Chapter 15 Enzo Breaks His Own Rules #4
Valentina’s eyes flicked to his, and she looked like she was deciding whether to give him everything or nothing. Finally, she tapped once and shoved the phone toward him - not handing it over, just letting him see.
The number on the screen didn’t have a name attached. Just a label: “Canale Legale.”
Enzo didn’t touch the phone. He memorized the digits like a vow. “The intermediary?”
Valentina swallowed. “That’s what he called himself. ‘The legal channel.’ Like it was a brand.”
Enzo’s gaze sharpened. “He used the same phrase as the routing authorization?”
Valentina nodded. “Because that’s how he made it sound official. Like he wasn’t a person at all.”
The stairwell slammed again. A metal-on-metal clang - the kind of noise that meant someone had kicked or pried the door.
Enzo’s blood cooled.
“Listen to me,” he said, and his voice went harder. “You’re going to give me the access details the moment we have the burner phone line. Not after. Not when you’ve calmed down. Now.”
Valentina’s mouth parted. “You think I can call - ”
“They’re wiping,” Enzo said. “Wiping doesn’t happen after the decision.
It happens before, while they’re making sure nothing can be traced.
If they’re wiping a list, they’re also wiping the ability to call back.
That means if we want the intermediary’s contact list, we need to reach it before it becomes nothing. ”
Valentina’s gaze went frantic. “You said you weren’t taking it.”
“I’m not taking it,” he repeated, and his hand finally slid to her wrist - not gripping, just anchoring. “I’m using you. You’re the only link they didn’t account for, because they assumed you’d be focused on the documents.”
Her breath stuttered. “And you’re assuming I’m the only one they didn’t account for?”
Enzo met her eyes. “I’m assuming they underestimated the way you fight.”
Something in her face shifted - pain and pride braided together. “You don’t know how I fight.”
“I know how you don’t stop,” he said. “Even when it costs you.”
The door above them rattled with fresh impacts. The maintenance room’s cheap hinges gave off a groan, like the building itself was warning them.
Valentina stepped closer and lowered her voice. “If you’re going to burn protocol, at least do it with purpose. Don’t just throw yourself into a wall.”
He let out a short breath, almost a laugh with no humor. “I’m not throwing myself. I’m stepping where you need me.”
Her eyes went hot. “That’s the same thing.”
Enzo leaned in, slow enough that she could pull away. She didn’t. He pressed a kiss to her knuckles where her phone sat, quick and controlled, and then he pulled back before the men outside could make them both regret it.
“Vito,” Enzo called, under his breath.
Vito’s voice came from somewhere beyond the room - quiet, steady. “I’m here.”
Enzo pointed toward the stairwell entrance without looking away from Valentina. “Get eyes on the door. I want to know how many and what tools they’re using.”
Vito’s reply was immediate. “Two. Maybe three. They’re not rushing like amateurs.”
Enzo’s stomach tightened. “Protocol says we retreat.”
Valentina’s lips curved, humorless. “Protocol can drown.”
He liked that answer. He hated that it meant she’d get hurt if he asked for anything more.
Enzo turned to her again, and his hand moved to the inside pocket of her coat. Not to steal - just to check. “Where’s the routing authorization?”
Valentina’s breath caught. “Why?”
“Because if they wipe the intermediary list, they’ll wipe the routing trail too.
I need to see the exact phrasing they tried to use as camouflage.
” He nodded toward the phone. “If the language matches what we found in the archive office - if it’s the same corridor clause - then the intermediary isn’t just a go-between. He’s a weapon.”
Valentina drew out the paper with a careful, deliberate motion, like the document could bite her. The routing authorization was thick, official, the ink too crisp to be honest. Under the dim bulbs, the edges looked almost greasy, like someone had handled it with gloves and impatience.
Enzo scanned for a specific line. The one that referenced a “legal intermediary channel” with a time window tied to public filing. His pulse kicked when he saw it.
It wasn’t just similar.
It was identical.
“Donato,” Valentina whispered, as if the name tasted like poison.
Enzo’s mind flashed back to the notary’s confession - half-true, coerced, the way the man had looked at Vito’s threats like he was waiting for permission to die. Donato Greco hadn’t been the mastermind. He’d been the bridge. A political intermediary. A lever.
Enzo looked at Valentina. “They’re using the intermediary as a trigger mechanism. If we route through him, we’re walking into the same cage.”
Valentina’s eyes narrowed. “Then why are we doing it?”
Because the alternative was slower, and slower meant they’d lose the chance to intercept. The conspiracy didn’t wait for their fear.