Chapter 30
Bea made it three blocks before the tears started.
She gripped the steering wheel so hard her knuckles went white, her vision blurring as Chicago’s lights smeared into streaks of gold and red.
The city looked beautiful at night, deceptively so, like it was trying to trick her into believing the world wasn’t ending.
Her phone sat in the cup holder, screen dark and silent.
She grabbed it with shaking hands and scrolled through her contacts until she found his name. The phone rang twice before he picked up.
“Bea?” Marco’s voice was warm, easy, completely unsuspecting. “Hey, what’s-”
“He had photographs.” Her voice cracked on the word, tears spilling faster now. “Victor had photographs, Marco. Of us. Years of them. The coffee shop, that bar we went to a year ago, the hotel from years ago when we first-”
“Whoa, whoa, slow down.” Marco’s tone shifted immediately, sharper, more alert. “What are you talking about? What photographs?”
“Someone’s been watching us,” Bea choked out, her breath hitching.
“For months, maybe longer or someone found a way to get them, I don’t fucking know.
He had pictures of us together, old ones, recent ones, and he showed them to the guys and they, they thought I was working with you, that I betrayed them, that I-”
“Wait, wait. Back up.” Marco’s voice was harder now, the easy warmth completely gone. “Victor showed photographs of us to who? To the Marchettis?”
“Yes.” Bea swiped at her face with the back of her hand, her vision still blurred.
“He called a meeting. He had this whole presentation, Marco. Like he’d been planning this.
Pictures of us at that café on Monroe, outside that Italian place you love, getting into your car, walking together, laughing together-”
“Cazzo,” Fuck, Marco swore viciously. “How many pictures?”
“I don’t know, dozens? Maybe more?” Bea’s voice climbed higher, panic threading through every word. “Some of them were from years ago. That hotel in River North, remember? When we first…God, Marco, someone’s been following me for years.”
“Or following me,” Marco said, his voice tight with barely controlled fury. “Where are you right now?”
“Driving.” She could barely see the road through her tears. “I’m driving home.”
“Okay. Good. Stay on the phone with me.” There was movement on his end, the sound of keys jangling, a door opening. “What did Victor say? What exactly did he tell them?”
Bea’s breath hitched. “He said I was feeding you information. That I was your inside source. He had bank statements, Marco. Fake ones, I think, but they looked real. They showed money being transferred to an account in my name, hundreds of thousands of dollars over the past two years.”
“Figlio di puttana.” Son of a bitch, Marco’s voice was pure venom now. “That manipulative piece of shit. What did the guys say? What did they do?”
“They-” Bea’s voice broke completely. “They looked at me like I was a stranger. Like everything we’d been building meant nothing.
Nico wouldn’t even look at me. Dimitri was so angry, Marco, I’ve never seen him like that.
And Killian, he just, he just stood there like his whole world was ending and I-”
“Bea, breathe. I need you to breathe for me.”
“I tried to explain,” she sobbed, her hands shaking so badly she had to grip the wheel tighter. “I told them it wasn’t true, that I would never, but Victor had so much evidence and it all looked so real and they, they didn’t believe me. They thought the worst of me. After everything, they just-”
“Listen to me.” Marco’s voice cut through her spiral, sharp and commanding. “This is not your fault. You hear me? If someone’s been watching you, or watching us for that long, that’s not on you. That’s fucked up and invasive and I’m going to find out who the hell—”
“It was Victor,” Bea whispered. “It had to be Victor. He orchestrated all of it.”
“Then Victor is a dead man walking,” Marco said flatly, and the cold certainty in his voice sent a shiver down Bea’s spine. “Did they kick you out? Did they hurt you?”
“Dimitri told me to get out, but no one hurt me…physically anyway.”
“Fuck, okay.” She could hear him moving faster now, the sound of a car door opening. “I’m getting in my car right now. I’m grabbing food and I’ll be at your place in an hour. We’ll talk then. Just, just get home safe, okay?”
“Marco, I-” Bea’s voice cracked. “What if I did this? What if I was too careless? What if someone saw us because I wasn’t careful enough, obviously I wasn’t, I should have just told them and-”
“Stop.” Marco’s voice was firm but gentle. “Stop right there. We’ll talk about this when I see you, but Bea, you did nothing wrong. Nothing. Do you understand me?”
Bea nodded even though he couldn’t see her. “Okay.”
