“I went to lunch with my father,” she says, and the words come out clipped, controlled.“He wanted to discuss our marriage.He wasn’t happy.”
“I’m not surprised.”I lean against the wall, watching her carefully.There’s more to this story, and we both know it.
So I wait for Serena to be ready to tell me.
“He said some things.About you.About how you’re using me, manipulating me.”She looks up from her glass, and there’s pain in her amber eyes.“He made me doubt myself.Made me wonder if everything that happened between us was calculated.”
My jaw tightens.“And?”
“And I realized I didn’t care if he was right.Because even if you were using me in some power play, that would still be better than being Cesare Dellamare’s property.”
I crouch in front of her, resting my hands on her thighs.“This is bullshit, you know that.”She holds my stare for a heartbeat before dropping hers with a shaky sigh.I squeeze her legs and whisper, “Hey, look at me,álainn.”
Her eyebrows tremble as she obeys me.“Your father often used that word when he talked to your mother.I looked it up.It means gorgeous.”
The memory of happier family days warms my chest.But it’s Serena’s actions that set my soul on fire.She was paying attention.She cared.
I grin like a kid on Christmas morning.“Exactly.And it fits you to perfection.”I kiss the tip of her nose because if I follow the impulse to claim her lips, we won’t stop at that.“Stop stalling,álainn.”
She sets down the glass and pulls out her phone.“I went back to the house to get the clutch I’d forgotten.I overheard my father on the phone.He was speaking Italian, discussing procurement with someone.They were talking about ‘specimens’.”She stabs the air as if to signal that the word is a euphemism for something more sinister.
The term hangs in the air between us, heavy with implication.
“Serena.”I straighten, all the relaxation draining out of my posture.“Tell me what you heard.Exactly.”
She recites the conversation, and with each sentence, something cold and dark crystallizes in my chest.When she finishes, she pulls out a flash drive and sets it on the desk between us.
“I waited for him to leave for a meeting and went back into his study.I photographed everything.Business records, ledgers, and payment receipts.Then I copied files from his computer.”Her voice doesn’t waver, but shame colors her cheeks like a wave washing over her.“I have evidence, Shelby.Detailed evidence of a human trafficking operation.And my father is running it.”
I don’t move for a long moment.I can’t.The implications are cascading through my mind like dominoes, each one triggering the next in a chain reaction that threatens to destabilize everything.
“How long?”I ask quietly, hoping against logic that this ring is independent from the one my brothers and I have been chasing.
“I don’t know.The files date back years.At least five years that I can see documented.”
Five years.While I was in Syria, Afghanistan, and Russia trying to save people from trafficking rings, Giovanni DiLorenzo was building one.The irony is so bitter it tastes like poison.
“Cesare is involved,” she continues, her voice dropping.“He’s the European logistics coordinator.They’re working together to transport women and children through Italy and into...I don’t know where.The documentation isn’t clear about the final destinations.”
I move to the desk and pick up the flash drive, turning it over in my hands.Such a small thing to contain such enormous darkness.
“Your father knew someone would find out eventually,” I say, thinking out loud.“He had to suspect that.Which means he has contingencies in place.He has people who are loyal to him, people who depend on this operation for income and power.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, this isn’t just about Giovanni.”I pin her with a stare.A glint in her whiskey eyes shows understanding beginning to dawn.“If he’s been running this for years, he isn’t doing it alone.He needs infrastructure.Connections.People in the Syndicate who benefit from the arrangement.”
Serena’s face goes pale.“You think other families are involved.”
“They have to be.”I move to the window and stare out at the harbor.The water is gray and choppy, reflecting the storm clouds gathering on the horizon.“There was an operation in Russia.Three months ago, when I went to Moscow.I was there to help Nikolai investigate his uncle Gregor’s involvement in a trafficking ring.”
“Nikolai?”
“The Bratva heir.Dmitri, his father, is the Pakhan, and Gregor is his uncle, a high-ranking member.Maeve discovered that Gregor was helping whoever was behind my mother’s murder and the trafficking.Nikolai and I found out that Gregor was involved in selling trafficking victims to various operations throughout Eastern Europe and beyond.”I turn back to face her.“The operation I went on with Nikolai was supposed to shut down one of those operations.Extract victims, gather intelligence, dismantle the network.”
“The one where you froze,” she whispers.
“Yes.But what I didn’t tell you is that we found evidence linking the operation to someone in the Bratva.Someone with reach.A man they callVdovotvorets, the Widowmaker.He’s powerful enough that our entire investigation came to a grinding halt.Nobody was willing to tell us who was involved.”
