22. Roman
ROMAN
T he atmosphere in my office was thick enough to cut with a blade. My inner circle sat around the mahogany conference table like mourners at a funeral, their faces carved from stone as I laid out the new security protocols that would govern our lives for the foreseeable future.
"Effective immediately, we’re implementing compartmentalized intelligence," I said, my voice cutting through the tension. "No one person has access to complete operational information. Every major decision gets divided into segments."
Connor shifted in his chair, his silver hair catching the light from the crystal chandelier. "That’s going to slow everything down, boss."
"It’s going to keep us alive." I met each pair of eyes ?cataloging every micro-expression, every tell. The same way I should’ve been reading Cassie before she’d hidden a pregnancy from me for weeks. "We’re also rotating security details daily. No predictable patterns."
Tommy’s fingers drummed nervously on his laptop. "What about the encryption protocols? If we’re changing communication channels every forty-eight hours?—"
"You’ll make it work." My tone brooked no argument. Trust was a luxury I could no longer afford—not with my men, and not with the woman sharing my bed. "We’ve gotten sloppy, comfortable. That ends now."
The men exchanged glances that spoke volumes. They thought I was losing my grip, becoming paranoid. Maybe they were right. Maybe executing Sean had been a mistake—a reaction born of rage and the bitter taste of betrayal that seemed to follow me everywhere.
But I couldn’t show doubt. Not now. Not when everyone I trusted had proven they could lie to my face.
"The Torrino family is still moving product through our territory," Joey reported, his voice carefully neutral. "Four more shipments this week."
"Let them." The decision felt like swallowing glass, but it was necessary. "We’re not retaliating until we know if they have more than one person feeding them information."
Fion leaned forward, his scarred face skeptical. "That makes us look weak."
"Looking weak and being weak are two different things." I stood, walking to the window that overlooked the estate grounds. "Sometimes the best strategy is letting your enemies think they’re winning."
Just like Cassie, let me think she trusted me while hiding the most important secret of all.
Silence settled over the room like a shroud. These men had followed me through wars, had bled for the Creed name. Now they were questioning my judgment, and I could feel their loyalty fraying at the edges. Just like everything else in my life.
"Any other business?" I asked without turning around.
"Actually, yes." Declan’s voice carried that smooth authority that had made him invaluable as my consigliere. "There’s something else we need to discuss."
I dismissed the others with a wave of my hand, waiting until their footsteps faded down the hallway before turning to face him. Declan remained seated, his pale eyes studying me with uncomfortable intensity.
"Speak your mind," I said.
"You’re losing your grip, Roman." He leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled in front of him. "The men are talking. They think the stress is getting to you."
The words hit like a physical blow, but I kept my expression neutral. "And what do you think?"
"I think maybe it’s time to consider stepping back. Temporarily." His voice was calm, reasonable. This wasn’t the first time this topic had floated in my mind. "Let Connor handle day-to-day operations while you focus on the bigger picture. Get your head clear."
I’m losing control. The thought echoed in my mind like a death knell. Because maybe Declan was right. Maybe the paranoia, the isolation, the constant weight of betrayal was finally cracking me. Maybe loving someone who could lie so easily was making me weak.
But stepping back would be seen as a weakness. And in my world, weakness was death.
"I appreciate your concern," I said carefully, "but I’m not going anywhere."
Declan’s mouth curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile. "Even if it means getting more of your people killed?"
Before I could respond, a soft knock interrupted us. Cassie’s voice came through the door, polite but insistent. "Roman? May I have a word?"
My jaw clenched involuntarily. Even now, after everything, her voice still sent electricity through my veins. The woman who’d hidden pregnancy from me, who’d proven that even she couldn’t be trusted with the truth.
I looked at Declan, who shrugged and stood. "We’ll continue this conversation later."
"We’re done," I corrected, but he was already walking toward the door.
Cassie entered as Declan left, and I caught the way his eyes lingered on her, calculating, assessing. The look made something protective flare in my chest despite everything.
"How are you feeling?" I asked, studying her face with new wariness. She’d been released from the hospital that morning after another episode, but now I wondered what else she might be hiding. Her color was better, but there were still shadows under her eyes that I couldn’t read anymore.
"Better." She closed the door behind her and moved to the leather chair across from my desk. The same chair where she’d sat as my assistant for five months, keeping secrets. "But I wanted to talk to you about something."
I settled into my chair, maintaining a careful distance. "What’s on your mind?"
"Sean." She said the name carefully, watching my reaction. "I’ve been thinking about him being the mole, and something doesn’t add up."
My spine stiffened. Of course, she was questioning my judgment. Everyone seemed to be doing that lately. "What do you mean?"
"How would a low-level bodyguard have access to anything worth selling?" Her voice was gentle but persistent, and I hated how that tone still affected me. "He was muscle, Roman. He took orders, he didn’t make strategic decisions."
