My blood turns to ice.
He’s backlit by the hallway lamps, his face half in shadow. The smile on his lips is pleasant. Professional. The smile of a man who’s spent thirty-two years perfecting the art of appearing trustworthy.
“Working late, Mrs. Santoro?”
My hands are trembling. I flatten them against the desk. Force my voice even.
“Just finishing up.”
His eyes move to the papers spread across the surface. The vendor files. The authorization records. The folder Marco left, now buried under other documents.
Can he see what I’ve been looking at? Can he tell?
“The accounts must be engaging,” he says. “You’ve been in here for days.”
I meet his eyes. Don’t blink. “Dante asked me to review the quarterly reconciliations.”
“Of course.” His smile doesn’t waver. “Don is lucky to have such a dedicated wife.”
The way he says “dedicated” makes my skin crawl.
Or maybe I’m paranoid. Maybe I’m projecting guilt onto a man who has no idea what I’ve found.
But his eyes linger on the desk a beat too long before he steps back.
“Don’t work too hard, Mrs.Santoro. The family needs you healthy.”
He turns and walks away. The squeak of his shoes on the marble echoes down the hallway.
I don’t breathe until the sound fades.
My hands are shaking so hard I can’t grip the papers. Did he see anything? Does he know? Has he been watching me the same way I’ve been tracking him?
I need Dante.
I stack the files. My fingers fumble the pages twice before I get them into the folder. I press it flat against my chest and check both directions down the hallway before stepping out of the study. My feet carry me faster than I mean to go.
The compound is quiet at this hour. Most of the staff has gone to bed. The guards are at their posts, but they don’t question me as I make my way through the house.
I’m the Don’s wife. I belong here.
The folder in my arms holds it all. Every piece that confirms Fabio Romano has been bleeding this family dry and selling their secrets to their enemies.
Now I have to trust Dante with it.
I find him in the library, standing at the window, silhouetted against the moonlit gardens.
He turns when he hears me enter.
“Cassia.”
Just my name.
I close the door behind me. Cross the room. And hand him the folder that’s going to change everything.
“I found him.”
20
