Chapter 10 – Lazaro
Two days. Two days since the dinner, since the kiss, since everything started to feel like it was tilting just slightly off balance. And maybe it's not just the leak or the threat crawling beneath our walls—maybe it's her. Calista. That damn kiss. I haven’t been able to shake the taste of her mouth, the way she looked at me like she wanted to tear me apart and kiss me again all at once. It's a distraction, and I hate how much of one it’s become. I keep telling myself this is about strategy, about control—but every time I close my eyes, she’s there. It’s messing with my head, and that’s dangerous. I can’t afford distractions. Not now. Not when the walls are starting to crack.
I stand in the surveillance room, hands gripping the edge of the desk so hard, they ache. The room is crowded—three tech operators at their consoles, two armed guards stationed by the door, and Lucrezia's presence sharp and controlled beside me. The walls are lined with screens—dozens of them—each displaying feeds from across the estate, the city, and our external checkpoints. Some screens are grainy, others crystal clear, but all pulse with information. It's chaos disguised as order. I catch whispers between techs, notes being scribbled, keyboards clacking. My eyes move from one feed to the next, dissecting every movement, every lapse, trying to make sense of where we went wrong. The room is charged, everyone aware that something's unraveling beneath our feet.
The footage from the last arms drop plays again on the central screen. The timestamp glitches for a second—barely noticeable unless you’re trained to catch it. And I am. I catch everything.
“Roll it back,” I mutter to the tech at the console.
He rewinds, slows the feed down.
There it is. A patrol route left unguarded for exactly six minutes. Just enough time to let someone slip in—or out. Six minutes is a lifetime in our world—long enough to plant explosives, transfer shipments, or slit a throat and disappear.
Another screen comes to life. Security logs jump erratically, entire timestamps shifting by a few seconds—barely enough to notice unless you're trained for it. Patrols that didn’t report in on time, overlapping shifts that create gaps no one questioned—because someone made sure no one would. This wasn’t a simple oversight. Someone inside our walls engineered this.
Calculated. And dangerously close to slipping past us.
My pulse spikes. The urgency is razor-sharp now. We have to root this out fast, or everything we’ve built will start to rot from the inside out.
And I won’t let that happen.
"Something’s off," Lucrezia says finally, voice low. "This wasn’t a coincidence."
"No," I agree, eyes fixed on the screen. "The arms drop wasn’t compromised by chance. Someone knew the holes in our patrol schedule. Someone created them."
Lucrezia’s brow furrows. "But all protocols were cleared. Everyone’s been background checked. No one would dare cross you, Lazaro."
I shake my head. "Don’t be so sure. Fear wears off. Money talks louder. Maybe it’s someone new. Someone from the estate—someone who slipped through the checks."
"You think it’s an inside job?" she asks, tone skeptical but not dismissive.
"I’m sure of it," I snap. "These gaps—these misalignments—they’re intentional. Not the work of an outsider poking around. Someone’s inside the walls, Lucrezia. And they know how to cover their tracks."
"I’ll run deeper sweeps on the estate staff. Start with the most recent hires. Cross-reference every route, every clearance. If someone’s working against us, I’ll find them."
"Do it quietly," I add. "We spook the wrong person, and they’ll vanish before we get to them."
She nods and moves closer to the console, eyes scanning the flickering feeds.
"And what about Calista?" she asks eventually, not looking at me.
I hesitate. "What about her?"
"You think Calista could be involved in this?"
"No. She's sharp, but she has no idea about our operations. She's confined to her room most of the day, and with cameras monitoring her every move, I’d know if she were stirring anything up."
Lucrezia exhales, gaze calculating. "Then she could be a wildcard. Dangerous. But useful."
I shove her image to the back of my mind, but it clings stubbornly. Thinking about her now would only cloud my judgment—and I can’t afford that.
"Keep everything locked down," I order the tech. "No outside comms. I want every camera double-checked. Every patrol route reassigned. And I want eyes on everyone from the estate. Especially the new hires."
Lucrezia moves to the door, pausing just before exiting.
"What’s the next move?" she asks.
I stare at the screen—at the frames, at the gaps left behind like ghosts.
"We flush them out," I say. "We turn the trap they set into a coffin."
And this time, I’m going to be the one digging the grave.
XXX
I walk toward my office first with measured steps. Suspicion is already bubbling up beneath my skin. When I reach the large double doors, I signal the guards stationed nearby to start gathering everyone.
One by one, my inner circle begins to filter in—trusted officers, lieutenants, senior guards. Some look confused, others tense. The room slowly fills, the atmosphere thickening with apprehension. Conversations are hushed, eyes flick toward me every few seconds. I stay silent at first, letting the pressure build.
Finally, I stand at the head of the long war table, my hands resting on its edge, knuckles white from how tightly I grip it.
"Full audits," I say, each word clipped and razor-sharp. "Every report, every route, every transaction. I want eyes on everything. Nobody leaves, nobody moves without my clearance."
The murmurs swell, and I see several officers exchange glances. I hold their gazes, daring any of them to speak out of turn. Riven stands beside me—calm, expressionless, loyal as always. His presence is a pillar. But something about it today—about him—makes a part of me itch with unease I can't quite name. Riven has always been my anchor in this world, my most trusted shadow—the one who never misses a beat. He’s supposed to stay on top of things, anticipate every threat before it lands. I built half this empire with him at my side. So why didn’t he see this coming? Why didn’t he tell me?
I watch their faces, cataloging every tick, every muscle twitch, every heartbeat too loud. These are my people, my inner circle. I know their habits, their rhythms. Which is exactly why I can sense when something doesn’t sit right.
