Chapter 11 Julian
I WOKE UP in Elio's bed to sunlight streaming through the windows and his arm around my waist.
This was becoming my favorite way to start the day. Better than anything I'd experienced in my entire life. Just the two of us in his minimalist apartment, the city waking up outside, everything quiet and peaceful and right.
Elio was already awake. I could tell by his breathing. He did this sometimes—woke up before me and just lay there. Watching me sleep, probably. Being protective even when there was no threat.
"Morning," I said without opening my eyes.
"Morning." His arm tightened around me. "How'd you know I was awake?"
"Your breathing changes. You think I don't pay attention to these things?"
"You pay attention to everything. It's one of the things I lo—" He stopped. Cleared his throat. "One of the things I appreciate about you."
I smiled. He'd almost said love. We'd been dancing around that word for days now. Both of us feeling it. Neither of us saying it.
I was twenty-one. He was thirty-five. We'd known each other barely six weeks. It was too soon to be in love.
Except it didn't feel too soon. It felt exactly right.
"Breakfast?" Elio asked, already moving to get up.
"You're going to spoil me. I'll forget how to function without you making me food every morning."
"That's the plan. Can't have you leaving if you've forgotten how to feed yourself."
I grabbed his hand. Pulled him back down. Kissed him thoroughly.
"I'm not leaving," I said against his mouth. "Ever. You're stuck with me."
"Good."
We were getting dressed—Elio in his usual black suit, me in jeans and a sweater—when his phone rang.
He checked the screen. Frowned.
"Sandro. This early isn't good."
He answered. Listened. His whole body tensed.
"We'll be there in fifteen minutes."
He hung up and looked at me. "Emergency meeting. All partners. Sandro said you should come too."
Fear spiked through me. "What happened?"
"He didn't say. But it's serious. Get your shoes. We need to go now."
The conference room at Inferno was tense when we arrived.
Sandro sat at the head of the table, laptop open, expression grim. Matteo stood by the window radiating barely controlled violence. Luca looked composed but his eyes were sharp. Alert. Stefan sat next to Matteo looking worried.
Elio and I took seats. His hand found mine under the table. Squeezed once.
"What's going on?" Elio asked.
Sandro turned his laptop so we could see the screen.
"I got a call from our contact in Chicago twenty minutes ago.
Winston's been talking to the FBI. Specifically, he's claiming he has 'eyes inside the Vitales.
' That he can make the case against you come back to life if they give him a better deal. "
My stomach dropped.
"He's lying," Matteo said flatly. "He's desperate. Trying to seem valuable so they keep him in protective custody."
"Maybe. But there's a new agent handling this. Rebecca Watson's suspended, so they assigned someone else. Guy named David Reeves. He's younger. Ambitious. Looking to make his name." Sandro looked around the table. "And he's interested in Winston's claims. Interested enough to start digging."
The fear in my chest turned to ice.
They were going to think it was me. Of course they were. I was Winston's son. I'd only been here six weeks. I was the obvious suspect.
I opened my mouth to defend myself. To explain that I would never—
"We know it's not you, Julian," Sandro said before I could speak.
I froze. Stared at him.
"What?"
"It's not you. That's not even a question." Sandro's voice was matter-of-fact. Certain. "You've proven yourself. Given us everything. Helped us destroy your father's empire. You're not playing double agent."
"Anyone who betrayed their own father to help us isn't suddenly going to turn around and work for the FBI," Luca added. "That's not how this works."
Matteo nodded. "You're one of us now. We trust you."
They trusted me. Without question. Without suspicion. Without demanding I prove my loyalty.
My father had never trusted me. Not once in twenty-one years. Every conversation had been a test. Every action scrutinized for signs of betrayal. Every relationship monitored because he assumed I'd use it against him.
These men had known me six weeks and trusted me completely.
I felt my throat tighten. Forced myself to breathe evenly. This wasn't the time to get emotional.
Under the table, Elio's hand squeezed mine again. When I glanced at him, his expression was soft. Understanding.
"Thank you," I managed. "For believing me."
"We're just acknowledging facts,” Sandro said. “You're not the mole. Which means Winston either planted someone months ago as insurance, or he's completely lying. We need to figure out which."
