Chapter 49
The car ride back to London is silent, the kind of silence that presses against my lungs and makes each breath feel shallow.
Matt sits close, one hand cradling mine like if he loosens his grip, I might vanish into the chaos of everything that’s happened.
Was it really only thirty-six hours ago I walked into that meeting with the supposed investor?
His other arm stretches across the back of the seat, a shield I feel more than see. Every so often, his shoulder presses against mine, grounding me, tethering me to a world that suddenly feels impossibly fragile and unbearably solid.
Liam keeps catching my eyes in the rearview mirror, and Jonathan’s glances over his shoulder are less than subtle, but I can’t process their questions right now. Not while so much remains unresolved, not while the smell of blood and fear still clings to my clothes.
Una and Antonio ran the sex trafficking ring; that’s clear. But how did they know each other? What role does Antonio’s wife—Vera—play in all this? And Isabella… how could she have existed in this world without anyone noticing?
I haven’t spoken a word since we got in the car.
I can’t. My throat is raw, my hands still trembling.
The memory of Isabella’s wide, terrified eyes, the betrayal, and the metallic tang of blood in that room curls inside me like fire.
I want to scream it out, but instead I cling to Matt’s hand until my nails dig into his skin.
He doesn’t flinch; he lets me lean on him, lets me bleed out my fear in silence.
“Lily,” he murmurs, low enough for me to barely catch it over the hum of the engine. “Look at me, sweetheart.”
I do. Slowly. Cautiously. My gaze lands on his, and I find… relief. Safety. Home. I was so scared I’d never make it out of there. Scared that they’d break pieces of me before I managed to escape. God, I don’t know how Cora lasted weeks, how Helen lasted years under far worse conditions.
The only small relief is knowing this is the end.
Alice, Niamh, and the other girls are currently being taken to Seamus’ house, into the safety of the Points gated community, where Cora, Donna, Fiona, and Helen are waiting for them.
Jack, Seamus, and Owen won’t let any harm come to them now, and in a few hours, I’ll be somewhere none of this can touch me.
But first… Isabella. What does she know? Are there more girls hidden away? How deep does this go? Have we truly managed to finally shut this thing down? I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep until the answer to that last question is a loud and undeniable yes.
The car turns, headlights cutting through the misty London night, and I finally allow myself to breathe, shallow and shaking, but real as we pull up to the Pit.
Making our way through the Pit’s security measures, everyone moves fast and with purpose.
Jonathan, Liam, Aidan, Ciaran, Declan, Brennan—all of them operating with that quiet, lethal efficiency that makes my pulse slow just a fraction.
Even with my chest still hammering, I feel safer surrounded by them.
Matt guides me through the corridors, his hand never leaving mine, steady and sure. I realise with a jolt that I’ve never wanted to be anywhere more than right here—with him, warm and alive at my back, not hiding a single thing about our relationship.
Once we reach the room Ciaran practically calls home, reality crashes in.
Aidan leads Isabella to the middle of the room, hands bound loosely in front of her, eyes wide and glassy.
She hasn’t cried. Hasn’t protested as Aidan led her down here with a firm hand on the back of her neck.
She just stumbled along quietly and now remains frozen where he left her, eyes fixed on the floor like it might open up and swallow her whole.
“Sit her down,” Jonathan orders, voice calm and controlled.
His gaze flicks to me for half a second—checking in—before he turns back to the others.
“We need everything she can give us. How Una became involved with the Cosa Nostra. If there’s anyone else tied to this. Anything she knows could matter.”
Ciaran and Declan position themselves near one of the workbenches.
Liam and Aidan take up posts by the door, immovable, like nothing short of a bomb could get past them.
Brennan moves quickly, efficiently, securing Isabella to a metal chair before taking a seat beside Jonathan on some turned over crates.
I step closer, crouching down beside her, trying to anchor her with my presence, the rhythm of my own shaky breathing.
“We need the truth,” I add softly. “All of it. Now.”
She swallows, panic flickering across her face. “I-I can’t. They… they’ll—”
“They’re already dead,” I interrupt quietly, my voice low and unyielding. “The only people you need to worry about now are us.”
Her breath stutters.
“I don’t want to hate you,” I continue, forcing my voice to stay steady. “I really hope you’re just another girl trapped by awful parents, just like I was. But if you refuse to talk, we can’t help you.”