I called Calista here too—not because I think she’s involved, but because I want to read her reaction in real time. I want to see if her fire loses its spark under pressure. If she’s hiding anything, it’ll show.
She is standing at the far end of the room, arms crossed over her chest, eyes sharp but carefully blank. She’s playing it cool—but I know her now. I know her tells.
I turn to Riven, eyes narrowing slightly. "What adjustments have we made so far?"
Riven steps forward, his voice steady and composed. "We’ve begun reevaluating patrol grids across the southern checkpoints—shifting some rotations to avoid pattern predictability."
On the surface, it sounds harmless. Routine. But Calista shifts. Not much—just the slightest narrowing of her eyes, the subtle way her teeth press into her lower lip. Most wouldn’t even notice.
But I do.
I don’t let my gaze linger on her. I turn back to the rest of the room, issuing more instructions, keeping my tone even, sharp, commanding. But my mind is already working—anticipating every variable, plotting every possible angle. I keep scanning the faces in the room, reading reactions, gauging tension levels. My orders come out clipped and precise, but underneath, there's a storm building. Something isn't right—and I intend to peel back every layer until I uncover what’s festering beneath. If she's hiding something... if anyone is... I’ll find out. And there won’t be any mercy when I do.
XXX
"Do you ever knock? Oh my god," she snaps as I walk in without warning.
She’s in nothing but a plain black bra and sweatpants when I enter—her back half-turned, reaching for the sweater on her bed. The moment she sees me, her expression twists into one of pure disgust. She pulls the sweater over her head sharply, eyes narrowing as she glares at me. "What is it now? Another command, another threat?"
I keep my gaze steady. I’ve seen plenty of bodies before, and hers—bare skin and black lace—has never affected me. But it messes with my control more than I want to admit. I close the door behind me, letting the soft click echo between us.
"What do you know about Riven?"
She doesn’t falter. Her arms are folded, and that sharp, resolute stare meets mine like a challenge. "That depends on what you’re offering."
I raise a brow. "You want to negotiate with me now?"
"I want the document Noel stole—the blood pact. I’ve never seen it. I’ve seen the marriage contract, but not the full document. I want to know who sold me off to De Corsi."
I’m surprised. I thought she’d ask for her freedom—that would’ve been the obvious move. But maybe she knows this game too well. Maybe she already understands that I wouldn’t let her go so easily now—not when she’s tangled in this deeper than she realizes.
"Why does it matter now?"
She glares at me. "Because I can’t be at peace until I see it. I know it was my father. He wasn’t the most gentle man, but I need to see it. I need to know the condition. I need to know what I was worth to him."
My mind ticks, slow and sharp. Her words hit a nerve inside me—deeper than I want to admit. There's a gravity to them, a heaviness I can't ignore. She’s not asking for some symbolic closure—she’s making a move. And if she’s negotiating, it means she has information. I know this game. I invented it. She wouldn’t throw this into the conversation unless she was trying to tip the balance, unless she had leverage I hadn’t expected. But she’s not going to like what she sees. Not only that, she’s going to hate me even more than she does now.
"You really think seeing that ancient contract will give you peace?" I ask, voice edged.
"I think it’ll give me clarity," she snaps back. "And if I’m going to play your game, I need to know exactly what my father gave away."
I take a step closer, watching her carefully. "You want to trade intel for a contract that means nothing to you?"
"It means something to me. And you’ll get what you want in return. And trust me, it'll be worth it."
There’s silence between us, but it’s not empty. It’s charged, simmering. Neither of us says anything about the kiss, but we both know it’s on our minds.
I lean against the edge of her dresser, arms crossed. "You really think I’ll just hand it over because you asked nicely?"
"I think you’re desperate enough to hear what I know," she says coolly.
I narrow my eyes. "Try me."
"You try me first," she fires back. "Bring me the document, then we’ll talk."
I tilt my head. "You’ve got guts."
"And you’ve got leverage. But I’m not some pawn you can dangle on a string. You want loyalty, give me answers."
"You’re not loyal," I mutter.
"Then stop treating me like I should be."
I exhale slowly. Her defiance is a drug. Addictive. Dangerous.
"Fine," I say eventually. "I’ll bring you the document tomorrow."
She nods once, calm as ever. "I also want to be allowed to return to work at my studio."
That makes me laugh—low and sharp. "You’re not negotiating terms at a spa, Calla. You’re a prisoner, not on a retreat."
"I’m bored," she says simply. "Unless you want me picking locks, maybe give me something to do."
I smirk, despite myself. "You don’t get bored—you cause chaos."
"Maybe you should be grateful I haven’t started yet."
I step closer, pulled in despite every reason not to be. She’s not afraid of me—and damn if that doesn’t drive me insane. I can see the pulse ticking beneath her skin, steady and sure. There’s power in her calm, in her refusal to be intimidated.
"You’re playing a dangerous game, Calla," I say low.
"I’m already in the game," she replies, unblinking. "Might as well play it well."
I stare at her for a long moment, heat twisting low in my gut, but I take a step back. If I stay in her room for another minute, I’m going to kiss her again—and this time, I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop.
"I’ll bring the document tomorrow," I say again, voice rougher this time. "Then we’ll talk."
She gives me a small nod. Not victory, not submission—just acknowledgment. Like she’s already calculated her next move.
I turn and head for the door, but I pause just long enough to glance back.
She’s watching me, cool and composed. There's a small smirk on her lips.
And for the first time… I’m not sure who’s leading this game anymore.