Chapter 17 A Bodyguard’s Loyalty Test
A Bodyguard’s Loyalty Test
The corridor outside Valentina’s secured penthouse suite smelled like cold metal and expensive citrus - someone had tried to scrub the air clean, and it only made the sterile hush sharper.
Enzo stood half in shadow beside a locked stairwell door, one hand braced on the wall, the other around a burner phone he’d kept low against his coat.
The cameras overhead blinked their patient little lights, recording everything he couldn’t afford to miss.
On the other side of the door, Valentina was inside with her own protectors - people he’d assigned, people he trusted because he’d built their loyalty with consequences, not promises.
And yet the message from the man in black gloves was still burning in Enzo’s skull: trapdoor clause, midday trigger, Donato Greco’s name used like a knife.
The handler had been too confident. Too precise.
Like he’d heard Enzo’s thoughts and borrowed his voice to speak them.
Enzo had chosen to chase the betrayal lead because he couldn’t let the unknown handler keep steering the board.
Valentina was temporarily secured nearby, but “secured” didn’t mean “safe.” Not when the enemy had already been close enough to tamper with a decades-old sealed pact = a centuries-old agreement protected by resin and a stamp - tampering meant someone knew where to press, where to cut, where to leave a seam.
A soft chime sounded from Enzo’s burner phone - one short tone, then silence.
He didn’t answer immediately. He listened first, because the building always told the truth in its own language: the faint click of a relay, the distant elevator whir, the soft drag of someone’s shoes that tried to pass itself off as casual.
The next sound was worse.
A voice came through the phone speaker - male, warm, controlled. Enzo recognized it with a punch of nausea because it carried the exact cadence he used when he wanted obedience without asking for it. “Enzo. You don’t have to do this alone.”
His jaw locked. He hadn’t spoken into this burner. He hadn’t recorded anything. He’d been careful with every connection since the first time he realized the Shadows weren’t just being attacked - they were being guided.
The voice continued, using Enzo’s tone like a glove: “Hold position. Your people are already where they need to be.”
Enzo’s first instinct was to rip the phone apart, to smash it until the speaker went dead.
His second instinct - sharper, uglier - was to consider why the handler would bother imitating him at all.
If the enemy wanted compliance from Enzo, they could’ve used threat, bribery, leverage.
Instead, they chose familiarity. They chose identity.
Enzo’s gaze flicked up to the camera above the stairwell door. Its lens reflected his face in a warped little slice - dark eyes, tight mouth. He slid the phone into his coat like it might bite him, then drew in a breath that tasted faintly of disinfectant and rain carried in from somewhere below.
When he turned his head, Vito was at the far end of the corridor, moving with the measured patience of a man who could wait out a storm. Vito’s expression didn’t change, but his body shifted - shoulders angled, stance ready - like he’d felt the same wrongness. “You got the call.”
Enzo didn’t ask how Vito knew. Vito always knew. “It’s not a call.” He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “It’s my voice. Pulled from somewhere.”
Vito’s eyes sharpened. “Then they’re close.”
“They’re not close.” Enzo’s fingers curled against the wall. “They’re inside. Or they’ve been inside long enough to learn what I sound like when I’m ordering someone to stand down.”
Vito’s attention moved to the door behind which Valentina was waiting. “Your people - ”
“Are compromised, or they’re being made to look compromised.” Enzo swallowed something bitter. He hated that both options tasted like loss. “Either way, I’m not leaving her alone with the enemy’s script.”
Vito stepped nearer, close enough that Enzo could smell the tobacco and citrus on him - his own scent, always controlled. “You said you were chasing betrayal leads. That doesn’t mean you ignore the rest.”
Enzo looked at him, and for a second the hallway felt too narrow for the weight of everything they’d already lost. “I’m not ignoring it. I’m testing it.”
Vito’s mouth tightened. “And if the test fails?”
Enzo didn’t answer right away. In the silence, the camera’s tiny light blinked again.
The elevator dinged somewhere distant. Somewhere above, a guest laughed, a sound muffled by thick walls and money.
Normal life continued like it didn’t know it was being watched by men who counted signatures and stamps like prayer.
Enzo finally spoke, voice low. “Then I stop what happens next.”
He turned back to the stairwell door and pressed his ear against it.
Thick insulation kept most sound out, but not everything.
He heard the faint hum of a security panel inside - someone had installed extra coverage for Valentina.
He also heard something else: a soft, deliberate tapping. Not random. Not nervous.
