Chapter 11 Julian #2
My father had done this. Months ago. While I was still at school, planning my escape, thinking I was being clever—he'd been setting up contingencies. Planting people. Making sure he had leverage even if everything went wrong.
He'd known. Not that I specifically would betray him. But that something might go wrong. And he'd prepared.
"I'm sorry," I said quietly. "This is my fault. My family—"
"No." Elio cut me off. Voice hard. "This is Winston's fault. Not yours. You're not responsible for what he did before you even got here."
"But if I hadn't come here—"
"Then you'd still be trapped in Chicago about to marry a man who hurt you. And we'd still have these moles, we just wouldn't know about them." He pulled me up from the chair. Held my face between his hands. "You found them, Julian. You're the reason we know. That's what matters."
I leaned into his touch. Let myself take comfort from his certainty.
"We need to tell Sandro," I said.
"We do. Come on."
Sandro's expression went cold when we showed him the evidence.
"Three of them," he said. Flat. Dangerous. "For seven months. What have they accessed?"
"Schedules mostly," I explained. "Shift rotations. Delivery times. Meeting calendars. Nothing classified but enough to establish patterns. Enough to tell the FBI when high-value targets might be on premises."
"Enough to build a harassment case," Luca said. "They can't get us on RICO anymore but they can make our lives difficult. Constant raids. Warrant everything. Turn Inferno into a liability instead of an asset."
Matteo cracked his knuckles. "We need to handle this. Now. Before they can report anything else."
"Agreed," Sandro said. "Matteo, Elio—bring them in. One at a time. Get confirmation they've been feeding information to the FBI. Find out what they've reported. Then eliminate the problem."
"I'm coming," I said.
Everyone looked at me.
"Julian—" Elio started.
"No. This is my fault. My father did this. I should be there when you confront them."
"It's not safe—"
"I don't care. I need to see this." I met Sandro's eyes. "Please. Let me be part of this."
Sandro studied me for a long moment. Then nodded. "You watch. You don't participate. Understood?"
"Understood."
***
We brought in Max Morrison first. The junior security guard. Weekend shifts. Twenty-four years old. Unremarkable in every way except the deposits in his bank account.
Matteo and Elio sat him down in an interrogation room I hadn't known existed. Basement level. Soundproofed. No cameras except the one Elio controlled.
I watched from the observation room through one-way glass.
Max looked nervous. Scared. He knew this wasn't good.
"Mr. Morrison," Elio said. Voice cold. Professional. "We've noticed some irregularities in your financial records. Care to explain the deposits you've been receiving from shell companies connected to the Bianchi family?"
Max went pale. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't lie." Matteo's voice was gravel. Dangerous. "We have documentation. Bank records. Corporate filings. We know exactly where the money's coming from. We know how much. We know how long it's been happening. The only question is what you gave them in exchange."
Max's hands shook. "I—they said it was just consulting. Just providing information about general operations. Nothing illegal—"
"Who contacted you?" Elio asked.
"A guy. Called himself Robert. Said he worked for a security consulting firm. Said they were doing research on nightclub operations. Wanted someone on the inside to provide schedules, attendance records, that kind of thing. Said it was all above board."
"And you believed him?"
"He paid well. I needed the money. My mother's medical bills—"
"What did you tell him?" Matteo leaned forward. "Specifically. What information did you provide?"
Max swallowed hard. "Schedules. Who was working when. When shipments came in. When the partners were on premises. When you had meetings. Just—just patterns. Nothing that seemed important."
"How often did you report?"
"Weekly. Through encrypted email. He'd ask questions. I'd answer. The money would appear in my account a few days later."
"When was your last report?" Elio asked.
"Today. He asked about this week's schedule. About whether there were any unusual activities planned. I told him—" Max stopped. Went even paler. "I told him about the emergency meeting this morning. About everyone being called in early."
The room went silent.
Cold dread flooded through me. If Max had reported the emergency meeting, and the FBI was monitoring his communications, they'd know something was happening. They'd know we were onto the moles.
They'd move fast to preserve whatever case they could build.
"Shit," Elio said quietly.
Matteo pulled out his phone. Called someone. "We've got a problem. Morrison reported this morning's meeting to his handler. If the FBI's monitoring—yeah. Yeah, that's what I'm thinking too. How fast can they move?"
He listened. His expression went dark.
