Chapter 29
Killian was moving around more than he should. Doc had been very clear: rest, no strenuous activity, keep the wound clean and dry. But Killian was Killian, stubborn, restless, and constitutionally incapable of sitting still when there was business to handle.
Bea had watched him that morning, wincing as he pulled on a shirt, his jaw tight with pain he refused to acknowledge.
“You’re going to tear your stitches,” she’d said.
“I’m fine.” He grunted out between his teeth.
“You got shot two days ago.”
“And I’m fine.” He’d kissed her forehead, then her mouth, lingering just long enough to make her forget the argument. “Stop worrying.”
But she did worry. She worried about all of them. Which was why, when Victor called an emergency meeting in the surveillance room and explicitly told her she wasn’t needed, Bea decided to make herself useful in other ways.
She’d grab food. Chinese. Everyone loves Chinese.
She didn’t tell them she was leaving, didn’t want to interrupt whatever Victor was briefing them on. She just slipped out the side entrance, took one of the less conspicuous cars from the garage, and drove into the city.
The restaurant was busy, the air thick with the smell of garlic, ginger, and frying oil. She ordered enough to feed a small army: orange chicken, beef and broccoli, lo-mein, fried rice, egg rolls, crab rangoon. She added extra fortune cookies because Nico had mentioned liking them.
The drive back to the compound felt longer than it should have.
Something prickled at the back of her neck, an instinct she’d learned to trust. The kind of feeling that said something’s wrong even when everything looked fine.
She shook it off.
Killian was recovering. The brothers had just told her they loved her. Victor was contained, even if he was a viper waiting to strike. Barb was tracing the money. Everything was moving in the right direction. Everything was fine.
The compound was too quiet when she returned.
Bea carried the bags of food through the side entrance, her heels clicking softly against the marble floors.
She expected to hear voices from the surveillance room.
The low rumble of Dimitri’s authority, Nico’s clipped questions, Killian’s occasional growl. Instead, she heard nothing.
She found them in the kitchen. All four of them, Dimitri, Killian, Nico, and Victor, standing in a loose circle around the island. The overhead lights were too bright, casting harsh shadows across their faces, making the white marble counter gleam like an interrogation table.
Dimitri’s expression was carved from stone. His jaw was tight, his blue eyes cold and distant in a way that made Bea’s stomach drop. But there was something else there too, something that looked like he was bracing himself for impact.
Killian looked tense, his massive frame rigid, his hands flexing at his sides like he was preparing for a fight. He tracked her movement as she entered, and she saw conflict warring in them, anger, confusion, protectiveness all tangled together.
Nico stood with his arms crossed, his boyish features twisted with something that looked like dread.
His dark eyes were troubled, his mouth pressed into a thin line.
He looked like he didn’t want to be here, like he wished he could be anywhere else.
Victor stood off to the side, his hair perfectly combed, his expensive suit immaculate, his expression calm and controlled.
A manila folder sat on the counter in front of him, along with what looked like financial documents spread across the marble surface.
He looked like a prosecutor about to deliver a closing argument. Bea’s pulse spiked.
She set the bags of Chinese food down on the counter slowly, her hands suddenly unsteady. “What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice carefully neutral. “You all look like someone died.” No one answered. Instead the silence stretched, thick and suffocating.
“You’re scaring me,” she said, her heart trying to beat out of her chest. “What is going on?”
Victor stepped forward, his movements precise and deliberate. He picked up one of the documents and held it up for her to see.
“Ms. Rossi,” he said, his voice smooth and cold. “Can you explain these wire transfers?”
Bea stared at the paper. It showed a series of transactions, large sums of money moving between accounts she’d never seen before. Dates, amounts, routing numbers. It looked official. It looked real. “What is that?” she asked slowly.
“Bank records,” Victor said. “Showing regular payments from an account registered to Marco Valenti to an offshore account in your name. The transfers started six months ago. The most recent one was three days after our hijacked shipment.”
Bea’s blood ran cold. “That’s not real,” she said immediately. “I don’t have any offshore accounts. I’ve never received money from Marco or anyone else.”
Victor’s smile was thin. He set down the first document and picked up another.
“Call logs,” he said, sliding the paper across the counter toward her. “Your phone number. Marco Valenti’s phone number. Forty-seven calls in the last three months. Some lasting over an hour.”
