My heart stops cold as I slowly turn, my eyes landing on a familiar figure. Thin frame, hollow cheeks and dull sunken eyes stare back at me. Elena?
Shit!
My eyes widen, and I rush toward her, but then I sense a presence behind me. The light flickers again and the last thing I hear is a loud shriek before something slams against the side of my head. Pain explodes behind my lids and the world goes dark.
Chapter twenty-six
Dominic
I should be working. I should be down in the basement with Matteo, questioning the second mole that we’d found. Marcus Silvano. But here I am, sitting behind my desk like a pathetic fool, my mind drifting to the events of yesterday.
Bella, whom I now consider the first mole, had pointed an accusing finger at me; she had the audacity to look so broken.
She’s a traitor. I should know this, yet her words clung to me sharper than any bullet wound I’d ever taken.
I thought you cared…because I did.
And the way she looked at me after that…like I’d just confirmed that she was unlovable. Fuck!
I down another glass of whiskey, welcoming the burning fire I feel along my throat. I want nothing more than to rip her memory out of my head. Forget she ever happened and move on with life…like I usually do. But somehow it lingers, not just in my head but also in my fucking heart.
Setting the glass down, I rise to my feet and walk toward the window that overlooks the city. It was probably supposed to be Elena at first, but since she ran away for God knows why, Bella took her place, following her father’s plan. The whole plan with Bella was perfectly orchestrated. Bella is a willing participant and I fucking fell for it.
I acted against my own rules… lowered my defenses so much so that when the truth hit me in the face, I couldn’t do anything about it. I couldn’t punish her…kill her…I couldn’t do what I usually would to traitors like her.
Wheels turn in my head as I watch the slow curve of traffic below me. For the first time since all of this started, we’ve gotten something meaningful—we’ve found the real mole, discovered that Bella sabotaged some shipments through the info she was feeding her father, and are looking at Dean as the grand planner.
So why does something feel off? Why does it feel like sending Bella away was a fucking mistake? Why do I feel like I lost something I never actually had?
Anger courses through me, and I grit my teeth to steady my breathing. With great restraint, I push any stray thoughts to the back of my mind and focus on the one question that matters.
What does Dean want out of all of this? I never liked that fucker and I should have known that he’s a coward who likes to play dirty.
The door clicks open, and I snap my neck to see Matteo walking in, blood smeared on the sleeves of his shirt.
“Capo,” he says carefully. “The bastard finally talked. Said he was approached by a strange man in a suit, but he once heard Rossi’s name being mentioned in a conversation. He was responsible for the fire at the warehouse, too.”
My hands ball into fists. Finding the mole was easy. After I made the speculation, we turned every footage inside out until we found him.
Marcus Silvano from maintenance is the mole. When he carried his bag and navigated through the crowd, no one looked twice. He had a job salient enough to hide his shenanigans but loud enough to always be allowed access wherever he wanted.
Matteo continues. “Some of the missing shipments and attacks that we’ve encountered since we started having issues were caused by him. He admitted to giving information to the suited man.”
James, the guy with the eyepatch now, had mentioned a suited man, too.
“There’s no real motive as to why he did it, but he said he’s been lying low for a while now.”
The way Matteo says it—with a distinct look in his eyes and an edge in his voice—makes me sick instantly. I understand what he’s saying. That some information was being fed through Bella.
“What do we have on Dean?” My pulse pounds in my head as I say his name, adrenaline coursing through my bones.
“Nothing,” he breathes, and I shoot him a menacing look. “Our intel isn’t picking up anything—”
“Then track his damn daughter.” Cold settles in my veins as I rise sharply. They’re in it together, so they must be together.
“Il localizzatorenel suo telefono è morto(The tracker in her phone is dead).”
In a blink, I’m before Matteo, fisting his collar.