A code.
Enzo’s skin prickled. Valentina’s protectors wouldn’t tap like that. They didn’t play games with signals when the enemy was already using his voice.
He stepped away and motioned for Vito. “Watch the corridor. If anyone comes through that door, I want eyes on their hands.”
Vito’s response was immediate. “Always.”
Enzo reached for the handle of Valentina’s suite door - his assigned access should’ve opened it. Instead, the lock didn’t give. A red light glowed once, then went steady. Access denied.
He stared at it, cold anger blooming in his chest. He’d been allowed in earlier. He’d spoken to the team. He’d verified the security protocols himself. So either someone had overridden the system, or his access had been invalidated.
Or - worse - someone wanted him kept outside.
Enzo took a step back, then pulled the burner phone back out. If the handler was using his voice, he could be feeding false commands through the building’s network. Enzo pressed a button and brought the call back up. The handler didn’t hesitate to fill the silence.
“Enzo.” The voice had that same smooth reassurance. “You’re making noise. That’s not loyalty. That’s panic.”
Enzo’s throat tightened. “Who are you?”
A pause, just long enough to imply amusement. “You already know what I am. I’m the one who can make sure the sealed pact = a centuries-old agreement protected by resin and a stamp doesn’t survive the hour.”
Enzo’s blood went colder. The handler didn’t just want Valentina. He wanted the pact, and the pact meant The Shadows. The enemy wasn’t aiming at a person - he was aiming at the structure holding the family together.
Enzo forced his voice steady. “You used my voice recordings.”
Another soft chuckle. “Borrowed. Like you borrow protection. Like you borrow loyalty.”
Vito moved beside him, silent but present. Enzo glanced at him, and Vito’s expression said the same thing Enzo couldn’t afford to say aloud: This is bigger than a corridor. This is a trap built around identity control.
Enzo spoke into the phone anyway, because refusal wouldn’t stop bullets. “Let her keep her breath.”
The handler’s tone shifted - subtly, like a knife sliding under skin. “She’ll keep it. If your protector does his job.”
Enzo’s stomach turned. “Protector.”
“You have someone loyal.” The handler’s voice softened, almost affectionate. “Too loyal to your rules. That’s why it’s useful.”
Enzo’s gaze snapped to the stairwell door again. The tapping had stopped. The silence after it felt like a held gun.
He ended the call without waiting for permission. The handler would be listening. He’d be recording. But Enzo had something else now: a new direction. Not just “confirm protector compromise,” but “find out which one is being steered.”
Vito leaned in. “Your access is blocked.”
Enzo nodded. “My people are being handled.”
A man could survive a lot in this world - hunger, bruises, betrayal. But identity theft? Identity manipulation? That was worse. It meant the enemy could make anyone sound like Enzo. It meant the enemy could make Enzo order the wrong thing.
Enzo pulled open the stairwell access panel, ignoring the small alarm beep that protested his touch. He didn’t have time to be polite with systems. He’d been polite for too long. He’d let the conspiracy breathe while he pretended it was contained.
The panel resisted once, then gave with a reluctant click. Inside, wires ran like veins behind the metal. Enzo didn’t touch them. He just stared at the network port, the way the cable routing looked - too neat. Too intentional. Someone had been here recently, rerouting for a clean feed.
He lifted his hand and hovered. The air felt charged, like the building itself expected him to make a mistake.
Vito’s voice came low behind him. “Enzo.”
Enzo didn’t look back. “What?”
Vito hesitated, and that hesitation was the first crack in his composure. “There’s movement in the suite. Not Valentina. Not her tech.”
Enzo’s stomach clenched. “How many?”
“Two.” Vito’s eyes tracked the hallway camera line. “One is in uniform. The other’s hands are… wrong.”
Enzo finally turned, and Vito’s expression told him what he meant. The uniform - Valentina’s security detail used dark tailoring with subtle insignias, nothing flashy. The hands - those were the hands of a man who’d learned to mimic, not to belong.
Enzo’s instincts screamed that the enemy had placed an impersonator inside the secured area. Not to steal documents. Not yet. To test the protectors’ loyalty. To see who would follow a command that sounded like Enzo.
The red light by the suite door pulsed again. Access denied. The system wasn’t broken; it was obeying someone else.
Enzo drew in a slow breath, forcing his mind to stop racing. He needed to confirm who was compromised. He needed to do it without exposing Valentina to more violence than necessary.
“Get Elena,” Enzo ordered, voice controlled. “Now.”