“That’s fake,” Bea said, her voice rising. “I haven’t talked to Marco in-”
“And text message threads,” Victor continued, pulling out printed screenshots. “Discussing shipment routes. Security protocols. Guard rotations.” He spread them across the counter like a dealer laying out cards.
Bea stared at the messages, her vision blurring. They looked like her number. They looked like conversations she might have had. But she’d never sent these messages. She’d never discussed any of this with Marco.
“This is bullshit,” she said, her voice shaking. “This is all fabricated. None of this is real.”
“The evidence suggests otherwise,” Victor said calmly.
“Evidence?” Bea’s voice cracked. “You did this! You’re framing me!”
Dimitri had been silent through all of this, his hands braced on the counter, his knuckles white. Now he looked up at Victor, his expression hard.
“How did you get these records?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous.
“I’ve been conducting my own investigation,” Victor said smoothly. “Given the fact that you three have been a little occupied and apparently not taking this seriously enough, I thought it prudent to look into everyone with access to sensitive information.”
“And you didn’t think to bring this to us first?” Killian growled. “Before ambushing her?”
“I wanted to be thorough,” Victor said. “I wanted to be certain before making accusations.”
“Well, you’re wrong,” Bea said desperately. She turned to Dimitri, then Killian, then Nico. “You have to believe me. I would never betray you. Any of you. This is all fake. He’s setting me up.”
Killian stepped forward, his jaw set. “I believe her.”
“Of course you do,” Victor said with a slight smile. “You’re fucking her.”
“Watch your fucking mouth.” Killian snarled.
Dimitri held up a hand, silencing them both. He looked at Bea, and she saw the conflict in his eyes, the desire to believe her clashing with the evidence in front of him.
“Sweetheart,” he said quietly. “I want to believe this is fake. I just don’t understand that if Victor is lying, what does he gain from framing you?”
“I don’t know,” Bea said, tears starting to blur her vision. “But I swear to you, I swear on everything I have, I would never hurt you. I would never work against you.”
Nico spoke up, his voice soft and troubled. “I believe you too. It’s just that these documents look legitimate. The routing numbers, the account information, I can verify these things, but it will take some time. If they’re fake, they’re very good fakes.”
“Then verify them!” Bea said desperately. “Check the accounts. Trace the calls. You’ll see none of this is real, I am not working with the Valentis!”
“We we, Bea.” Dimitri said. “Everyone just needs to take a breath. We will get to the bottom of these and Victor. If she has been framed, if you have something to do with this. You will die.” His words hung heavy in the air.
“Yes you fucking will and I get to do the pleasure of that.” Killian spoke through gritted teeth.
“This meeting is over, Victor go fuck off somewhere else. We’ll be in touch.” Dimitri round the counter and placed his hand on Bea’s low back to guide her out of the room.
“One more question for Beatrice.” Victor didn’t look nervous or worried. He just smiled at Bea. “Can you spare me one more moment of your day?” he said quietly.
Dimitri turned his anger easily displayed on his face. “No you fucking can’t.”
Bea laid her hand on his chest. “It’s okay, I’m not afraid of him.” She turned her attention back to Victor. “Ask your question.”
“Where did you go the other day?”
Bea starred back at him, with a confused look. “What? What are you talking about? " she spat back.
“Two days ago,” Victor said. “You left the compound. You were gone for several hours. Where did you go?” The room went completely silent, Bea knew the answer, and right now they wouldn’t believe her. Bea’s heart was pounding so hard she thought it might break through her ribs.
“I went out,” she said carefully. “I needed some air.”
“Where specifically?” Victor pressed.
“A shopping center downtown.” Bea said, her voice staying steady
“You went to a coffee shop,” Victor said. “Didn’t you?”
Bea’s stomach dropped. “How do you-”
“Who did you meet there?” Victor asked, his voice still calm, still controlled. “Who did you have coffee with?”
Bea looked at Dimitri, at Killian, at Nico. They were all staring at her now, waiting for her answer.
“A friend,” she said finally. “I met with a friend.”
“What friend?” Victor asked, his voice tight.
Bea closed her eyes. “It doesn’t matter.” Her words barely above a whisper.
“Who was it Bea? If it doesn’t matter then just tell us, so we can go.” Dimitri said.
“Please-” she tried to plea with him but he cut her words off.
“Tell me!” Dimitri’s voice cracked like a whip.