He takes one step toward me. I hold my ground because stepping back would be worse.
“You had one job,” he says. “One. We gave you the most important play in this whole war, Luca, and I come down here to find you living on the target’s property. So try again.”
The words land like a fist to the sternum. Not because he’s wrong. He’s not.
We gave you the most important play.
Not a favor. Not a pity assignment. Not something to keep me occupied while the real men handled the real work. I wanted it because it mattered, because I was sick to death of being looked at like the spare son, the reckless one, the guy everybody had to work around.
I had wanted one clean shot to prove I could carry something heavy without dropping it.
Now Paolo is looking at me like I’ve done exactly that.
“I’ve been getting close to the target.” I hate the defensive note in my voice.
He scoffs. “Getting close.”
“Gaining her trust. Extracting information.” I hold his stare and shove every screaming nerve in my body behind a wall of false composure. “Kozlov is trying to make an alliance with a Colombian cartel.”
That gets his attention. Just a flicker, but it’s there. The anger doesn’t leave, but something calculative slides in behind it, the way it always does when Paolo smells an angle worth working.
“Which cartel? Who’s brokering?”
“I don’t have names yet.”
I can feel the moment the flicker dies. His mouth flattens and the calculation hardens back into judgment.
“That’s what you’ve got after three weeks.” Not a question. A verdict.
“It’s not nothing.”
“I didn’t say it was nothing. But it’s pretty fucking thin.”
My hands curl at my sides. “I’m close.”
Paolo lets out a short breath through his nose. “Close to what? You don’t have names. You don’t have terms. And Kozlov’s daughter is still alive.”
I don’t answer.
Can’t.
Because every word out of his mouth keeps colliding with the same truth. Natalia at the kitchen counter. Natalia in that dress. Natalia in her bed, my real name on her lips like it changes everything.
My stomach turns.
“Seriously Luca, why are you still here?” he presses. “You’ve got some intel. That’s helpful. But the job is the job.”
“Because it’s incomplete,” I shoot back. “An alliance is one thing. The terms, the routes, the players… that’s the real prize. It’s bigger than taking out Kozlov’s daughter, and I’m the only one in a position to get it.” I’m selling this too hard. I can hear it.Dial it back.“Give me more time and I’ll get the rest.”
Paolo studies me. That long, quiet read he does where you can feel him peeling back layers, testing each one for give. I learned a long time ago that you can’t out-stare Paolo Andretti. You just have to hold your ground and hope your face is saying what you need it to say.
He turns away, pacing a few steps down the sand before turning back. The anger is still there, but now it’s laced with somethingelse. Frustration. The weight of a decision he doesn’t want to make.
“You’re playing with fire, Luca.”
“I’m doing the job,” My voice is steady, thank god. “I’m getting more out of it.”
“Is that what this is?” He steps into me, his voice dropping again. “Or did you just get distracted? Lorenzo gave you this chance. I told him you were ready.”