I lean in just enough for her to hear the truth beneath the threat.
“If you tell us everything—everything—we might be able to work something out. We’re not them. We don’t hurt people who tell the truth.”
Her eyes finally lift to mine.
“You tell us what you know,” I say softly, “and you survive.”
A tremor runs through her entire body.
“You can start,” I add, “by telling us who kidnapped me and how Una and Antonio got together.”
Her lips quiver. Her throat bobs as she swallows again.
And then—
She breaks.
“They have… had… ties. Connections,” she blurts, words tripping over each other.
“Interns—girls who would do anything to get promoted. All it took was handing out a business card and texting Papà when you arrived. Easy work. They always said yes. It’s how Nico recruited the girls he couldn’t charm. ”
She wets her lips, eyes flickering over my face.
“Ms. Rossi wouldn’t have even been in the building that day,” she rushes on. “She never even knew her intern came to our showcase.”
Declan’s jaw tightens, eyes narrowing. “How do you… know all this?” His voice is sharp, clipped, disbelief threading through the words like a knife.
Isabella swallows hard, eyes darting to the floor. “They wanted me involved. Told me I had to take a more active role, help keep things running. But I never wanted to. I never wanted any of it.”
Her hands tremble in her lap. “I just… watched. I listened. I learned. And I tried to stay out of it.”
Ciaran’s jaw flexes, anger coiling like steel cables in his muscles. He steps forward, arms folded tight. “How did they even meet? How old are you?”
“Twenty-one,” Isabella answers, voice trembling. “Mum… she always said it was on a girls’ holiday to the vineyards, but—”
He cuts her off with a curse, punching the wall hard enough to break the skin, the shock rattling the room. His eyes go wide, realisation hitting him like a physical blow.
“For the timeline to add up… she would have been pregnant with Matt. She went on that trip just before he was born.” He explains, and the betrayal sinks in like ice through bone.
Knowing his wife was cheating on him before Matt was even born, years before he caught her sleeping with her bodyguard—that’s got to hurt.
And how twisted is that? Una, married to Ciaran, secretly entwined with Antonio, and yet still sneaking around with some random bodyguard. Meanwhile, Antonio was married to Vera and plotting how to bring Una to Turin. A storm of lies and betrayal—a match made in hell.
“Fucking hell. I need a smoke,” Ciaran grunts, running a hand through his hair before making his way past the Finlay brothers. Declan shoots a look at Jonathan, then follows Ciaran out, leaving a heavy silence in their wake.
He might not be my favourite person right now, but the thought of just how thoroughly he’s been used by the women he’s loved… I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.
With a curse, Matt comes up behind me, his hand resting on my shoulder. I lean into it, letting the warmth anchor me as Isabella continues, her frantic brown eyes locked on mine.
“She told me that the only reason she stayed with Ciaran was to make sure the marriage contract was signed. That she needed to guarantee Matt would eventually be brought into the Cosa Nostra. And once that was done… she stepped back. But Papà… he wanted someone close enough to feed him information.”
“Jen.” The name slips out of my mouth like a curse, sharp and raw, hanging in the air as the pieces to the puzzle finally start fitting together. Una was feeding him information, but with the divorce, they lost their connection to Jonathan’s inner circle.
Matt stiffens immediately, every muscle tight as if ready to snap. His hand tightens on my shoulder, and I can feel the tension radiating from him.
“Those motherfuckers,” he spits under his breath, jaw working. His eyes flash, dark and stormy, fixed somewhere between Isabella and the thought of the people who manipulated all of this.
Isabella swallows, trembling, but keeps going.
“Everything… it was planned. From the start. Mum was supposed to follow Matt to Turin once he married Gianna. And Papà he… they”—her voice cracks, and I have to resist the urge to reach for her again—“they were supposed to be together. That was the plan.”
I glance at Matt. His fingers dig into my shoulder. His breathing is slow, measured, but the heat radiating off him is lethal, and I know he’s holding back the kind of rage that could burn the walls down.
“They wanted you ready for Nico,” Isabella continues, her words rushing now. “When Papà was gone, when Nico took his place, you’d be his second. Everything was planned with that in mind.”
“Jesus Christ,” Aidan hisses under his breath. Liam grunts in agreement, and one look at Jonathan’s face and his fury is obvious.