Chapter 25
Sloane
Istand in one of the Rosetti mansion's studies, where floor-to-ceiling mahogany bookshelves line the walls, a deep burgundy Persian rug muffles our footsteps, and heavy velvet drapes block out the afternoon sun except for a single brass desk lamp casting a warm pool of light over a scarred oak writing table.
Two high-backed leather chairs flank the desk, and an oil painting of a stern Rosetti ancestor watches us from above the fireplace.
Emilio hunches over the cluttered desk, his fingers flying across the keyboard of his laptop, the screen casting a blue glow on his face. Rafe and I stand close by, our eyes glued to the monitor as Emilio navigates through rows of numbers and transactions.
"Anything yet?" Rafe asks, tension lacing his voice.
Emilio shakes his head, muttering, "Just the usual deposits and withdrawals, nothing suspicious."
He finally leans back, running a hand through his hair, and we all let out a collective sigh, shoulders sagging in disappointment.
"I was sure we'd find something on Ethan Reyes," I say, frustration creeping into my tone.
But the bank accounts reveal nothing out of the ordinary.
"Just the standard Red Hooks dimwit who smokes and snorts every penny he comes across," Emilio says.
"Have you looked into our own accounts?" Rafe asks. "How does the fighting ring money flow on our end?"
"The system's complex," Emilio explains, pointing to the screen.
"Money moves from the betting operation through a series of shell companies.
First the restaurant supply business in Jersey, then the real estate holding company in Delaware, finally through the investment firm in the Caymans before coming back clean. "
"Our usual laundering route," Rafe notes.
"Exactly," Emilio nods. Most of our operations are compartmentalized. Only upper management has access to the full financial pipeline. Nothing strange going on there."
I watch them, fascinated by this glimpse into their world's mechanics.
"The Callahans handle their own washing through their waste management contracts with the city," Emilio continues. "Five boroughs, thirty-year contracts worth millions in legitimate revenue. Perfect cover for moving dirty money. But again, no links to who's skimming from the ring."
Suddenly, a thought sparks in my brain.
"Wait, what was it your dad used to say?" I ask, feeling a rush of possibility.
Emilio looks at Rafe, a corner of his mouth quirking up.
"Make sure you bury the bodies," he says, his tone half-joking.
"Wear gloves. Leave no trace," Rafe chimes in with a wicked grin.
Jesus, who are these men? What a family.
"No," I insist. "Something about banks or wallets or something."
"If you want the crook, follow his book," the two brothers say together, the words perfectly synced.
"Yes!" I say, my voice rising with excitement. "Right. So maybe we've been looking at the wrong person."
Emilio's eyes meet mine, the understanding passing between us in a single quick glance.
"Can you look into Maddy's accounts?" I half-ask, half-demand, the urgency clawing at my insides.
"I'm not wasting my time helping some outsider," Emilio says flatly. "We've already got enough problems with the Callahans."
"She knows things we don't," Rafe argues, standing behind me like a shadow. "About Maddy, about her accounts, about what she might have been involved in."
"And how do we know she won't take what we find straight to the cops?" Emilio challenges, his eyes narrowing as they fix on me. "Her father was NYPD, for Christ's sake."
I step forward, holding his gaze. "Because I want justice for Maddy more than anyone. And I know the cops won't give me that." I take a breath. "You will."
Emilio studies me, his face unreadable. "Pretty words. Not convincing."
"My father retired five years ago," I say, desperation creeping into my voice. "I haven't talked to him about any of this. I won't. This isn't about him. It's about Maddy."
"And if we find something that implicates your friend?" Emilio asks, leaning forward. "What then? You still want the truth if it means your perfect memory of her gets shattered?"
The question hits me like a physical blow. I hadn't let myself consider that possibility that Maddy might have been involved in something dark.
"I need to know," I say, my voice steadier than I feel. "Whatever it is. I've spent my whole life being blamed for something I didn't do. I can't let that happen to Maddy. Even if..." I swallow hard. "Even if the truth isn't what I want it to be."
Something shifts in Emilio's expression. Not quite trust, but curiosity.
