Chapter 26 Dominic
Chapter twenty-six
Dominic
I should be working. I should be down in the basement with Matteo, questioning the second mole that we’d found. Marcus Silvano. But here I am, sitting behind my desk like a pathetic fool, my mind drifting to the events of yesterday.
Bella, whom I now consider the first mole, had pointed an accusing finger at me; she had the audacity to look so broken.
She’s a traitor. I should know this, yet her words clung to me sharper than any bullet wound I’d ever taken.
I thought you cared…because I did.
And the way she looked at me after that…like I’d just confirmed that she was unlovable. Fuck!
I down another glass of whiskey, welcoming the burning fire I feel along my throat. I want nothing more than to rip her memory out of my head. Forget she ever happened and move on with life…like I usually do. But somehow it lingers, not just in my head but also in my fucking heart.
Setting the glass down, I rise to my feet and walk toward the window that overlooks the city.
It was probably supposed to be Elena at first, but since she ran away for God knows why, Bella took her place, following her father’s plan.
The whole plan with Bella was perfectly orchestrated.
Bella is a willing participant and I fucking fell for it.
I acted against my own rules… lowered my defenses so much so that when the truth hit me in the face, I couldn’t do anything about it. I couldn’t punish her…kill her…I couldn’t do what I usually would to traitors like her.
Wheels turn in my head as I watch the slow curve of traffic below me.
For the first time since all of this started, we’ve gotten something meaningful—we’ve found the real mole, discovered that Bella sabotaged some shipments through the info she was feeding her father, and are looking at Dean as the grand planner.
So why does something feel off? Why does it feel like sending Bella away was a fucking mistake? Why do I feel like I lost something I never actually had?
Anger courses through me, and I grit my teeth to steady my breathing. With great restraint, I push any stray thoughts to the back of my mind and focus on the one question that matters.
What does Dean want out of all of this? I never liked that fucker and I should have known that he’s a coward who likes to play dirty.
The door clicks open, and I snap my neck to see Matteo walking in, blood smeared on the sleeves of his shirt.
“Capo,” he says carefully. “The bastard finally talked. Said he was approached by a strange man in a suit, but he once heard Rossi’s name being mentioned in a conversation. He was responsible for the fire at the warehouse, too.”
My hands ball into fists. Finding the mole was easy. After I made the speculation, we turned every footage inside out until we found him.
Marcus Silvano from maintenance is the mole. When he carried his bag and navigated through the crowd, no one looked twice. He had a job salient enough to hide his shenanigans but loud enough to always be allowed access wherever he wanted.
Matteo continues. “Some of the missing shipments and attacks that we’ve encountered since we started having issues were caused by him. He admitted to giving information to the suited man.”
James, the guy with the eyepatch now, had mentioned a suited man, too.
“There’s no real motive as to why he did it, but he said he’s been lying low for a while now.”
The way Matteo says it—with a distinct look in his eyes and an edge in his voice—makes me sick instantly. I understand what he’s saying. That some information was being fed through Bella.
“What do we have on Dean?” My pulse pounds in my head as I say his name, adrenaline coursing through my bones.
“Nothing,” he breathes, and I shoot him a menacing look. “Our intel isn’t picking up anything—”
“Then track his damn daughter.” Cold settles in my veins as I rise sharply. They’re in it together, so they must be together.
“Il localizzatorenel suo telefono è morto (The tracker in her phone is dead).”
In a blink, I’m before Matteo, fisting his collar.
“If you have to turn the earth upside down, then fucking do it. Voglio che Dean Rossi venga trovato (I want Dean Rossi found)!”
I shove him back, but he barely budges.
“Ready the men, we storm his place now!”
If he’s decided to mess with the king, then he’ll learn what it means to bleed for it.
The ride to Dean’s house is filled with tension. Matteo reloads his gun beside me, and the other guards in the SUV cock theirs. I sit still, my hands fisting my Glock so tight that I feel its imprint on my palm.
Five more SUVs flank ours, and as we swerve through traffic, the red in my vision becomes more visible. We roll down the manicured street and come to a halt before his mini estate.
The driver swerves to the side, giving way for one of the SUVs that rams into the gate. On impact, a loud sound ricochets through the air, and it signals the start of war.
I jump down, Matteo and a few guards flanking me on either side. Dean’s guards open fire, and my men respond.
I fire at the first opposition I see, not watching as their bodies crumble to the ground, before I shoot another. My vein pounds in my temple as one bullet whooshes dangerously close to my ear, but before I turn around, Matteo already has the culprit bleeding from a clean shot to his head.
