Chapter 23 The Campaign Office Raid #5
Enzo stepped toward her, forcing his body between her and the door, like proximity could block poison. “Listen to me.”
Her face twisted toward him. “That’s you.”
“Yes,” Enzo said. He didn’t let himself look away. “It’s me. Which means they’re using me to break you.”
The recorded voice shifted, softer. “Valentina… you can’t trust Enzo. He’s the reason your documents are at risk.”
Valentina’s breath came in short, broken bursts. “My documents - ”
Enzo cut in hard. “They’re trying to make you think I’m the mastermind.”
Her gaze locked on his, and the fear in it was so raw it hurt. “Then prove it.”
Enzo’s instinct was to reach for her hands, to anchor her to his body, to make certainty out of touch.
But the trap wasn’t only in the corridor. It was in her reaction. The mastermind wanted her to question him. Wanted her to turn away while they moved the sealed pact.
He forced himself to stay still. “I can’t prove it to a recording. I can only act.”
Valentina’s voice cracked. “Act like what? Like you’re clean while I’m being set on fire?”
Enzo’s jaw clenched. He hated that she was right. Every action he took could be edited into guilt.
The ceiling speaker clicked again. Another line of his voice - this time more urgent, as if the recording wanted to mimic panic. “If you go in there, they’ll arrest you. They already have the paperwork. Valentina, give me the routing authorization. I’ll fix it.”
Valentina flinched at the word routing authorization like it had teeth.
Enzo’s mind snapped to the visitor badge M. G. The mastermind was building a narrative that sounded legal, that sounded plausible, that put Enzo in the role of the manipulator. They were using the same legal architecture that had once protected The Shadows - now to trap them.
Valentina’s fingers fumbled at her phone. She didn’t bring it out to call someone. She brought it out to check something - maybe her microphone status, maybe whether her earlier audio still lived somewhere.
Enzo saw the screen glow pale blue. Her thumb hovered.
“Don’t,” Enzo said.
Valentina looked at him. “How do you know what’s on my phone?”
“I know what they want on it,” Enzo answered, voice rough.
The recorded voice continued, almost pleading. “Valentina, please. You have to believe me. Donato is gone and Enzo is - ”
The speaker cut off mid-sentence.
A new sound filled the corridor - footsteps, not in front of them, but from inside the archive door. Someone moved quickly, then stopped like they were listening for Enzo’s response.
Enzo’s hand tightened around the door handle.
Valentina grabbed his wrist. “If you open it, you’ll confirm what they want. They’ll say you attacked. They’ll say you forced access.”
Enzo stared at her hand on him. Her skin was warm. Her grip was trembling but determined.
He wanted to tell her the truth: that he would rather burn than let her be used as a pawn. That his life had been shaped by violence and control, and every time he tried to give her a choice, someone shoved the choice aside and called it consent.
But he couldn’t afford honesty that made him look guilty.
He could feel the mastermind’s hook already in the moment.
Enzo released her wrist carefully, slowly, so it wouldn’t look like a threat. “Then we don’t open it.”
Valentina blinked, stunned by the restraint.
Enzo leaned closer to the door. He pressed his ear to the glass just enough to catch muffled sounds - paper rustling, a soft electronic hum, like a device running on battery power.
He didn’t hear voices anymore. Whoever was inside had moved the documents - or was moving them now - and was waiting for the raid to become evidence.
Enzo pulled back and met Valentina’s gaze. “They’re in there, but they’re not staying.”
Valentina’s eyes flashed with anger and grief at the same time. “Donato Greco is gone.”
Enzo nodded once. “And he didn’t leave alone.”
Her breath shuddered. “So what do we do?”
Enzo looked at the ceiling vent microphone. He could almost imagine it smiling. The mastermind wanted them to react on camera, wanted their fear to be part of the proof.
He stepped away from the door and toward the corridor’s side panel - an access conduit near the baseboard. He’d seen similar wiring in the safe room earlier, had learned how the earlier microphone feed had been hidden.
He didn’t have time to be gentle.
He knelt and pried the panel open with the same tool he’d used to disable earlier traps. The metal scraped, loud in the swallowed acoustics of the hallway.
Valentina’s eyes widened. “Enzo - ”
He ignored the warning and reached into the wiring. He located the small junction box attached to the microphone line. He could cut it, could sever the feed, could stop the mastermind from talking through him.
But if he cut it, the mastermind would have a clean record of “interference.” The legal trap would snap shut.
He needed a different solution.
He lifted his gaze to Valentina, and in her eyes he saw the question she couldn’t ask out loud: Will you choose me, or will you choose the documents? Will you choose control, or will you trust?
Enzo’s throat tightened.
He forced his voice steady. “