"I was there when she died," I continue, the words spilling out. "I found her body. I've spent every day since trying to understand why. I won't stop until I know." My hands are shaking, but I clench them into fists. "I can't."
Rafe steps up beside me. "I trust her," he says simply.
Emilio's eyes flick to his brother, then back to me. "Your judgment's been questionable lately," he says to Rafe, but there's less resistance in his voice.
I reach into my pocket and pull out a small notebook.
"These are all the accounts Maddy mentioned to me.
Personal checking, savings account she opened in college, credit card she got when she started grad school.
" I place it on the desk in front of him.
"I've been trying to gather information for months—statements I found in her apartment, things she told me about her finances.
But I can't access the actual records. There's only so much I can do on my own. "
Emilio picks up the notebook, flipping through the pages. His eyebrows raise slightly.
"You've been busy," he mutters.
"I'm not asking for charity," I say. "I think this connects to the Callahans somehow. If it does, that helps you too."
Emilio and Rafe exchange a look I can't quite interpret. Finally, Emilio sighs and turns to his laptop.
"One hour," he says, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. "If I don't find anything by then, we drop it."
I nod, relief washing through me. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet," he replies, already typing. "You might not like what I find."
I pull up a chair next to him, close enough to see the screen but careful not to crowd him. "I'd rather know the ugly truth than live with a beautiful lie."
His fingers pause for just a moment, and I catch the ghost of a smile on his face. "Maybe you're not as much of an outsider as I thought."
Rafe and I watch over Emilio's shoulders as he works, close enough to see but careful not to crowd him. He navigates through the financial data with practiced precision, and the blue glow of the screen casts an eerie light on our faces as we search for the truth that got Maddy killed.
"God, were her finances always this boring?" Emilio groans, rubbing his eyes. "No wonder you two got along."
"Hey!" I retort, although the hint of a smile tugs at my lips. It's strangely comforting to have Rafe's brother treat me like I'm not a complete outsider.
Finally, Emilio stops typing and sits back in his chair. His eyes dart over to Rafe before settling on me.
"Okay," he says slowly, "there's nothing unusual about Maddy's bank accounts... but there's something odd about her credit card."
Rafaele’s hand is heavy and warm on my shoulder.
I think of Maddy, her eyes bright with secrets.
The way she laughed when I studied late and begged me to come out instead.
The way I refused, night after night, telling myself there would always be more time.
But now she’s gone, and I can’t lose her all over again.
When it pops up on the screen, it’s like seeing her ghost. My heart clenches, my eyes blur. I blink to clear them, forcing myself to look. To really see.
It’s right there, right in front of me. The evidence. Her name. Her address. Her life in numbers, accounts, ledgers. It’s so much colder than I expected, and it tightens around me, a noose of numbers.
Then I see it, and I almost gasp.
"Deposits," Emilio says, his voice low, serious.
"They’re big," Rafe adds.
"Under the $10,000 reporting limit," Emilio says, nodding as though confirming his own suspicions. "Whoever was paying her knew what they were doing. Avoided the anti-money laundering laws."
The room spins for a second, like the whole mansion is teetering on the edge of collapse.
"She said nothing," I whisper. "She said nothing."
"Wait," Emilio says, zooming in on a particular line.
There it is. Another name. Another twist of the knife.
Lucas Torres.
I feel the world drop away.
"His name’s on the account," Rafe says, his eyes glued to the screen. "Jesus, he’s a co-holder."
I see it now. It’s all there in black and white. Lucas was on her account during the time of the deposits. During the time of her death.
"Who the hell is Lucas?" Emilio asks.
"Maddy’s brother," I say, my voice cracking. "She would have told me if they were up to something."
I try to wrap my mind around it, try to make sense of what I’m seeing. Why is Lucas on her account? Why did they need that money? The questions pile up, crash down, pull me under.
"They were close?" Emilio asks.
"Yeah," Rafe says, answering for me. “An inseparable trio, the three of them.”
His voice sounds far away. Like I’m hearing it from the bottom of a deep, dark pit.
