BELLA'S POV
Sleep didn't come.
I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, the photo of the dead man burned into my mind.
Marco's guard. Dante's soldier. Wearing Vitale colors but bearing Caruso marks.
The evidence was everywhere. The connections are driving more crazy than they should, every signature. Every attack.
Dante had killed my family. Dante was trying to kill me now, all while pretending to be a love sick fool. He might justify the fact that he is doing all this to get be, but who aims a gun at someone they love.
Still, I don't know why I still have doubts, hoping it was false accusations.
I sat up, checking the time. Two a.m. Four hours until dawn. Four hours of my mind spinning in circles.
I grabbed my laptop and pulled up the files again. Everything I'd collected over the past months.
Investigation reports with Dante's authorization. Financial records connecting Caruso to Vitale operations. The timeline that damned him.
And now, Marco's man among Lorenzo's soldiers.
It all pointed to Dante.
But something felt wrong.
Not wrong like I was mistaken. Wrong like I was missing something.
I opened a new document, started writing everything down.
Attack 1: The Warehouse (3 months ago)
- Lorenzo's men
- 15 of my people killed
- How did they know our location?
Attack 2: Supply Route (Last week)
- Lorenzo's soldiers
- Marco's man among them (Caruso tattoo)
- How did they know the route?
Attack Pattern:
- Both times, they knew exactly where to hit
- Both times, minimal Caruso visibility
- Both times, Lorenzo took the blame
I stared at the screen.
Two attacks. Both supposedly Lorenzo. But if Dante was using Lorenzo as cover, paying him to attack me,
how was Lorenzo finding us?
We'd been careful. Changed locations after the warehouse. Limited who knew our movements.
And yet they'd found us twice.
Someone had to be feeding them information, that must be the case. My heart skipped a beat at the thought.
I pulled up the list of people that are around me, those in the compound. There was forty three loyalists originally.
Fifteen died during the warehouse attack, twenty eight left now.
Out of those twenty eight, who could be the Judas.
How many of them were reporting to Dante?
My hands trembled as I scrolled through names.
Tommaso. Lucia. Enzo. Giuseppe. Marco. Antonio. Luca.
Men I'd trained beside. Eaten meals with. Trusted with my life.
Any one of them could be selling me out.
The thought made my stomach turn.
A knock at my door made me jump.
"Principessa?" Lucia's voice. "Your light is on. Are you alright?"
"Come in."
She entered, looking as tired as I felt. "Can't sleep?"
"Can't stop thinking." I gestured to the laptop. "Look at this. Two attacks in a few months. Both times, they knew exactly where to find us."
Lucia sat at the edge of the bed, studying the screen. "You think we have a spy."
"I think we must have. There's no other explanation." I closed the laptop. "We've been too careful for this to be a coincidence."
"Have you told Tommaso?"
"Not yet. I don't..." I stopped myself.
"You don't know if you can trust him?" She asked, turning to look at me sharply, she studied my face as I swallowed my words.
The question hung in the air.
"I trust Tommaso," I said finally. "He knew my father. He's been protecting the Sovereign name for fifteen years. But..."
"But you can't be sure."
"I can't be sure of anyone." The admission tasted bitter. "Dante has resources. Money. He could've gotten to anyone. Threatened families. Paid them off."
"Then we investigate. Quietly."
"How? If there is a mole, they'll know we're looking. They'll warn Dante."
Lucia was quiet for a moment. "Then we set a trap."
"What kind of trap?"
"We feed different information to different people. See which version gets back to Dante." She stood, pacing. "If someone's reporting our movements, we'll catch them."
It wasn't a bad idea. But it would take time we might not have.
"And if Dante attacks before we figure it out?" I asked.
"Then we fight. Like we've been doing."
I looked at the names on my screen again. Twenty-eight people. Anyone could be a traitor.
Or maybe more than one.
"Tomorrow," I said. "We'll talk to Tommaso. Figure out a plan."
"Get some rest, principessa. You can't think clearly when you're exhausted."
After she left, I tried to sleep again.
But my mind wouldn't stop spinning.
I finally drifted off sometime around four a.m.
And woke to the sound of alarms screaming through the compound.
I was up instantly, gun in hand, heart pounding.
Shouts in Italian. Running footsteps. Glass shattering.
"PRINCIPESSA!" Tommaso burst through my door, face grim. "They're here! Dante! Caruso soldiers! We need to move now!"
My blood went cold.
Dante had found us.
Again.
And this time, he'd come himself.
