When we get back to the office, I’m two breaths away from breaking someone’s neck. The ambush shouldn’t have happened. Not after Benny’s confession. Except…
“Bring me the evidence…”
Matteo leaves without a word. I sink into the chair, rubbing my temple to soothe the building headache. For once, I feel like I’m in the fucking dark. The door opens again. Matteo steps back in, placing the items we pulled from Benny’s quarters on the table.
I’ve been in this game too long to take things at face value, and my gut tells me there’s something I missed.
I grab the burner phone, pop the back panel open with my thumb, and pull out the battery. Along the metal contacts, where there should be a clean shine from use, there is a film of dust and grime instead. “That fucking bastard fooled us,” I hiss, throwing the phone against a wall. It scatters into pieces. How did I fucking miss that?
The phone hasn’t been powered on in weeks, possibly even months, meaning Benny hasn’t used it to contact anyone. It was planted. A fucking decoy!
I’ve been played, and Benny might not be the actual mole, leaving me with one fucking question. Who the fuck is the real traitor?
Chapter fifteen
Isabella
Dominic hasn’t spoken more than six words to me in the last two weeks. It doesn’t help that I barely see him. He leaves before I wake up, returns long after I’ve gone to bed, and on the rare occasions I catch a glimpse of him, he looks straight through me like I’m part of the furniture.
Three days ago, I forced myself to approach him during breakfast. I’d woken up earlier than usual just to catch him before he disappeared for the day. I’d wanted to thank him for standing up for me. It was the polite thing to do. Nothing else.
But when I spoke, he didn’t even spare me a glance. He said six words that have burned into my brain ever since.
I didn’t do it for you.
The memory makes me cringe. At the time, the words felt like a punch to the gut, and I’d stood there, feeling like a fucking fool. I wanted to scream at him, to demand why he had to be so cruel when I’d done nothing but try to show my gratitude. Instead, I walked back to my room.
Now, I don’t even know what to feel. Anger, yes, but my chest tightens with something else whenever I think of him...something I can’t name.
The door to the library opens, and Sharon walks in. She hands me a folded note. “From Master.”
I unfold it, my brows knitting together as I read the note.
Meet me at La Terrazza in three hours. ~Dom.
Why does he want to see me?
“The Boss said it’s an important event so we need to go shopping, followed by a session with Miss Anna, the stylist who did your hair and makeup the last time for the Black Rose Gala.”
Something in me wants to disobey, but Sharon looks like her life is on the line so I let it be.
***
Now I’m dressed in a long, sleeveless lilac gown, makeup done, and hair styled in a curled ponytail. La Terrazza is located onthe hillside, overlooking the city. As I enter, even without my glasses, I see strings of golden lights crisscross above the tables, giving the place an enchanting vibe.
Dominic stands at the far end of the room, surrounded by a small circle of suited men. He looks exquisite in his charcoal suit, hand gesturing as he speaks. My heart leaps. I shouldn’t be this affected, but I am.
As if sensing me, his head turns. Our eyes lock across the crowd. To my surprise, his expression softens into a wide, easy smile, and it makes the butterflies in my stomach take flight all at once. But then I remember. Of course, we’re in public and have to act like…a newly married couple.
He murmurs something to the men, and they all glance at me. Heat rushes to my face. I give a small, awkward wave that I instantly regret.
Come on Bella, you look good so you should probably act like it.
Dominic crooks a finger, beckoning me closer, and I do my best to hold my head high, though the act somehow makes me feel like an imposter.
“Mr. Grimaldi,” Dominic says smoothly as I approach, his hand finding the small of my back. “I don’t think you’ve met my wife.”
Mr. Grimaldi turns toward me. He’s older, late sixties maybe, but carries himself with an upright dignity that makes him seemunyielding. When his eyes land on me, I feel as if I’ve been put under a microscope.
