"Yes."
"Not from someone else."
"No."
"Not inferred."
"No."
Silence stretches. I walk around the table, slow, measured, stopping behind Enzo's chair. Not looming. Just present. Letting the weight settle.
"And Bello told you this when?" I ask.
"After the hit," Enzo replies. "When you were still… not awake."
"Not awake," I repeat softly.
I rest my palms on the back of Enzo's chair now. I don't squeeze. I don't threaten.
"Did Bello ever mention anyone outside the family?" I ask. "Any third party. Any money changing hands."
Enzo exhales through his nose. A controlled sound. "No," he shakes his head. "He was very clear. This was internal."
I hum quietly, considering. Enzo turns the glass slowly in his hand, ice clinking once before he stills it. He's watching me now, not defensive, not wary. Just attentive. The way he's always been.
"What is this about?" he finally wants to know.
I don't answer right away. I walk back around the table and stop across from him, close enough that he can see my expression clearly. I want him to. I need him to.
"A reliable source came to me," I explain evenly, not wanting to bring Jenna into this. "Someone I trust. A large sum moved out of Kingsley's account the day before the hit-and-run."
Enzo blanches. Not guilt. Shock. "Kingsley? That doesn't make sense." He looks up at me, his scars pulling tight across his face as the implication settles. "You think Kingsley was involved."
I don't answer that. Not right away. I lean my hands on the table and look him dead in the eye. "Bello lied about Jenna. Didn't he?"
The words hit like a gunshot. Enzo's brows knit together slowly, pieces clicking together in his head. He stares at me, then shakes his head once. "I swear to you, boss—I had no idea about that."
"I know," my response comes immediately. The certainty in my voice surprises even me.
A long breath leaves my chest, slow and heavy, carrying something I hadn't realized I was holding onto, and relief settles into its place. Because if Enzo had been part of it—if he'd filtered the truth, protected someone, shaped the lie—I would have had to put him down the same way I did Bello.
But Enzo…
Enzo is blood in every way that matters. He taught me how to read men. How to survive power. How to build something that lasts. Killing him wouldn't have been justice. It would have been a loss.
"But why would he—" Enzo starts, then stops. He turns fully in his chair now and locks eyes with me.
I straighten and finally say what I've been holding back. "Jenna and I were together. Back then. It wasn't a fling. Not a distraction. It was serious."
Enzo's face changes from surprise to understanding as the pieces click into place.
"She was… important to you," he guessed slowly.
"She was everything," I reply. "Kingsley would've hated it. His daughter with a man like me." I give a short, humorless exhale. "He would've seen it as a threat. To his image. To his control."
Enzo leans back, running a hand over his hair. "You think Bello and Kingsley worked together?"
I shake my head. "I don't know yet." But I will.
