Chapter 28 #2
I want to run out of the mansion and all the way home, but I force myself to walk down the hallway, calm and casual, just in case someone reviews the CCTV footage later. Nothing suspicious here.
As soon as I’m outside, though, the tension in my chest refuses to let me stay composed.
I pick up my pace, jogging now, my ears tuned for any sound.
Heart hammering, I round the corner too quickly and almost collide with one of Roan’s men—a guard in a dark suit with slightly buzzed hair and a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth.
He narrows his eyes at me suspiciously, assessing.
I don’t bother smiling; that would be too weird considering the somber day it is. “Hard to believe the old shefi is really gone, huh?” I say instead, and don’t have to fake my heavy sigh.
He grunts in response and keeps walking, apparently satisfied I’m not a threat. I wait until he disappears from view before I continue on my way, my pace slowed now to something more normal. But I don’t run into anyone else, and soon the house is right in front of me.
My hands shake uncontrollably as I slip through the front door, every nerve on edge. By the time I make it back into my room, I can barely breathe.
Fuck, that was way too close.
I lock the door behind me and pull the curtains shut before I take my phone out of my pocket and start scrolling through the pictures I took.
The names don’t make sense at first, the numbers meaningless to me.
But as I cross-reference the information with open-source databases—published reports, news articles, documented territory changes in the Albanian underground spanning both Long Island and Queens—I start to see the pattern emerging.
The codes line up with real-world events. The dates and names match actual murders, unexplained disappearances, and sudden shifts in power. There are entries dating back more than ten years, and they don’t stop there.
One name keeps recurring throughout the timeline, the one constant factor—Fabian Besharun.
Roan’s uncle. Afrim’s brother-in-law.
The further I read, the more I understand what I’m seeing and how it all pieces together. This isn’t just a ledger—it’s a detailed record of treachery. Every entry seems to document another action Fabian has taken to undermine the Albanian stronghold in Queens—to undermine Afrim.
There are details of deals stuck with old Italian families operating in the shadows at the very border between Queens and Brooklyn, cut off from Maximo and Romero’s territories. Neutral ground where anything can happen.
Fabian seems to have been selling critical information about Afrim’s operations to them. Coordinating ambushes. Even authorizing outright kills, carefully framed to look like retaliation from Maximo back when he was still resisting the Albanian expansion—before he fell in love with Elira.
Fabian wasn’t acting alone. He worked closely with a man named Gjon, who I recognize as Afrim’s former second-in-command, before his betrayal was discovered a couple of months ago.
Loyal men working with the Permeti crew were murdered in the streets, executed under the pretense of gang conflicts or territorial disputes. And Fabian signed off on every one of them.
My fingers hover over my phone at one particular page for a long time, my lips parting in horror as I read it.
It’s a copy of a security briefing dated to the day Roan and Elira’s mother was killed. A shooting at a beach playground—information I already knew. But the note at the bottom makes my stomach drop.
Fabian had prior intel on the threat. He knew it was coming and was supposed to notify Afrim immediately so protective measures could be taken.
But he didn’t.
And as I read further, the reason becomes horrifyingly clear—the intended target was Afrim. Fabian didn’t stop it because he wanted it to happen. But Afrim couldn’t go with Hana to the beach that day, so Fabian’s sister died instead. Roan’s mother.
“This is so fucked up,” I murmur as I scroll to the next page. He’s so fucked up. Why would he hate Afrim so much that he’d sacrifice his own sister? What could possibly drive that level of hatred?
The next photo is of the thin, folded sheet that fell from somewhere in the ledger as I was flipping through the pages.
I frown as I read it now, my blood turning to ice.
It’s handwritten—like a note to self, or to someone close to him. Just a few sentences. No header. No sign-off, except two letters at the bottom: F.B.
He survived. I have to bide my time now before I finish what should’ve been done a decade ago.
My mouth goes dry even though the note itself looks old. It must have been written years ago, after Hana Permeti died instead of Afrim.
I scroll again with numb fingers, a glance down at the corner showing me this is the last picture. And it’s the most recent in the ledger.
The agent will infiltrate the estate as a housemaid—with the sister ensuring her obedience, she will do the dirty work for me.
Once she gets me the information I need, Afrim will die by a bullet from her hand.
Roan will go on a rampage for revenge. I’ll kill him myself.
Then the agent dies. No loose ends.
I sit frozen on the edge of my bed, reading it again and again, the meaning searing straight through my skull. It doesn’t take long to connect the dots.
This ledger belonged to Fabian Besharun. Probably his personal journal or record of crimes.
And he’s the one who planted me here.
Is he the one holding my sister captive? Most likely.
And he never intended for me to survive this.
Which means Kayla probably wouldn’t either.
I inhale sharply, my phone slipping out of my hand onto the bed as I surge to my feet.
Afrim must have gotten hold of this ledger somehow—how? I shake my head. No, that doesn’t matter now. The better, more urgent question is: is this information what killed him? Was the betrayal such a devastating shock that his weakened heart simply gave out on him?
Betrayal from his own family must have shattered him in a way nothing else could. Seeing the death of the wife he cherished until his last breath in a new light, realizing he was meant to be the one who died that day...
I pace frantically around my bedroom, the crushing weight of the truth suffocating me, making it hard to think clearly.
This isn’t just another case anymore. It could be my very last if I’m not careful. And I would have lived my whole life being used by people holding my sister over my head.
“Fuck that,” I whisper fiercely. I’m so fucking done being passive about this. I’m taking matters into my own hands.
I’m supposed to meet my sister’s captor tonight. But knowing what I know now, I can’t possibly go through with it. I wouldn’t last five minutes without giving myself away. Without trying to kill the bastard.
I need to play this smart if I want both Kayla and me to survive this.
I pick up my phone and sit on the edge of the bed. Before I can second-guess myself, I type quickly and hit send.
Afrim Permeti is dead. Security is tighter than usual around the estate because of the funeral guests. Can’t sneak out to meet you without being detected. I tried and was questioned. Can’t risk it again or my cover will be blown.
Will that work? Will he buy it without raising his suspicions?
He better not insist I come anyway, or it will be his funeral right after his brother-in-law’s.
I chew my thumbnail as I wait for a response.
But he doesn’t keep me waiting long.
UNKNOWN
When will you be able to leave the estate without your cover getting blown?
I’ll need a week or two.
UNKNOWN
You have three days. Find a way to come out and meet me or I’ll assume you’ve been compromised. What will happen to poor Kayla then?
Rage burns through my veins at his implied threat, my hands clenching my phone tightly, wishing it were Fabian Besharun’s stupid neck.
Noted.
I drop my phone on the bed and sink forward, elbows on my thighs, face buried in my hands. Fuck. I need to act quickly within the next three days.
How am I going to play this? Do I dare try to take on one of the most powerful Albanian mafia families in the States on my own? That’s suicide.
If my suspicions are right and that ledger is what triggered Afrim’s fatal heart attack, then Roan deserves to know about his uncle’s betrayal. Somehow, I doubt Afrim’s death is going to stop Fabian’s twisted plan. What would he even gain from Afrim and Roan’s deaths anyway?
But I already know the answer. Their territory. Their power. Their money. Everything they’ve built.
My breath hitches, my heart squeezing painfully.
Oh Roan.