"We need to lock down. Now." He hung up. Looked at Elio. "Sandro says there's chatter on police scanners. Multiple federal units mobilizing. They're coming. Today. Probably within the hour."
"We need to clean—"
"There's no time. They've got a warrant. They're already moving." Matteo stood. "Get Stefan somewhere safe. Get Julian—"
The building's alarm system went off. Loud and urgent.
Elio's phone buzzed. He checked it. Looked at me.
"They're here. FBI. Multiple vehicles. Agents assembling outside." His voice was calm but his eyes were intense. "Julian. Come with me. Now."
We ran.
Through hallways I'd never seen before. Down stairs. Through doors that looked like walls until Elio pressed hidden switches.
Behind us I could hear shouting. Doors being forced open. The sounds of a raid beginning.
"Elio—"
"Not now. Just stay with me."
We reached his office. He pulled me inside. Locked the door. Went to the bookshelf on the far wall.
He pressed something. The entire bookshelf swung inward on hidden hinges.
Behind it was a small reinforced room. Maybe eight feet by ten feet. Concrete walls. Steel door. Monitors showing different areas of Inferno. Supplies stacked in the corner. A chair. A small cot.
A safe room.
"Inside," Elio said. "Now."
"What—"
"Julian. Inside. Please."
I stepped into the room. Elio followed. Closed the bookshelf behind us. Sealed the steel door.
The sounds from outside cut off immediately. Soundproofed.
"What is this?" I asked.
"Safe room. Built when we first opened Inferno. In case we ever needed to hide someone or something during a raid." Elio pulled me close. Hands on my face. Eyes intense. "You stay here. No matter what happens. You don't come out for anyone."
"Elio—"
"Listen to me. The FBI is here. They've got a warrant. They're going to search everything. Question everyone. It's going to be chaotic and potentially violent and I need you safe. I need to know you're protected."
"But you—"
"I'll be fine. I know how to handle raids.
I've done this before." His thumbs stroked my cheekbones.
"But you—you're Winston Bianchi's son. If they find you here, if they connect you to us, if they figure out you're the one who provided the evidence against your father—Julian, they could arrest you.
Charge you with conspiracy. Use you as leverage. I can't let that happen."
"I can handle—"
"I know you can. But I can't." His voice cracked slightly. "I can't watch them take you. I can't risk losing you. So please. Please stay here. Stay safe. For me."
The desperation in his voice stopped my protests.
"Okay," I said. "I'll stay."
"Thank you." He kissed me hard. Desperate. "Don't come out for anyone. Not Sandro. Not Matteo. Not Stefan. No one. The only voice you respond to is mine. I will come back for you. I promise. But until then, you stay hidden. Understood?"
"Yes."
"Say it back to me."
"I stay here. I don't come out until you come for me."
"Good." Another kiss. Softer this time. "I love—" He stopped. Shook his head. "Stay safe. I'll be back as soon as I can."
He pulled away. Went to the door. Looked back at me one more time.
Then he was gone. The door sealed. The bookshelf swung shut on the other side.
I was alone.
***
The monitors showed twelve different angles of Inferno.
I watched federal agents pour through the front entrance. Dozens of them. Tactical gear. Weapons drawn. They moved with military precision through the club.
I saw them herd employees into the main floor. Separate them. Start asking questions.
I saw agents in Elio's office—the room I was hidden behind. They pulled open drawers. Rifled through files. One of them ran his hands along the bookshelf that concealed me. My heart stopped. But he didn't find the release mechanism. Didn't realize there was anything behind it.
They moved on.
I switched cameras. Found Sandro in the main office. A lawyer had arrived—tall woman in an expensive suit. She was arguing with agents. Demanding to see the warrant. Making them justify every action.
Another camera showed Matteo. He stood with his arms crossed, watching agents search the security office. His expression was controlled but I could see the violence simmering underneath. Stefan stood beside him. Matteo's hand rested on Stefan's lower back. Protective. Possessive.
Another camera showed Luca. He was talking to an agent, all charm and easy smiles. Making the agent laugh even as they searched his office. Deflecting with personality.
I found Elio on the hallway cameras. He was directing his security team. Telling them to cooperate. To record everything. To give the FBI no excuse to escalate.
He looked calm. Professional. In control.
But I could see the tension in his shoulders. The way his jaw was clenched. The careful control that meant he was barely holding it together.
