19.Sebastiano
I wasn't exactly thrilled about being married, but after learning about what Mia endured, I can't shake this damn nagging feeling that I need to keep her protected. Enzo has finally eased up about me not going out at night, but la piccola ballerina remains oblivious to my constant presence at home.
She thinks I'm out and about, fucking around or doing God knows what, but the truth is I'm always back by 10 p.m., right around the time she's in bed and passed out. I can't deny that this routine is starting to wear on me, but mainly, it’s the fact that I haven’t gotten laid since before the wedding, and the frustration is starting to grate my nerves. I mean, it's not like I'm doing anything wrong—she knew the deal when she agreed to marry me. Besides, keeping her protected doesn't mean I have to neglect my dick.
Since she still struggles with nightmares, I need to be home to be here for her. She has no clue that I sneak into bed with her when she starts crying in her sleep and stay with her until her breathing calms down. Then I slip out of bed and go downstairs until she’s awake. After she wakes up, we have breakfast together, and then I go to sleep, only to wake up in time for dinner with her. Mia won’t tell me who hurt her, but I'm not stupid. I know who’s behind it. She thinks that she is saving him by not telling me. I'm still not sure why the hell she would want to, though. The fucker deserves to die.
I'm exhausted, but I can't afford to rest. Instead of crashing into bed after breakfast, I dive headfirst into the images from the dock, desperate for any clue that might lead us to Diego or the thief. But no matter how hard I squint at those grainy pictures, it's like I'm blind to whatever's staring me right in the face.
Frustration claws at me as I sift through the surveillance footage, my mind racing a mile a minute. I'm running on fumes, but I can't shake the feeling that I need to go over this just one more time.
What the fuck am I missing?
Just as I'm about to lose my damn mind from staring at the same footage, Enzo strolls in and breaks the oppressive silence. His chipper tone is like a slap in the face, a cruel reminder of the hell I'm currently wading through.
"Working hard, boss?" he says with that stupid grin plastered on his face.
I grunt in response, my gaze still glued to the images in front of me. I don't have time for his small talk right now.
"You've been reviewing this for hours," he continues, undeterred by my lack of response. "Want me to take over?"
Hours? I didn't realize I'd been at this for so long.
I shake my head. "No, I need to finish this."
Enzo leans against the desk, shooting me a knowing look. "Your wife really changed you, huh? I think this marriage thing is a good look on you."
I scoff at his words, but deep down, I can't deny the truth in them. Mia has changed me, turned me into a damn pussy. And it pisses me off.
“Fuck off,” I growl, not in the mood for his bullshit.
“I’m serious. You stay in and are focused. I think you like her,” he persists.
"She's hot and a good lay. What's not to like?" I say dismissively, my tone dripping with bitterness. But even as the words leave my mouth, I know they're a fucking lie. Enzo would get a kick out of knowing I haven't fucked her.
Enzo raises an eyebrow, a smirk dancing on his lips. "Seb, you can say whatever you want, but you can't fool me. It’s different, and you know it."
I bristle at his words, irritated by his insight into my personal life. Enzo doesn't know why I started staying in each night, and I won't tell him either. Work is the only thing I can do at home while still keeping an eye on Mia.
"Is there anything else you need, or are you just trying to piss me off?" I grumble, fatigue evident in my voice as I rub my weary eyes.
Enzo's smirk only widens. "I'll let you get back to it."
An hour drags by, and I'm still slogging through the footage. My eyes sting, and I can't focus on the screen anymore. How the hell do people do this computer stuff day in and day out? I rake a hand through my messy hair when there's a sharp knock on my door.
“Come in,” I mutter, too damn drained to muster any enthusiasm.
Dario, one of my strongest soldiers, enters alongside Enzo, who is lugging his laptop under his arm. I gesture toward the chairs in front of my desk, silently inviting them to take a seat. Dario settles in as Enzo plops his laptop on my desk, clicking away at the tabs.
He swivels the laptop in my direction, revealing a series of images on the screen. The sight of the burnt black truck with its mangled license plate jolts me to attention. "Theo sent me this; it was reported last night under the L-train," Enzo explains.
“Whose is it?”
"This was the black truck from the CCTV on the docks,” he grumbles, frustration evident in his voice. Although the license plate is singed, it's a match to the one we saw from the docks.
“Plates were stolen. That's why Theo had a hard time pulling it up in his database. But I sent it out to everyone, anyway,” Enzo adds.
“And?” I prod, my patience wearing thin.
“It’s Diego's ride," Enzo declares, flicking through the images of Diego's torched truck.
"How the fuck do you know?" I snap, annoyed at myself for missing the details of that bastard's vehicle.
"I noticed it," Dario chimes in with a grim edge to his voice. "I spent three days sleeping in that damn truck for a stakeout."
"Was he inside?" I demand, my frustration boiling over.
"No, just the truck. Not a hit. Not a message declaring war. It’s like they knew we spotted the truck at the docks and tried to erase the evidence. Or Diego is the mole, working for them because they wouldn’t keep him alive this long unless there was a reason," Enzo explains, painting a bleak picture of our predicament.
"I don't give a damn what it takes. Find him. Dead or alive. If that fucker betrayed me, betrayed La Cosa Nostra, he'll be dead when I get my hands on him." The words slip from my lips with a deadly calm, the tension in the room thickening with every syllable.
Enzo and Dario exchange a glance before swiftly exiting the room. Finally left alone, I slump back in my chair, feeling exhaustion settle over me. My eyelids droop, weighed down by fatigue, and I realize I can't push myself any further today.
With a weary sigh, I power down the laptop and push away from the desk, the overwhelming urge to collapse into bed hitting me like a ton of bricks. Each step toward the door feels like a marathon of effort.
When I finally reach my bedroom, I strip off my clothes clumsily, too tired to care about anything other than sinking into the comfort of my bed. With a sigh of relief, I collapse onto the mattress.
But even as I surrender to sleep, my mind continues to race with thoughts of Diego, a fucking mole, and the countless other problems weighing on my shoulders. For now, all I can do is hope Enzo and Dario find answers while I sleep.