“Six months. Practically a year,” I reply flatly.
“Time flies,” Salvatore smirks, dropping his hand beneath the table, probably to squeeze his wife's thigh.
Nico doesn’t even glance up from his phone, too busy scowling at it like it’s personally offended him.
“Well, I still have business back home,” I say. “You’ll have to forgive my lack of enthusiasm for the... difficulties being here presents.”
“Soon, none of that will be your concern,” Salvatore dismisses, waving his hand, his heavy gold signet ring catching the light. “Focus on what will be yours and the perks that come with it.”
With that, he switches his focus back to Nico, and as they resume their conversation in Italian, I attempt to stomach my breakfast. Gianna and Vera never look up from their plates, and by the time I’m dismissed, my skull feels like it’s splitting.
Back in my suite, I lock the door and draw the curtains shut, sealing out the cold glare of the villa and the prying eyes that might lurk just beyond. My fingers work fast, ripping through drawers and cushions, checking every inch for bugs. I did this last night, but Nico’s reputation for paranoia means there’s no room for complacency. I don’t doubt he’d have a soldier slip something in here at the first opportunity.
Only when I’m certain I’m truly alone do I dare power up my laptop. The whir of the machine feels louder here, in the quiet of the room. I miss my multi-screen setup back in London, the precision, the control, it presents. But this will have to do.
The screen fills with her world—soft lilacs spilling over worn furniture, discarded sketches spread across the floor like breadcrumbs, and coffee cups ringed with lipstick stains. It’s chaotic, alive,her.
Watching her like this is a punch to the gut, every time. I crave the unfiltered version, the moments she never shares with anyone else. The cracks beneath the surface. The restless edge she hides behind perfect posts and curated smiles.
I should hate myself for this intrusion, for wiring her flat, for stealing these private fragments. But I don’t.
Because at least no one else will ever get this close to her. Not while I’m still breathing.
My phone buzzes, drawing me out of her world and back into mine.
I click the link, and the screen floods with files—shipment manifests, ledgers, drop-off locations. At first glance, it’s all clean, legitimate wine exports. But the ports catch my eye. The same ones Liam and I have been chasing for months. The same ones tied to container numbers that don’t add up, that vanish, or return empty.
And then there’s that name.
Orchis.
A ghost in the system that’s whispered about in dark corners of the internet. Attached to shell companies and money trails that disappear before you can trace them. If Orchis is here, it means beneath the seemingly harmless wine exports might just lie the thread we need to pull to start unravelling this whole thing.
My heart hammers a raw rhythm in my chest.
Fuck.
This isn’t just about guns or drugs anymore. It hasn’t been in a long time.
It’s about the girls who’ve been tricked or stolen from their lives and freedom. It’s about shutting down the pipeline that’s haunted me—haunted us—for nearly four goddam years. It’s about getting answers to the mountain of questions, and finally getting some fucking closure.
As the puzzle pieces start slotting themselves together in the most horrifying way, I call Liam. He answers before the first ring finishes.
“Tell me everything,” I snap.
His breath rattles on the line. “It’s all there. Orchis is listed as the importer through three ports we’ve been watching. On paper, it’s wine. But the weights are off, and containers get shuffled through the warehouses before inspections. It’s a fucking circus.”
“Shit. Orchis is the fucking key, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but that’s the problem. It’s a mess of offshore shells. I can’t pin down a single name yet, not one belonging to someone alive anyway. But there’s definitely someone big running this. And it’s looking like they’re moving a hell of a lot more than wine.”
My jaw ticks as I scan the documents again, flicking through container IDs and shipping routes.
“Send it all to my secure drop,” I order, my voice low. “Don’t share this with anyone, not even Cora or Owen. Not yet.”
“Copy that.”
“And Liam… keep digging. We need to find every company Orchis is connected to. Every person who’s signed any of these manifests. It’s about time we know who’s really running this show.”
