"You don't understand." She pressed her hands to her face. "You don't understand what's at stake. What I could lose if I don't—" She stopped herself.
"If you don't what? Imani, talk to me."
"I can't." She lowered her hands, and her expression had gone cold. Closed off. "Please leave, Marco. I don’t want to purse anything with you."
Every instinct screamed at me to demand answers. But I wasn’t getting anywhere with her. I'd promised to respect her choices. Even when they destroyed me.
"Fine," I said quietly. "I'll go. But Imani? When you're ready to tell me the truth and let me help with whatever the fuck Eugene threw at you, I'll be here. Waiting."
"Don't wait." Her voice cracked.
I left before I could make an even bigger fool of myself. In the hallway, I pulled out my phone and made a call.
"I need a full background check," I said when my contact answered. "Eugene Maxwell. Imani Mitchell's ex-husband. I want to know everything. His finances, his associates, his dirty laundry. Everything."
"How fast?"
"Yesterday."
I hung up and leaned against the wall, my mind racing. Eugene had done a number on Imani. Bad enough to terrify her. And I was going to find out what it was. Then I was going to destroy him for using it against her.
Imani
The moment Marco left, I collapsed. Sobbed into my hands while the walls closed in and my world fell apart. Eugene had a video of Dez killing Vincent DeLuca. Time-stamped. Dated. Crystal clear footage that showed exactly how Vincent had died and who'd killed him.
"Vincent was thorough," Eugene had said, showing me the footage on his phone. "Set up cameras in that building just in case. Streamed everything to a private server. And he gave me access before he died. Called it insurance."
I'd watched thirty seconds of it to confirm it was real before I'd had to look away.
"What do you want?" I asked, my voice shaking.
"Full custody of Immanuel." Our seven-year-old son who I'd been fighting for since the divorce. "Weekend visitation every other week."
"You can't be serious."
"I am. Unless you want this video to end up with the FBI. Want to watch your new boyfriend's brother go to prison for murder? Want to watch the entire Moretti family come crashing down because you were too selfish to protect them, including Angelina?"
"Eugene, you don’t have to do this!"
"And one more thing." He'd glanced toward the door where Marco had just left. "You end it with him. Completely. No contact. No relationship. You walk away and you stay away."
"Why? What does Marco have to do with this."
"Because I can see it." His voice had gone cold. "I can see the way you look at him. The way you let yourself be vulnerable with him. And I'll be damned if I let another man replace me in your life and my son's."
He pulled out his phone again, showed me something else. Screenshots of my text messages to Angelina and the girls in our group chat.
IMANI
Say the word and we’ll take care of him
"This," Eugene had said, "shows intent. Shows conspiracy. You were part of it, Imani. And if this video goes public, you go down with the Morettis. Lose your business. Your freedom. Everything."
He'd hacked my phone. How else could you explain that? He’d been reading every message, every conversation.
"Twenty-four hours," he'd said, standing. "Sign the custody papers and end things with Marco, or I release the video. Your choice."
Then he'd left. And I'd sat there, watching my entire world crumble. I couldn't tell Marco. Couldn't ask for help. Because if I did, Eugene would release the video anyway—out of spite ifnothing else. And Dez would go to prison. Angelina would lose everything. After all he’s done to protect us all. Vincent had deserved to die, but Dez didn’t deserve to go to jail.
