“Your loyalty is admirable,” he says. “It’s also exactly how leaks survive.”
“That doesn’t apply here,” I snap, heat slipping through despite myself. “Matteo is not staff. He is family in every way that matters.”
“I hear you,” Hugo says calmly. “And I’m telling you that trust doesn’t exempt someone from process.”
“I won’t allow it.”
He exhales slowly, then nods once, “Then I’ll ask forgiveness, not permission.”
My jaw tightens. “Hugo.”
“If Matteo is clean, this ends quietly,” he continues. “If he isn’t, you’ll want to know before someone else proves it for you.”
“That’s not how this works,” I say.
“It is when the alternative is blind faith,” he replies.
The silence between us stretches, taut and dangerous. Finally, he softens just a fraction.
“I won’t touch him publicly,” Hugo says. “No interviews, no alerts, no ripples. But I won’t promise you he’s off the table.”
I look past him, out the window, and see Dash’s vehicle pull up and the players piling out. I look away from the distraction,the perfect escape,and back to him. “I’m warning you, if you’re wrong and it gets out and hurts him, you don’t just lose any future counsel I require, you lose my respect.”
Hugo nods. “Understood.”
He reaches for his wine, takes a measured sip.
“And Sofie,” he adds, not unkindly. “If you’re right, this will be over before anyone notices.”
I don’t answer.
Because some things shouldn’t ever have to be proven and because the worst part isn’t the possibility that Hugo is wrong,it’s the reality that if he’s right, something sacred is already broken, and after I lose Dad for good, I’ve lost everyone.
I leave Le Comptoir without finishing my wine.
The cold cuts fast, clean, and I welcome it. My hand goes to my phone automatically, thumb hovering over James, and I stop.
James knows everything about Dad. Could he be the leak?
Hugo’s words won’t leave me alone.Assume anything said near your father travels.
I tuck the phone back into my coat and walk instead, heels striking the pavement too loudly, like noise might keep my thoughts from closing in.
Matteo’s face flashes first. Matteo, who has stood at my father’s side since before there were floors to guard. The idea that his name could be spoken in the same breath as suspicion makes my chest seize.
If not him or James, then who is feeding them information?
I turn the corner and stop short when I hear laughter.
Low. Male. Familiar. Aleks.
I don’t see him at first, just hear him, speaking Russian to someone out of sight. The language sounds different on him, rougher, freer. He laughs again, and something in me finally fractures.
I retreat into the shadows, crouching behind a stack of delivery crates, coat pulled tight like it might hold me together. My breathing goes shallow immediately. Too fast. Too uneven.
Footsteps approach. Then stop. Then closer. Aleks rounds the corner, irritation already on his face.
“What the hell are you doing?” he snaps. “You spying now?”
