"The boyfriend story is bullshit," Marco said without preamble. "Checked her college records, social media archives from that period, even tracked down two former roommates. Nobody remembers her dating anyone seriously. One roommate specifically said she 'lived like a nun'—studying, working at the library, no social life."
I'd suspected as much, but confirmation still sent a cold anger through me. "She lied."
"About where she learned those skills, yeah. Which raises the question—where did she really learn them?"
I thought about the way she'd analyzed Calabrese's security systems. The precision. The expertise. "Previous employment says data analyst at a security consulting firm."
"I'm verifying that now. But boss, if the boyfriend is fake and the consulting job doesn't check out—" Marco let that hang.
"Then she's either working for someone, or she learned those skills specifically to infiltrate my organization." Both options were equally concerning. "Keep digging. I want her entire background verified by morning."
"What are you going to do?"
"Nothing yet." I needed more information before I made my move. "But Marco? Put surveillance on her. I want to know where she goes, who she talks to, everything."
"Already on it."
After hanging up, I poured myself a scotch and stood at the window of my penthouse, looking out at the glittering city.
Another lie. Another carefully constructed piece of her cover story unraveling.
The question was: what was Isla Quinn really hiding?
And how much danger was I in by keeping her close?
My phone buzzed again before I could set it down. Marco's name flashed on the screen a second time.
"What now?" I answered, irritation edging my voice.
"We have a situation. Matteo made a move on the Brooklyn docks tonight. Talked to three of our supervisors. Two are solid, but Jenkins is wavering."
My jaw clenched. Matteo. My cousin, my childhood friend, my rival for the family legacy. He'd been testing boundaries for months, probing for weakness.
"How much did he offer Jenkins?"
"Double his current salary. Plus a promise of 'better leadership.'" Marco's voice carried disgust. "His words.
I set down the scotch glass with deliberate care. "Remind Jenkins what happens to people who forget their loyalties. And Marco? Increase security on all our operations. If Matteo's making moves, he's planning something bigger."
"You think he'll escalate?"
I thought about Matteo—ambitious, ruthless, resentful of the role that should have been his father's. When both our fathers died within a year of each other, our grandfather had to choose between grandsons. Matteo was older, more traditional in his approach. I was younger but more willing to do what needed to be done. Grandfather chose ruthlessness over age. Matteo never forgave him. Or me.
"He's been circling for years. Eventually, he'll strike. I just need to see it coming."
"Understood. Anything else?"
"Keep this quiet. No one outside our inner circle knows about the dock situation. I don't want him knowing we're watching."
After hanging up, I stared out at the city, my mind calculating angles. Matteo was a problem I'd been managing for years—keeping him close enough to monitor, far enough to contain.
But if he was getting bold enough to poach my people openly…
I'd need to remind him why I was Don, and he wasn't.
Two problems. Two threats circling in the darkness.
Isla Quinn with her lies and hidden agenda.