“I’ve got you, Bea. You’re not alone in this. Now drive safe and call Barb. She needs to know what’s happening.”
The line went dead. Bea set the phone down and took a shaky breath. Then she scrolled to Barb’s name and hit call. Barb answered on the first ring.
“I’m on my way to you,” Bea said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Marco will be there in a bit.”
There was a pause, just long enough for Barb to process the tone, the tremor, the unspoken devastation.
“Drive safe,” Barb said simply.
No questions. No demands for explanation. Just absolute, unwavering loyalty.
“Okay,” Bea whispered. She hung up and drove.
The penthouse felt too big when she walked through the door.
Too quiet. Too empty.
Barb was already there, sitting on the couch with her legs tucked under her, a mug of tea in her hands. She looked up when Bea entered, and her expression shifted immediately, concern, anger, fierce protectiveness all rolled into one. She set the mug down and stood.
Bea didn’t say anything. She just walked into Barb’s arms and let herself be held.
Barb didn’t ask questions. She just wrapped her arms around Bea and squeezed tight, one hand rubbing slow circles on her back.
“I’m going to crawl into bed,” Bea said after a long moment, her voice muffled against Barb’s shoulder. “Marco will let himself in.”
“Okay,” Barb said softly. “I’ll be out here if you need me.”
Bea pulled back, nodded, and walked toward her bedroom.
She closed the door behind her, locked it out of habit, and collapsed onto the bed fully clothed. The tears came again, silent, relentless, soaking into the silk pillowcase. She cried until exhaustion pulled her under, dragging her into a fitful, dreamless sleep.
She woke to the sound of her name.
“Bea?”
Marco’s voice was soft, careful, like he was trying not to startle her.
She blinked, disoriented, her face sticky with dried tears. The room was darker now, the city lights filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows casting everything in muted gold.
“Marco?” Her voice was hoarse.
“Yeah, it’s me.” He appeared in the doorway, holding a tray laden with takeout containers. “Come on, beautiful. You need to eat a little something. Sit up and I’ll feed you.”
Bea pushed herself upright slowly, her body heavy and aching. She leaned back against the headboard and watched as Marco crossed the room, set the tray on the nightstand, and started plating food with the kind of easy competence that came from years of taking care of people.
He handed her a plate of her favorite, chicken alfredo, and sat on the edge of the bed.
“Open,” he said, holding up a forkful of noodles.
Bea opened her mouth automatically, and he fed her with the same tenderness he’d shown a hundred times before. When she was sick, when she was heartbroken, when the world felt too heavy to carry alone. She chewed slowly, tasting nothing.
“Marco,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “They didn’t believe me.” The tears started again, rolling down her face one after another, hot and relentless.
“I told them the truth and they, they just-” She couldn’t finish. Her chest heaved with sobs.
Marco set the fork down and reached for her face, cupping her cheeks in his hands and wiping her tears away with his thumbs.
“Babe,” he said gently. “I need you to listen to me and not talk until I’m done, okay?”
Bea nodded, her breath hitching.
Marco took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“They are not just normal men,” he said, his voice steady and serious.
“I am not a normal man. We are mafia men who must watch our backs twenty-four-seven, and we always must think the worst of those who are most loyal to us. Because the moment we let our guards down, we get killed.”
Bea’s lip trembled, but she stayed silent.
“Someone who has been ‘loyal’ to their family gave them so-called proof that you used them and betrayed them,” Marco continued. “I guarantee they did not, and still do not, want to believe that. But when Victor showed them proof, they let their mafia stupid-man brains take over.”
He paused, his dark eyes searching hers.
“This isn’t about you not being enough,” he said quietly.
“This isn’t about them not loving you. This is about survival.
This is about the game we all play, and the rules that keep us alive.
They reacted the way they were trained to react.
It doesn’t make it right. It doesn’t make it hurt less.
But it doesn’t mean they don’t love you. ”
Bea’s face crumpled.
“But I-” Her voice broke. “Marco, I should have been more careful. I should have known someone might be watching. I put you at risk. I put all of you at risk by being so close to you, by not thinking about how it would look, by…”
“Stop.” Marco’s voice was firm.
“No, listen to me.” Bea pulled away from his hands, wrapping her arms around herself.
“Maybe I was too obvious or stayed too long at that café, or, or didn’t check my surroundings enough.
