Chapter 20
DANTE
“I found him.”
Three words. And I know, before she opens the folder, before she spreads the papers across the table, that everything is about to change.
She’s standing in front of me in the library, hair loose over her shoulders, that folder pressed against her chest like a weapon she’s about to hand me. Her eyes are sure. Aren’t afraid. They’re certain.
Whatever she’s found, she believes it down to the bone.
And she came to me.
She spreads the papers across the surface. Shell companies. Phantom invoices. Seven years of blood money laundered through Cyprus and Panama. Her finger traces the routing path, and I don’t need a goddamn accounting degree to see what she’s built here.
Every thread connected. Every dollar tracked.
“How much?”
“Conservative estimate? Four to six million over seven years.”
Seven fucking years. Someone has been bleeding my family dry, and I never noticed.
“And this.” She pulls another sheet forward. “Elena’s payment. The two million that made her disappear. Different accounts, same routing architecture. Same hand.”
I freeze.
“You’re telling me whoever’s been stealing from us also paid your sister to sabotage our wedding.”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
She doesn’t answer. Just turns to the final page and slides it toward me.
One signature. Over and over. Authorizing every inflated invoice, every phantom payment, every dollar that vanished into offshore accounts.
Fabio Romano.
The floor drops out from under me.
Thirty-two years. He was at Papa’s funeral.
Cristo.
And the whole time, he was selling us to our enemies.
Goddamn him.
“There’s more.” Cassia’s voice stays steady. She pulls out a final set of documents. “Call logs. Encrypted communications from a personal phone. Twenty-three calls over four months to numbers that trace to Benedetti-adjacent contacts.”
The Benedettis. Our rivals. The family that’s been circling like vultures, waiting for weakness.
The son of a bitch hasn’t just been stealing. He’s been informing. Feeding them our plans, our vulnerabilities, our secrets. Every move we’ve made for God knows how long, they’ve known about in advance.
“Marco found these,” Cassia says. “He brought them to me.”
My head snaps up. “Marco.”
“He’s been suspicious of Romano for months. He gathered the call logs on his own. Brought them to me because.” She pauses. “Because he knew you’d question how he got them.”
My youngest brother. The one I’ve kept at arm’s length. The one I’ve assigned to perimeters and gate duty while his older brothers made decisions.
He saw what I missed. And he went to my wife because he didn’t trust me to listen.
Cazzo.
That’s on me. I’ll deal with it later.
Right now, the traitor.
I look at the evidence spread across the table. Every document. Every connection. Every piece of proof that a man I’ve known my entire life has been destroying us from the inside.
“You’re certain.”
“The signatures match. The routing is identical. The call logs confirm the Benedetti connection.” She meets my eyes. “He’s not just a thief, Dante. He’s a traitor.”
“Why?” The question comes out rough. “Why did you do this? You could have stayed out of it. Could have served your time and walked away. No one asked you to hunt down a traitor.”
She’s quiet. Her hands fold in front of her, the way they do when she’s gathering her thoughts.
“Because I refuse to be the worse option.”
The air leaves my lungs.
“Elena was supposed to stand here. Elena was supposed to be your wife.” Her voice is steady, but there’s a wound underneath that’s bleeding. “I’m not her. I can’t be her. But I can be this.” She gestures at the papers spread across the table. “I can protect what’s yours.”
Her chin lifts. “That’s what I have to offer. And I wanted you to know I was worth something.”
Worth something.
She’s standing here with her chin up but braced for a hit.
Dio.
My father arranged a marriage to the wrong sister.
I cross the room. Take her face in my hands. Her skin is warm under my palms, her pulse jumping in her throat.
I don’t ask permission.
I kiss her like she’s the answer to a question I’ve been asking my whole life.
This isn’t the desperate hunger of my desk, papers scattering, both of us breaking. This is me claiming.
My mouth moves over hers with certainty. My hands hold her face like she’s mine and I’m reminding her. No hesitation, no question, no space between what I want and what I take.
She gasps against my lips. Her fingers curl into my shirt, pulling me closer, and I let her. Let her feel the solid wall of my chest, the strength in my arms, the promise in every press of my mouth to hers.
When I pull back, she’s breathless.
“Dante.”
“You’re mine.” The words come out low. Absolute. “Mia.”
Her eyes are bright. Shining.
I kiss her forehead. Let my lips linger.
Then I step back. The softness in my chest hardens into steel.
“Go to bed.”
She blinks. “What?”
“What comes next isn’t for you to witness.”
Her gaze drops to the phone in my hand. Back to my face. Whatever she reads there makes her go still.
“Romano.”
“Will be dealt with.” I keep my voice flat. “You’ve done your part. More than your part. Now let me do mine.”
She hesitates.
But she doesn’t argue.
“Okay.” She crosses to me. Rises on her toes. Presses one kiss to the corner of my mouth. “I’ll be waiting.”
Then she slips out the door, and I’m alone with the folder.
I dial.
Renzo picks up on the second ring.
“My study. Now.”
A pause. He knows that tone.
“On my way.”
Footsteps in the hallway. Renzo’s measured stride. The door opens.
My brother takes one look at my face and goes still.
“We have a problem.” I hand him the folder. “And I know who’s responsible.”