We have enjoyed several nights with the Mazzones in the past few months, and I talk weekly with Nat, Sierra, and Serena. None of Leo’s usual warmth is reflected in his gaze, and he’s addressing me formally, which means this is official business. “Why? What is this about?”
“The Commission needs to speak with you urgently.”
Ignoring the rampaging butterflies running amok in my chest, I plant my poker face on and level him with a direct stare. “About what?”
He shifts uncomfortably on his feet. “I’m not at liberty to say.”
“This is highly irregular.”
“So is the situation.”
We stare at one another as an ominous sense of dread tiptoes up my spine.
“Very well,” I concede. “Let me grab my purse.” Leo trails me into the house, remaining quiet as I set my wineglass down in the kitchen and grab my cell and my purse.
We step outside where two Commissionsoldatiare now waiting. The vein in my neck throbs as blood rushes to my head.
This is bad. Real bad. I just feel it in my bones.
“I’ll need to take that,” Leo says, swiping my cell from my hand as I’m midway through texting Massimo. He pockets my phone and urges me forward, steering me toward the car.
The journey to the city is fraught with tension and absolute silence.
I hold myself upright as I stare out the window, watching the city fly past in a blur.
Leo opens my door after we park in the underground parking lot at the building that houses The Commission. His mask lowers for a split second, highlighting concern and confusion. We are shielded by the car when he says, “Look, this isn’t personal. I—”
“It’s okay, Leo. I understand. You’re just doing your job.” Truth be told, him coming to fetch me was a courtesy bestowed by Ben. Usually, Commission soldiers are sent to retrieve people in these circumstances.
He nods, before taking my elbow and escorting me to the elevator. The ride is silent as we shoot to the top of the building. Leo guides me to the main conference room, and I focus on my breathing as I’m taken into the room where all members of The Commission are waiting for me.
Scrap that. Not all members. Massimo isn’t here. I scowl at Gabe where he sits in between Luca Accardi and a smug Roberto Maltese. “Where is Massimo, and why are you in his place?” I ask, panic sluicing through my veins at the thought something has happened to my husband.
“Don Greco will be summoned in due course,” Bennett says, nodding at Leo before he slips out of the room.
“I don’t understand. Why is Gabe here? He’s no longer a don.”
Ben holds out a chair for me, but I stand, refusing to sit until I know what is happening. I have my suspicions, but until I’m accused, I’m saying nothing.
“There was a conflict of interest,” Ben coolly replies, betraying no hint of emotion on his face. “In such situations, the predecessor steps in.”
Thrusting my shoulders back and tipping my chin up, I level him with a sharp look. “What conflict of interest?”
“Intel has come to our attention that confirms you have been working with the Bratva for many years and that it was in fact you, not the Russians, who killed Don Salerno.”
I don’t blink or move a facial muscle as Ben drills a look into me. Tension bleeds into the air as I circle options in my head.
“Don’t even think about denying it,” Don DiPietro says, throwing a bunch of photos across the table and glowering at me. “You deceived me. You deceived all of us.”
I glance down at the photos that seal my fate. They are shots of me meeting Anton that last time in the empty parking lot. Guess there was a camera after all. I pick up another photo, grateful my fingers are steady as I stare at the image of me exiting the warehouse after killing Salerno. I’m covered in blood. The next photo shows Renzo and one of my men carrying a body bag out the side of the warehouse. The photos are long lens, meaning someone was spying on us from a near distance.
Fucking Anton. He moved one final piece on the board before returning to Moscow to face his death. He must have had men following Renzo for some time. He never trusted him to betray me. He knew what he was up to all along.
Well played, asshole, I silently acknowledge.
I carefully set the photos down and turn to face Ben. There is no point attempting to refute this. There will be no talking my way out of it. I knew the risks when I came to New York with an agenda. I knew, no matter how much we covered our tracks, there was the potential it would come out.
I have never backed down before and I’m not going to start now.