I wanted to go to him. Wanted to help. Wanted to do something besides sit in this small room and watch.
But I'd promised to stay. So I stayed.
Hours passed.
The monitors showed agents searching every room. Seizing computers. Taking files. Photographing everything. They were thorough. Systematic. Professional.
I watched them search the financial office where I'd worked with Stefan.
Saw them take the computers where we'd been tracking legitimate transactions.
Would they find anything incriminating? Stefan had been so careful.
Kept everything clean. Separated the legal from the illegal so thoroughly that even extensive investigation wouldn't find connections.
But what if they did? What if something we'd missed gave them enough to build a case?
I watched them search the private conference room where we'd planned Winston's downfall. Where I'd given them the information about my father and Rebecca Watson. Where I'd suggested using Valentino as a cover for the leak.
What if they found evidence of those discussions? What if someone had recorded something? What if—
Stop. Stop spiraling. Focus.
I switched cameras again. Watched Elio conferring with Sandro and the lawyer. They looked grim but not panicked. This was bad but manageable. They'd prepared for this possibility. They knew what to do.
I checked the time stamp on the monitors. Three hours since the raid started.
Three hours of sitting in this small room. Watching. Waiting. Unable to help.
I hated this. Hated the helplessness. Hated watching people I cared about face danger while I hid.
But Elio had asked me to stay. Had looked at me with desperate eyes and asked me to trust him. To let him protect me.
So I stayed.
I switched to the exterior cameras. Showed the street outside Inferno. A crowd had gathered. Neighbors. Curious onlookers.
And one man with professional camera equipment. Standing apart from the crowd. Filming deliberately. Systematically. Getting shots of agents. Of evidence being carried out. Of everything.
I zoomed in on his face.
Valentino Russo.
The journalist I'd recommended. The one Luca had contacted to leak the Winston information.
What was he doing here? How did he know about the raid?
I watched him film for several minutes. Saw him get clear shots of federal agents. Of boxes being loaded into vehicles. Of everything that was happening.
This footage could bury us if he published it. Every agent. Every search. Every piece of evidence seized. All documented.
I saw security trying to approach him. Saw him disappear into the crowd before they could reach him.
I switched back to interior cameras. Looked for Luca. Found him in the main office with Sandro and Elio.
Did they know Valentino was outside? Did they realize he was filming everything?
I wanted to warn them. Wanted to tell them. But I couldn't break radio silence. Couldn't risk anyone hearing communication from the safe room.
So I just watched. And worried.
Four hours since the raid started.
I'd been alone in this small room for four hours. Watching people I cared about face federal agents. Unable to help. Unable to contribute. Just sitting here in the dark.
The fear was overwhelming.
Fear that they'd find something. Fear that someone would get arrested. Fear that this would destroy everything we'd built. Fear that Elio wouldn't come back for me. Fear that something would go wrong and I'd be trapped in here.
Fear that I'd lose him before I ever told him how I felt.
That last thought hit like a physical blow.
I was in love with him.
I'd known it for days. Maybe weeks. But sitting here alone, watching him face danger, terrified I might lose him—the knowledge crystallized into absolute certainty.
I was completely, irrevocably in love with Elio Marino.
And I'd never told him.
He'd almost said it this morning. "I love—" before cutting himself off. Changing the words to something safer.
We'd been dancing around it. Both feeling it. Neither saying it.
What if I never got the chance? What if something happened during this raid and I lost him before I could tell him?
The thought made my chest tighten. Made it hard to breathe.
I watched him on the monitors. Saw him directing security. Conferring with Sandro. Maintaining perfect control even as chaos swirled around him.
Come back to me, I thought. Please come back to me.
I need to tell you I love you. I need to say it out loud. I need you to know.
Five hours.
The raid was still ongoing. Agents still searching. Still seizing evidence. Still questioning people.
No sign of it ending. No sign of them leaving.
No sign of Elio coming for me.
I sat in the small room. Alone in the dark. Watching the monitors. Waiting.
Afraid.
In love.
And completely helpless to do anything.
The monitors showed Elio conferring with the lawyer again. His expression was grim but controlled. He looked tired. Stressed. But still standing. Still fighting.
I love you, I thought. Watching him on the screen. I love you and I'm terrified I'll never get to tell you.
Come back to me.
Please come back to me.