"If he planted someone, it was before Julian ran," Elio said. "Before any of this started. Insurance policy in case things went wrong with the Bianchi-FBI arrangement."
"That's Winston's style," I said quietly. "He always had backup plans. Contingencies. He never fully trusted anyone, including his own people. He would've had informants everywhere. Even in his enemies' organizations."
"Then we need to find them," Sandro said. "Immediately. Before Agent Reeves gets convinced Winston's telling the truth and decides to pursue a new case."
I sat up straighter. "I can help. I'm good at finding patterns in data. Financial irregularities. That's what my forensic accounting internship was for. Let me look through your employee records. Financial transactions. Access logs. If someone's being paid by my father, there'll be a trail."
Elio looked at me. "Julian, you don't have to—"
"I want to help. Please. Let me be useful."
Sandro considered this. Looked at Elio. "Use every resource we have. Find the leak. Fast."
An hour later, I sat in Elio's security office surrounded by files and spreadsheets and data.
We'd pulled employee records going back two years. Financial information, access logs, attendance patterns, everything we could think of that might show unusual activity.
Elio worked beside me, reviewing security footage and communication logs. We made a good team. He handled the security angle. I handled the financial analysis.
"Anything?" he asked after the first hour.
"Not yet. Everyone's financial information looks clean so far. Salaries match positions. No unusual deposits or withdrawals." I rubbed my eyes. "But there has to be something. Winston wouldn't risk claiming he has informants unless he actually does."
"Unless he's desperate enough to lie."
"Maybe. But that's not his style. He only makes claims he can back up. Control through information. That's always been his approach." I pulled up another spreadsheet. "There. Look at this."
Elio moved closer. Looked over my shoulder at the screen.
"Expense reports?" he asked.
"Reimbursements. Most employees get them for work-related expenses.
Gas, meals during long shifts, things like that.
But look at these three." I highlighted the names.
"Tom Wright—night janitor. Amy Chen—part-time bartender.
Max Morrison—junior security guard on the weekend shift.
They're all getting small deposits that don't match submitted expense reports. "
Elio leaned in. "How much?"
"Five hundred to a thousand dollars a month. Irregular intervals but consistent over the past six months. The amounts are small enough not to trigger automatic fraud detection. But they're there."
"Could be legitimate bonuses. Performance incentives."
"Except they're not going through payroll. They're direct deposits from an external source." I clicked through more data. "And none of them are documented in HR records. No bonus authorization. No paper trail. Just money appearing in their accounts."
Elio's expression shifted. "That's suspicious."
"Very." I opened a new window. Started tracing the deposits back through banking records. "The money's coming from shell companies. Multiple layers. Someone put effort into hiding the source."
I worked through the corporate structures systematically. Using everything I'd learned during my internship. Following the money through holding companies and subsidiaries and deliberately convoluted ownership structures.
Elio watched me work. I could feel his eyes on me. Feel his attention. When I glanced up, he was looking at me with something like pride.
"What?" I asked.
"You're brilliant. I knew you were smart but watching you work like this—" He shook his head. "You're really good at this."
Heat rose to my face. "I'm just following basic forensic accounting procedures."
"Most people couldn't do what you're doing right now. Trust me." He leaned down and kissed my temple. "Keep going. Find out where that money's really coming from."
I went back to work. Followed the trail through three more layers of corporate structure. And then—
"There." My voice came out sharp. Certain. "The money's coming from accounts connected to Bianchi family operations."
Elio went very still. "Winston's accounts?"
"Not his main ones. Subsidiary operations.
Companies that handle logistics and distribution for Bianchi interests.
But they're definitely connected to my family.
" I pulled up more records. "Look at the timeline.
These deposits started seven months ago.
Right around when Winston's arrangement with Rebecca Watson was at its peak.
He was setting up insurance. Planting people inside Inferno in case everything fell apart. "
"Three moles," Elio said quietly. "Not one."
"Three. Low-level employees who wouldn't draw attention. But with access to useful information. Schedules. Shipments. Who comes and goes. Not critical details but enough to be dangerous."
"Enough to convince the FBI there's ongoing criminal activity worth investigating."
I looked at him. Saw the controlled fury in his eyes. Recognized it because I felt it too.