"We might have something here," Emilio says, the excitement building in his voice.
"Keep looking," Rafe urges him.
My chest feels like it’s caving in. The walls, the books, the polished wood, they close in on me, suffocating.
I watch their faces. The hope. The drive. The determination.
For them, it’s the missing link. For me, it’s a splintering. A cracking. A fear that runs deep.
My skin is too tight, my pulse too loud. I see Lucas’s face, the shadow of grief and anger that never leaves him now. I see his guilt, the rage he tries to hide. I wonder if that’s all there is, or if there’s more, so much more that I never knew.
"Jesus," I mutter.
"Rafe," Emilio says, a warning, a question.
Rafe’s hand closes over mine, his grip firm. I look up and see him watching me, concern lining his face, questions lingering in his eyes.
"You okay?" he asks.
I want to say yes, I want to say that I can handle it. But I’m not sure anymore. I’m not sure of anything.
"Keep going," I say instead. "We have to know."
"It’s just a start," Rafe says. "You don’t have to... It’s a lead. That’s all."
"But what if it’s true?" I say, each word sharper, harsher than the last. "What if it means... What if she was in danger because of this? Because of Lucas?"
The more I talk, the more it sounds like betrayal.
I feel Rafe’s hand tighten on mine.
"You think he’s involved?" he asks.
I don’t know what to think. My mind is a storm, a whirlpool. Maddy and Lucas. Lucas and the money. Lucas and the guilt I thought was grief.
"He’s one of my oldest friends," I say. "Him and Maddy. He would never... But the money... And his name on the account... I didn’t know. I didn’t fucking know."
Rafe’s eyes are locked on mine, steady and sure. It should calm me, but it doesn’t. It just makes everything feel more real.
"It’s a lot to take in," he says softly. "We can wait on it."
"I’m sick of waiting," I snap, the words like bullets, fast and uncontrolled.
"Sloane," he says.
The anger fizzles out, leaving me hollow.
"You can take the time to figure it out," he adds.
I shake my head, trying to clear it, trying to think.
I hear Maddy’s laugh, her teasing voice when I bailed on another night out. The way she joked that she had her own secrets, that maybe one day she’d let me in on them. But she never did. She never fucking did.
"I don’t want to wait," I say. "I can’t. Not when this could be it. Not when we’re this close."
"It’ll take some time to figure out what it all means," Rafe says.
"I have to know," I repeat.
My voice is raw now, stripped bare of any defenses.
"Then we’ll find out," Rafe promises.
"You think this Lucas guy is hiding something?" Emilio asks.
"I don’t know," I say. "But I have to find out. Even if it means... Even if Maddy... "
The words stick in my throat. They cut deep, leaving me breathless. I don’t want to say them. I don’t want to believe them.
"What if she wasn’t who I thought?" I manage to ask.
I barely recognize my own voice.
"Keep looking," Rafe says to Emilio.
His voice is steel. Unwavering. A rock in the chaos of my spinning mind. Emilio nods, fingers already flying over the keys, eyes intent and unblinking.
“We’ll pay Lucas a visit and figure out what he’s up to,” Rafe says. "It’s going to be okay."
He reaches for me again, his touch warm and reassuring. But it feels like a lie. Like something he can’t promise.
I stare at the screen, the lines of deposits and names. The unspoken questions. The dark possibilities.
“I can’t go up to my best friend’s grieving brother and accuse him of this,” I yell, my voice echoing off the oil paintings. “He’s the only friend I have left in the world. And he’s just lost his fucking sister.”
The room is too hot. The air is too thick. I stand and back away, away from the numbers, from the secrets, from the things I never wanted to know.
"Okay," Rafaele says, his voice steady, a rock against my tide of panic. "So we’ll visit Ethan instead."
Emilio nods, already planning, strategizing. I watch them. I see how driven they are, how determined. How convinced. But I still have no answers.
"I have to get out of here," I say, and the words are barely a whisper.
I leave the study, but it follows me.
The weight of it.
The fear of what it means.
The dread that I never knew her.