59. CHAPTER SIXTY
CHAPTER SIXTY
Alina
The loft felt different now.
Not unsafe.
Not exposed.
Just… watched.
She couldn’t explain it.
Couldn’t name it.
Couldn’t point to anything specific.
But something in the air felt heavier than yesterday.
She sat at the small table, notebook open, pen tapping against the page. Dante paced near the windows, scanning the street below like he expected danger to materialize out of thin air.
“Dante,” she said softly, “come sit.”
He didn’t move.
She tried again. “We can’t plan if you’re wearing a hole in the floor.”
That got him.
He exhaled, turned, and sat across from her.
“Okay,” he said. “Let’s plan.”
She nodded. “Let’s start with what we know.”
He leaned forward, elbows on the table, eyes locked on hers.
“Rossi’s hub is gone,” he said. “That buys us time.”
“Not much,” she replied.
He nodded. “The traitor is still feeding them information.”
“And they found the ranger station,” she added.
His jaw tightened. “Which means they’re close.”
She swallowed. “Closer than we want to admit.”
He didn’t deny it.
He reached for her notebook and pulled it closer.
“Okay,” he said. “We need to figure out who benefits from all this.”
She raised a brow. “Besides the Vescari?”
He shook his head. “No. This isn’t just them. The Vescari don’t leave notes. They don’t play psychological games. They don’t threaten from the shadows.”
She frowned. “So the traitor is acting alone?”
“Or with their own agenda,” he said.
She felt a chill.
“Which means,” he continued, “we’re not just fighting the Vescari anymore.”
She nodded slowly. “We’re fighting someone who knows you.”
His eyes darkened.
“Someone who knows us.”
She flipped to a clean page and wrote one word at the top:
Suspects
Dante watched her hand move.
“Luca?” she asked.
“No,” he said instantly. “Never.”
She nodded. “Marco?”
“Too loyal. Too predictable.”
“Elena?”
“He shook his head. “No. She’s too disciplined to play these games.”
“Rico?”
Dante exhaled. “He’s reckless, not calculated.”
She added him anyway.
“Anyone else?”
He looked away.
She waited.
Finally, he said, “Someone from my father’s old circle.”
Her stomach dropped. “Someone we haven’t even met.”
He nodded. “Someone who knows the old safehouses. The old routes. The old patterns.”
She closed her eyes for a moment.
“That makes this harder,” she whispered.
He reached across the table and took her hand.
“But not impossible.”
He pulled the notebook toward him and drew a rough map of the city.
“We need to hit the Vescari again,” he said. “Harder this time.”
She nodded. “Where?”
He circled three locations.
“Supply depot. Money drop point. Secondary comms relay.”
She leaned in. “We can’t hit all three.”
“No,” he agreed. “But we can make them think we will.”
She blinked. “A diversion.”
He smirked. “A big one.”
She felt a spark of adrenaline.
“And while they’re scrambling,” she said, “we go after the real target.”
He nodded. “Rossi.”
Her breath caught.
“Dante… that’s dangerous.”
He met her eyes.
“So is everything else.”
She swallowed.
“Okay,” she whispered. “Then we do it.”
He stood and walked to the window again, scanning the street.
She followed, standing beside him.
“Dante,” she said softly, “we’re good at this.”
He looked at her. “At what?”
“Planning,” she said. “Working together. Thinking like a team.”
He exhaled slowly.
“Yeah,” he murmured. “We are.”
She stepped closer.
“Whatever comes next,” she said, “we face it together.”
He turned fully toward her.
“Alina,” he whispered, “I’m not losing you.”
“You won’t,” she said. “Not if we stay smart.”
He brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.
“We will.”
She nodded.
“We will.”
They returned to the table, refining the plan, marking routes, timing windows, assigning roles.
Hours passed.
The sun shifted.
The city moved around them.
Dante went still. That feeling was back, the weight of eyes on him. He moved to the window, not abruptly, but with a predator’s deliberate quiet. He scanned the street, past the civilians, his gaze locking onto the man at the bus stop. The man wasn’t waiting. He was watching.
Alina joined him. “Dante…”
He shook his head. “Something’s wrong.”
She swallowed. “You think the traitor—”
“I think,” he said quietly, “they’re closer than we thought.”
She looked down at the street.
At the bus stop.
At the man standing there.
Hood up. Hands in pockets.
Not moving. Not talking.
Not looking at the bus schedule.
Just… standing.
Facing their building.
Her pulse spiked.
“Dante,” she whispered, “I think they already found us.”
He didn’t look away from the window. “I know.”