13
DANTE
Dawn bleeds slowly through the tall windows of my study, washing the room in a light that offers no comfort. I haven’t slept at all despite Elena’s pleading. I told myself it was because I needed to stay alert. That after an attack like that, after the Bellantis dared to breach my walls, sleep would be irresponsible.
It had been an easy lie to feed to myself while downing another cup of coffee.
By the time the sun crests fully over the horizon, I’ve already made my decision. I summon my three most trusted down to the lower courtyard by the sea, the one carved directly into the rock wall where the wind is loud enough to swallow secrets and the waves crash hard against the cliffs like a warning from God himself.
They come without hesitation. That alone tells me I chose correctly.
The sea wind snaps at our jackets as we gather in a loose half-circle tucked against the mountainside. The scent of salt hangsthickly in the air. I study them in silence one by one, letting my gaze linger longer than usual.
Ettore Romano stands with his hands clasped behind his back, posture rigid while his eyes remain fixed to the pathway leading down to us. He’s always been a soldier first, that strict discipline drilled into him long before he became an enforcer.
Tommaso Bianchi is the opposite. He leans casually against the stone balustrade formed out of the rock wall, his posture relaxed. I know better than to mistake that ease for carelessness. He’s the one who’s always listening, cataloging every detail around him to recite it back with perfect clarity.
Leo is only focused on me like he always is. Out of the three of them, he understands better than anyone that I don’t summon meetings like this without cause. I don’t call my inner circle down to the sea at dawn because I’m restless. When I move like this and isolate us from the villa, it means something has already happened and I need to pull them in before everything gets even more messy than it already is.
They all meet my gaze when I clear my throat. It’s loyalty like that which has kept them all alive this long. I don’t bother easing into it. These men don’t need it, and neither do I.
“We have a mole,” I finally say.
The words hang between us for a heartbeat before being swallowed almost immediately by the roar of the sea.
I watch them closely as they digest the information. Romano’s brows draw together, his lips pressing into a thin line. Bianchi exhales through his nose, his eyes flicking briefly to the others before returning to me. Leo is the only one who surprises me when his gaze doesn’t waver from mine.
Had he been expecting this?
I’ve never been the type of man to give in to theatrics or paranoia. I don’t throw accusations around just to see men scramble, least of all ones like this. If I’m saying this out loud, then it means I’ve already run through every angle in my head, tested the theories out until they’ve led me to one inevitable conclusion. What I’ve found means it can no longer be ignored.
“Someone in, or close to, the family has been feeding information out of it. The Bellantis knew exactly where to strike. They bypassed security points that aren’t public knowledge. That isn’t guesswork. That’s familiarity.”
Bianchi is the first to speak. “Who are you thinking?”
“I don’t know yet,” I admit, and the honesty tastes bitter on my tongue. “There’s no definitive proof. But I have my suspicions.”
That gets their full attention immediately.
Romano turns fully toward me, his body angling in a way that tells me this is no longer a hypothetical to him. His eyes darken, sharpening with a familiar, dangerous focus. “What do you mean,suspicions?”
I don’t answer him right away. Instead, I reach into my coat and pull out the ledger.
The moment it clears the fabric, the shift is instant. All three of them move without thinking, drawn closer by instinct alone. Shoulders brush together as their heads dip, muscle memory forged from years spent standing over maps, casualty reports, and contingency plans. This is how we’ve always absorbed bad news.
Together.
Bianchi takes the ledger from my hand first. His fingers are careful as he opens it to the back where I’ve marked the pages that have refused to let me sleep, the corners creased from nights spent reopening wounds I’m still not ready to face.
I let the words speak for themselves.
Bianchi’s jaw tightens first, the muscle ticking beneath his skin as his eyes move line by line as the patterns begin to emerge. Romano’s lips part slightly, his mouth silently shaping the words as he reads. When he reaches the bottom of the page, he presses them together again, the color draining from his cheeks.
Leo’s expression doesn’t change. But I know him better than that to think it’s because he isn’t taking any of this seriously. I see the tension gathering at the corners of his eyes, how his gaze sharpens while he reads everything I’ve tabbed. It’s the same look he gets right before he pulls the trigger.
Romano is the first to lift his head. He exhales slowly, rubbing a hand over his mouth before dropping it to his side. “This is… concerning.”
“That’s one way to put it,” Bianchi mutters, flipping the page back and forth a few times as if hoping the words will rearrange themselves into something less damning.