I was a bitch to Victor, I knew he was slimy but I was careless.
I know better, Marco. I know better, and I got careless and now-”
“Bea-”
“Now they think I betrayed them!” Her voice climbed higher, edged with hysteria. “The men I have fallen so hard for, the ones I love, think I sold them out for money, and maybe, maybe I deserve it because I wasn’t honest up front, I wasn’t smart enough, I—”
“Enough!” Marco’s voice cracked like a whip, sharp and commanding.
Bea froze, her eyes wide.
Marco’s jaw was tight, his dark eyes blazing with an anger she’d rarely seen directed at anything in her presence. He stood up from the bed, pacing to the window, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.
“You want to know what you deserve?” he said, his voice low and dangerous.
“You deserve to have friends you can see without being stalked like an animal. You deserve to live your life without some paranoid bastard documenting your every move for years. You deserve to be trusted by the people who claim to love you.”
He turned back to face her, and the fury in his expression made her breath catch.
“What you do not deserve,” he continued, his voice rising, “is to blame yourself for Victor’s sick, twisted game. You do not deserve to carry the weight of his manipulation. And you sure as hell do not deserve to sit here and tell me that you brought this on yourself.”
“But-”
“No.” Marco crossed back to the bed in two strides, sitting down and taking her hands in his.
His grip was firm, grounding. “Listen to me, Bea. I am so fucking angry right now I can barely see straight. I’m angry at Victor for being a manipulative piece of shit.
I’m angry at whoever helped him get those photographs.
And yes, I’m angry at the Marchettis for not trusting you immediately, for not giving you the benefit of the doubt after everything you’ve done for them. ”
His voice softened slightly, though the anger still simmered beneath.
“But I am not angry at you. I will never be angry at you for this. Because you did nothing wrong.” “You were careful,” Marco said firmly.
“We both were. But when someone wants to take you out badly enough, when they have the resources and the time and the obsession, there’s only so much you can do.
This isn’t on you, Bea. This is on Victor.
This is on whoever helped him. This is on a system that teaches us to suspect the people we love before we suspect our enemies. ”
He squeezed her hands.
“You are not responsible for other people’s paranoia. You are not responsible for Victor’s vendetta. And you are sure as hell not responsible for the Marchettis’ inability to see past their own fear.”
“I think I love them, Marco,” Bea sobbed, her whole body shaking.
Marco pulled her into his arms, holding her tight as she broke apart against his chest.
“I know you do, babe,” he murmured, his hand stroking her hair. “I know. And I’m pretty sure they are falling down the same path. Even if they’re too stupid and scared to see it right now.”
They stayed like that for a long moment, Bea crying, Marco holding her, the city humming quietly beyond the windows.
Finally, Marco pulled back just enough to look at her, his expression softening.
“You sure you don’t want to run away with me and forget any of this happened?” he asked, his tone light and teasing.
Bea let out a wet, broken laugh and slapped his chest weakly. “Shut up.”
“I’m serious,” Marco said, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Alexei would be down, we would of course have to kidnap Vera but we could go to Italy. Eat pasta. Drink wine. Pretend we’re normal people. I’ll teach you how to make proper carbonara and you can yell at tourists with Alexei.”
“We’re never going to be normal people,” Bea said, but she was smiling now, just a little.
“True.” Marco’s expression sobered slightly. “But for what it’s worth, we’re going to catch Victor with his hand in the honey pot very soon. Barb said to tell you she went back to her appointment for a bit but she might have something, but she’s waiting on a call to confirm her findings.”
Bea’s breath caught. “Really?”
“Really.” Marco squeezed her hand. “She’s close, Bea. And when she finds it, you’re going to shove that proof right down their throats. You’re going to make them see exactly what Victor did, and they’re going to have to live with the fact that they doubted you.”
Bea nodded, fresh tears spilling over. But this time, they weren’t just tears of grief.
They were tears of hope.
“I’m going to run out and grab some ice cream, but first you need to eat, then shower.
” Marco said, picking up the fork again.
“You need your strength. Because when this is over, when Victor’s exposed and the truth comes out, you’re going to walk back into that house with your head held high.
And they’re going to have to earn your forgiveness. ”
Bea opened her mouth and let him feed her.
And for the first time since she’d walked out of the Marchetti compound, she felt like maybe, just maybe, she was going to survive this.
Maybe she’d even come out stronger on the other side.