, her soft voice when she'd whispered "very happy" against my shoulder...
These images now became blades, cutting into my heart one by one.
I'd fallen in love with my enemy's daughter. She might very well be the sleeper Kieran had planted beside me.
I picked up the file again, reading page by page. Every detail, every piece of evidence, so perfect, so airtight.
