A video file appears in the chat, and I’m frowning as I click play. The footage is grainy, shot from a distance, showing a woman walking through Lower Manhattan.
Then she glances back over her shoulder, and my chest tightens.Emilia.
I watch, transfixed and terrified, as she slips into a building. A few minutes later, two men enter the frame. Even from this distance, I recognize the way they move, the cut of their clothes. Russians.
Goddamn it. Now, I not only have the Italian dons to contend with but Russians as well? All because she won’t stop poking and poking.
She’s in grave danger. Does she even realize?
The familiar frustration boils up in my chest, mixed with something that feels suspiciously like panic. How the fuck do I save someone who’s hell-bent on turning the entire underworld upside down?
My office door bangs open and I glare at the intruder, directing all my fury at Enzo, who throws his hands up when he sees my expression.
“Jason Moore has just been released,” he announces.
And there it is. Right on fucking schedule.
I exit the message thread and close the site with movementsthat are calm and controlled despite the hurricane raging inside my skull. “Tell Martin to get a burner phone to the councilor immediately.” I need to know if Jason has been compromised. And we can’t risk leaving digital footprints or getting our call intercepted.
“Already done. The councilor is on the line.” He waves the phone as he walks further into my office. He hands it to me, and I lift it to my ear.
“Hello, Rafael,” Jason’s voice is low and wary. He must have seen me in the restaurant after I shot the man trying to kill Emilia. I never mentioned I’d be there.
“Did someone come to see you in custody? Were you offered a deal?” I get straight to the point.
There’s a heavy pause before he answers. “Yes. A woman. She didn’t bother to introduce herself.” His voice drops even lower. “She wanted to know about my relationship with you… asked me to keep an eye on you. Spy on you.”
Bingo. Just like I thought.
“Describe her.”
My suspicions are confirmed as he speaks. “Older Latina woman, probably in her mid-50s or something but still youthful. Not a single strand of grey hair. And she seems to hold a high position—the other agents treated her with deference.”
Stacey Rodrigues.
My grip on the phone tightens.
So I’ve definitely gotten on her radar—though, to be fair, I’ve probably been there for over a decade. First when she sent Emilia after me ten years ago, and especially after I witnessed her murder Tomassi.
She’s most likely fueling Emilia’s hatred because she’s scared I’ll expose her.
The raid at the restaurant last night, hell, even Emilia’s investigation into Jason Moore from the start—none of it wasabout keeping the corrupt councilor in check or stopping his crimes. It was about me. Perhaps it always was.
She has a personal interest in me.
“What did you tell her?” I ask, though I already know the answer. Jason’s survival instincts are stronger than his loyalty.
“I took the deal to save my own ass, obviously. But here I am, ratting her out to you. Fuck, this is all way above my pay grade, Rafael. I don’t like this. First Sergey, now this? I feel like I’m trapped in some spy thriller. I want out.”
“You’re doing great. You’ll be fine.”
“Can you give me your word—your actual word—that you can protect me from the Russians and the feds once shit hits the fan? If so, I’ll keep being your mole. But if not, this is the last favor I can do for you. I need to prioritize my own survival here.
I’m going to tell them everything I know about you—and fuck you and those videos you’re holding over me. You can leak them all over the internet. I don’t care anymore. I just want tolive.” His voice breaks at the end.
Pathetic. But predictable.
“You should protect yourself then.” I have no need for him anymore. He’s given me more than enough to go on.
