Just like Cassie had manipulated me.
"Why would someone frame Sean?" I asked, though part of me already knew the answer.
"Maybe because he was loyal to you. Maybe because the real mole wants your confusion and anger to blind you to the truth." Her words echoed in the sudden silence of the office. "Think about it, Roman. Who benefits from you becoming more paranoid, more isolated from your own people?"
The question hung between us like a loaded gun. Because if Cassie was right, then someone had played me perfectly, turning my protective instincts into a weapon against my own organization.
But how could I trust her analysis when she’d proven so thoroughly that she could lie to my face?
I stood abruptly, pacing to the window. The estate grounds stretched out before me, manicured and peaceful, but all I could see were the shadows where enemies might be hiding. Enemies who looked like friends, who shared my bed and called me by name while hiding life-changing secrets.
"I need to know for certain," I said, reaching for my phone.
"Roman—"
"Tommy?" I spoke into the phone, cutting off whatever Cassie had been about to say. "I need a favor. That burner phone from Sean’s room—I need you to rip it apart. Quietly. I want the truth about those call logs."
"Boss, I already ran diagnostics?—"
"Run them again. Deeper this time. Check for data manipulation, timestamp alterations, anything that suggests the logs were tampered with." My voice dropped to a whisper. "And Tommy? This stays between us. No one else hears about this until I say so."
I ended the call and turned back to Cassie, who was watching me with those intelligent brown eyes that saw too much. Eyes that had looked into mine while she kept the most important secret of all.
"If you’re right," I breathed, "then I’ve made a terrible mistake."
"We’ll figure it out." She stood and moved toward me, then stopped, as if remembering the walls that had grown between us. "Together."
But as I stared out at the darkening grounds, one terrifying possibility dominated my mind. If Sean had been innocent, if someone had framed him so convincingly that I’d killed without question, then the real mole wasn’t just selling information.
They were orchestrating my downfall from the inside.
And they were winning.
Just like everyone else who’d ever gotten close enough to hurt me.
23
CASSIE
Roman came home at eight-thirty, his footsteps echoing through the marble foyer like gunshots in a cathedral. I heard him before I saw him—the careful, controlled way he moved that meant he was carrying the weight of something terrible.
When he appeared in the kitchen doorway, my heart clenched. His charcoal suit was wrinkled, his tie loosened, and there was something in his blue eyes that looked like death. Not physical death—Roman had survived another day in his dangerous world. This was something deeper. Something that had carved pieces from his soul.
"Hey," I mumbled, not moving from where I stood at the stove.
He nodded once, sharp and efficient, then headed straight for the bar cart in the corner. The crystal decanter clinked against the glass as he poured three fingers of whiskey, his movements mechanical.
I’d spent the afternoon cooking—really cooking, not just reheating whatever the chef had prepared. Shepherd’s pie,because the Irish dish would remind Roman of comfort and home, and he looked like he needed both. The smell filled the kitchen, warm and rich, but he didn’t seem to notice.
"Dinner’s ready," I said, watching him drain half the whiskey in one swallow.
"Not hungry." His voice was rough, distant. Like he was speaking from the bottom of a well.
I turned off the oven and faced him fully. Roman stood with his back to me, shoulders rigid with tension, staring out the window at grounds that were probably crawling with security. The late evening light caught the silver in his black hair, and I could see the slight tremor in his hand as he lifted the glass again.
Whatever had happened today—whatever choices he’d been forced to make—it was eating him alive.
"Roman." I kept my voice gentle but firm. "Sit down. Eat something."