"He was in my inner circle," I said, but even as the words left my mouth, doubt crept in. The same doubt whispered that maybe I’d been wrong about everything lately. "He heard conversations, knew schedules?—"
"Did he, though?" Cassie leaned forward, that analytical mind I’d come to respect—and apparently underestimate—fully engaged. "Think about the operations that were compromised. The warehouse locations, the meeting sites, the shipping routes. Those decisions were made at the executive level."
I wanted to dismiss her concerns, to maintain the certainty that Sean’s death had solved our problem. But Cassie’s mind worked differently than mine—where I saw threats and reacted with violence, she saw patterns and asked questions. Even when she was lying to my face about carrying my child.
"You once found a five-dollar accounting error in a twenty-million-dollar deal," I said, remembering how she’d spent three days reconciling numbers that everyone else had written off as rounding errors. "Now you think you’re Sherlock Holmes?"
Her mouth curved into a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. "I think patterns matter."
Despite everything—the lies, the betrayal, the way she’d made me question everything I thought I knew about trust—I felt my lips twitch. This woman, who’d accidentally sexted me into her life, was now questioning my judgment on matters of life and death.
And she might be right. Again.
I pulled out the burner phone Declan had found in Sean’s quarters, the evidence that had sealed his fate. "Three calls to Torrino associates. The timeline matches perfectly with our security breaches."
Cassie took the phone, and I noted how careful she was not to let our fingers touch. The distance she maintained felt deliberate, like she knew exactly how her proximity affected me. Just another manipulation in a long line of them.
She scrolled through the call log with the same focus she’d once applied to quarterly reports. After a moment, she frowned.
"Roman, look at this." She pointed to the digital timestamps, two calls logged at 8:47 PM and 9:23 PM on the night of the Flanagan Foundation Gala. "Sean was with us that entire evening. I remember because he arrived late and apologized to you at our table."
The memory hit me like ice water. Sean had been visibly present, standing behind my chair during dinner, scanning the crowd for threats. There was no way he could’ve made those calls.
"Maybe he called earlier, and the timestamp is wrong," I said, but the words felt hollow. Just like every other assumption I’d been making lately.
Cassie continued scrolling. "There’s something else. Look here—there’s a gap in the call log. A blank space where data should be."
I leaned closer despite myself, studying the screen. The scent of her perfume hit me, that familiar mix of jasmine and something uniquely her that had always made me want to bury my face in her neck. Even now, knowing what I knew about her capacity for deception.
She was right. Between the suspicious calls and the legitimate ones, there was a digital void that looked deliberately scrubbed.
"Probably nothing," I said, but my mind was already racing.
"It’s not nothing." Her voice carried absolute certainty, the same tone she’d used when insisting our marriage was just business. "Someone edited this phone. Added calls that never happened, deleted others that did. This whole thing is a setup."
The implications crashed over me like a tsunami. If Sean wasn’t the mole, then I’d executed an innocent man. And the real traitor was still out there, laughing at how easily I’d been manipulated.
Just like Cassie had manipulated me.
"Why would someone frame Sean?" I asked, though part of me already knew the answer.
"Maybe because he was loyal to you. Maybe because the real mole wants your confusion and anger to blind you to the truth." Her words echoed in the sudden silence of the office. "Think about it, Roman. Who benefits from you becoming more paranoid, more isolated from your own people?"
The question hung between us like a loaded gun. Because if Cassie was right, then someone had played me perfectly, turning my protective instincts into a weapon against my own organization.
But how could I trust her analysis when she’d proven so thoroughly that she could lie to my face?
I stood abruptly, pacing to the window. The estate grounds stretched out before me, manicured and peaceful, but all I could see were the shadows where enemies might be hiding. Enemies who looked like friends, who shared my bed and called me by name while hiding life-changing secrets.
"I need to know for certain," I said, reaching for my phone.
"Roman—"
"Tommy?" I spoke into the phone, cutting off whatever Cassie had been about to say. "I need a favor. That burner phone from Sean’s room—I need you to rip it apart. Quietly. I want the truth about those call logs."
"Boss, I already ran diagnostics?—"
"Run them again. Deeper this time. Check for data manipulation, timestamp alterations, anything that suggests the logs were tampered with." My voice dropped to a whisper. "And Tommy? This stays between us. No one else hears about this until I say so."
I ended the call and turned back to Cassie, who was watching me with those intelligent brown eyes that saw too much. Eyes that had looked into mine while she kept the most important secret of all.
"If you’re right," I breathed, "then I’ve made a terrible mistake."
"We’ll figure it out." She stood and moved toward me, then stopped, as if remembering the walls that had grown between us. "Together."
But as I stared out at the darkening grounds, one terrifying possibility dominated my mind. If Sean had been innocent, if someone had framed him so convincingly that I’d killed without question, then the real mole wasn’t just selling information.
They were orchestrating my downfall from the inside.
And they were winning.
Just like everyone else who’d ever gotten close enough to hurt me.