Without much resistance, we reach the doors as I signal to Matteo to be on guard. A brute kick of my leg is all it takes to send the doors swinging open. Matteo and the other guards trail me as I enter, my thumb aching to press the trigger. But the mansion is empty.
“Sweep the bottom.” With a nod, I signal to two men while Matteo and three others follow me upstairs. The stairs creak with the weight of dread as I ascend the stairs, taking it two at a time.
“East wing,” I bark to Matteo and the guards. “I’ll take the West.”
A cunning bastard like Dean may have fled, but there’s every reason to believe he hasn’t had enough time to properly cover his tracks. A maid comes into view, and I almost press the trigger before I realize it’s a teenager, probably around sixteen.
She pales when she sees me, and I lower my gun.
“Where’s your boss?”
Tears stream down her cheeks. “I…h-he left a while ago. Was making a phone call and saying that the enemies would soon be here.”
Fuck!
“And his daughter?” I grit my teeth, assessing the nuances in her behavior.
She shakes her head fearfully. “She never came back since she got married. She and Boss never got along, so she stayed away.”
My brows furrow at this. Of course, she ditched the tracker in her phone to avoid leading us to her fucking partner in crime…Or she never came home because she was oblivious to her father’s schemes. My throat tightens.
I don’t get to ask more questions when Matteo appears beside me.
“The mansion is empty. Those guards outside are only decoys to buy him more time,” he breathes. “But we found this in his study.”
He stretches some papers out for me and I snatch them furiously, willing my breath to stay even as I glance through. My knuckles whiten when I take in images of guns, drugs…and a dead body.
“What is this?”
“That’s the general’s son.”
My eyes fall to the image as I study it again. A cold, grainy photo of the body. It makes no sense.
“Drawers were gutted. Suitcase half packed on the desk, a cigarette that still sits warm. The papers were inside the suitcase.”
Means he just left, and the papers were important. The assassination case is old, but it remains important to him, nonetheless.
“Have the men dig into the case. Trovami qualsiasi correlazione con Dean (Find me any correlation with Dean).”
“Yes, Boss.”
By the time we reach outside, the chaos is dead. Few casualties, none of mine. But the war isn’t over.
There’s a battle in my head as we ride back to the mansion. I’m thinking about the images. What could that bastard possibly be up to?
Dean’s mafia is barely thriving. No doubt attacking me multiple times would have consumed more resources from him, yet he followed through…and now he and his daughter have disappeared?
It’s difficult to decide whether this is a simple act of cowardice or a meticulously planned escape strategy. Fuck!
He’s up to something; that much is obvious. But there’s a gnawing feeling in my chest that tells me there’s more. That bastard is playing for something bigger, and whatever it is, it’s coming straight for me.
***
“I want Isabella found. Dedicate a fucking team to that if you have to,” I say to Matteo once I get out of the car. Partly because I’m trying to find Dean, but also because if there’s the slightest chance that she was telling the truth, then she might be in danger.
Matteo nods, instantly barking orders at men while I head to the office. My chest feels heavy, but my mind is racing. Maybe I shouldn’t have let her go. I shouldn’t have let my emotions cloud my judgment.
As I settle into my chair, a cruel laughter escapes me. Emotions. The word tastes foreign…it feels ridiculous. It—
The door bursts open and I yank a furious gaze to the door only to see Matteo hurrying in with an urgency only reserved for a battleground.
“Dovresti vedere questo (You should see this).”
He drops a small, unmarked package on the table.
“A courier delivered this just now. You need to see what’s inside.”
My brows furrow at his harsh breathing. I tear the box open, and my breath falters when I see the first item. A cold, grainy photo of the general’s son, Khalid. The exact one we saw at Rossi’s mansion.
The next thing is a clear evidence bag with a gun inside it and a USB drive.
The nerves in my brain strain as I quickly find my laptop and plug it in. A video pops on the screen. It’s a video of a man sitting casually on a chair in an empty warehouse as he repeats one phrase that freezes my entire body.
Dominic ordered the assassination of the general’s son.
Upon closer look, I recognize the bastard as Marcus Silvano, the real mole we’d just caught. Cold dread settles in my veins as I click on the next file in the folder.
A voice recording pops up in a voice that’s awfully similar to…if not the same as, my voice.
“Eliminate the general’s son.”
Below both files there’s a message in bold red.
We’re coming for you.
What the fuck? I stare at the pieces of evidence before me and it doesn’t take long for the pieces to fall into place.
“I’ve been set up.”