"You knew." Dominic’s voice drops to a whisper, a thousand times more dangerous than the shouting. He rounds the table, his movements slow and predatory. "You’ve had this. You’ve been sitting on this while we hunted shadows. While we bled. While we wondered why the enemy always knew where to strike."
“I was trying to control the timing,” I snap, my own temper flaring, a hot, bright spark in the middle of the cold grief. "I was making sure. You don't execute the man who raised you based on a hunch, Dominic. I needed the final link. I needed Vane’s ledger."
"And you got it," Dominic says, stopping inches from my face. He smells like smoke and old blood. "And you didn't come to me. You let her do it. You let someone outside the bloodline pull the pin.”
“She isn't an outsider,” I say. “She did what I couldn't.” "She’s the only reason we have the truth at all. She did what I couldn't. She forced the hand I was too weak to play."
The room stays silent. The brothers watch—the two oldest, the ones who were supposed to keep the family whole.
"Where is he?" Dominic asks.
“In the sub-level holding room. Reinforced glass. Armed guard.” I locked him in. “He confessed, Dom. He sat there and told me he loved Riza, like that made any of it holy.” Like that makes the first door he opened okay.
Matteo lets out a choked, wet sound and puts his head in his hands. Turi was his favorite. Turi was the one who encouraged his baking, who told him there was room for sweetness in a world of salt. The betrayal isn't just a tactical failure; it’s a total severance of his reality.
Dominic looks at the clock on the wall. The strike on Alvarado Vane is scheduled for 03:00. The pre-dawn dark already claws at the windows.
"We finish Vane first," Dominic decides. His voice is iron. There is no room for grief in it, only the mission. "We kill the man. We end the war. And when we come back, we deal with the traitor. No one speaks to him without me. He stays in that room until the family decides how he answers.”
"Dominic—"
"Go to your woman, Alessio," Dominic cuts me off, his eyes flashing with a cold, hard light. "Keep her out of the way. If thisleaves the house before I say so, I don’t care how much you want her, Alessio. I’ll treat it as a threat.”
The growl starts deep in my gut, a feral, territorial sound that rumbles through my ribs. I step into his space, my height matching his, my intent clear. “She is under my protection, Dom. She gave us the truth. Don’t make me choose between defending her and standing beside you tonight.”
We stare at each other, two brothers on the edge of a cliff. Then Dominic nods once, a sharp jerk of his chin. “Four hours. We leave at 03:00.”
I turn and walk out. I don't look back. I don't look at the other brothers. I cannot look at the wreckage in their eyes because it mirrors the wreckage in my own.
I move through the compound, the hallways tighter than they were an hour ago. The walls are closing in. Every shadow looks like Turi. Every creak of the floorboards sounds like a lie. I reach my suite and push through the door, breath coming in short, jagged bursts.
Amara is there.
She waits in the dim room, unblinking and lethal. She sits on the edge of the bed, silhouetted against the dim light of a single lamp. She hasn’t moved. She still has her laptop on her knees, but the screen is dark. She looks up when I enter, and the defiance in her eyes is tempered by a raw, naked vulnerability that makes my chest ache.
"You're back," she says. It's not a question.
I kick the door shut and lock it. I don't say a word. I just cross the room in three long strides, grab her by the waist, and haul her up against me. I bury my face in the crook of her neck, breathing her in—soap, skin, and that faint, sharp scent of adrenaline.
"Alessio," she murmurs, her hands coming up to clutch at my shirt. "I had to. I couldn't let you carry it anymore. I couldn't let them go into that warehouse blind."
"I know," I rasp against her skin. "I know."
The anger burned out the moment I saw her sitting there, waiting for the blow to land. I am a man who has been holding his breath for eleven years, and she just punched the air out of my lungs.
I pull back just enough to look at her. Her face is pale, her dark eyes wide and searching. I reach up, my thumb tracing the curve of her cheek, my fingers brushing the soft curls escaping near her temple. She’s small. Fragile in a world of giants and monsters, yet she’s the one who had the strength to swing the axe.
“Dominic is furious,” I tell her. “At you. At me. At all of it.”
She doesn't flinch. "I figured."
"He won't," I say. "I told him what would happen if he tried. You’re under my protection, Amara. You’re under my skin. And right now, you’re the only reason I can stand inside the truth.”
She shifts—the way her shoulders drop, the way her eyes soften. She reaches out, her palm resting over my heart, the frantic, uneven thud of it hitting her hand.
"I'm sorry," she whispers. "I'm sorry it had to be him."
"Don't be," I say. I lean down, pressing my forehead against hers. “I’ve been a prisoner of that secret for eleven years. You opened the door. It hurts like hell, but I can breathe."
