“I’m going back.” I’m already moving, the decision made. Planning is a luxury I don’t have. This needs a direct response.
“Nico.” Alessandro’s voice is a whip-crack that stops me at the threshold. “A word of counsel.”
I pivot, my jaw tight.
“This is the weakness I warned you about,” he says, his voice lowering, each word landing with precision. “Your obsession with this girl has made you predictable. Isabel saw it. Moretti sees it. If you’re not careful, it will be the death of you.”
I offer no response. His words are true, and that fact burns hotter than any insult. I turn and stride from the room, pullingmy phone from my pocket. The door swings shut behind me as I dial Blake.
“Status,” I clip out the moment he answers.
“Sir. All quiet. Ms. Song is in the main living area, reading.”
Reading, calm and composed after a visit from an assassin. “I’m on my way back. Fifteen minutes. Don’t let her out of your sight.”
“Understood, sir.”
My knucklesclench the steering wheel, the engine a high-pitched whine, during the drive to the lake house. I take the turn into the circular driveway too fast, gravel spraying as I slam the car to a halt and kill the engine.
I storm inside, my boots striking hard against the marble of the foyer. Blake meets me halfway, his expression carefully neutral.
“Sir. The house is secure.”
“Is it?” I stop inches from him, crowding his space. “Is it, Blake? Give me a full report. Every anomaly in the last three hours. Do not omit a single detail.”
Blake’s composure is a fortress, but a flicker of unease in his eyes betrays him. He knows this isn’t a routine check-in. “Nothing to report, sir. Patrols on schedule. No perimeter alerts. Ms. Song is in the main living area. She was escorted by a guard on a walk to the dock an hour ago, as per your standing authorization for her movement within the grounds.”
A walk. While I was gone, being played for a fool in Vancouver, she went for a walk. My paranoia, already sharpened by Isabel's deception, flares.
“The logs,” I command, heading for the security station off the main hall. “I want to see the footage from that walk. Every camera covering the dock.”
Blake follows. He brings the archives up on the monitor. I watch the screen, my jaw tight. I see Lea, escorted by one Blake’s men, walk down the manicured path. He stops at the head of the dock, and she walks to the edge alone, sitting down. Everything appears normal. She sits there for several minutes, staring at the water.
Then, a figure emerges on the deck of my yacht. Isabel Vega.
A cold fury washes over me as I watch, silent and helpless, as Isabel speaks to Lea from the railing. I see Lea look up, shocked. I see them exchange words, but the long-range microphones are useless against the wind. I see Isabel extend a hand. I see Lea hesitate, then step onto my yacht. They disappear into the cabin together. Minutes later, they reemerge. Lea steps back onto the dock, and Isabel vanishes as if she were never there.
The breach is absolute. Personal. I rewind the footage, my eyes searching for the failure point. “Who was the man following Lea?”
Blake types, the keyboard clattering. A name appears. Domingo. New. Recommended by Blake.
“Body-cam footage. That window,” I order, my voice dangerously quiet.
Blake complies. The screen flickers to a shaky view of the fence line from Domingo’s perspective. Then, for exactly ten minutes—the precise duration Isabel was on the yacht—the feed cuts to static, after which it resumes.
“A technical glitch with the camera, sir,” Blake offers, but the confidence has bled from his voice.
“No. Get him,” I say. The order is clipped, final.
Blake’s hesitation is barely a hitch in his breath, but it’s there. The realization of a compromised man on his team. “Sir…”
“Now, Blake.”
They bring Domingo into the office flanked by two of Alessandro’s men. His jaw is set, his posture rigid with defiance until I play the footage and tap my finger on Isabel on the yacht. All the blood leaves his face.
“Fifty grand,” he admits, the words a strained murmur. “She offered fifty grand to look the other way for ten minutes. That’s all.”
A strange calm settles over me, cold and complete. This is the price of my distraction. A man whose loyalty was for sale because I was too enmeshed in my chaos to see it.