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ALESSIO ROMANO

Alessio woke before the sun the next morning, his mind sharp and focused for the first time in weeks. The lingering haze of guilt and distraction had dulled, replaced with something he hadn't felt in a long time—purpose. If someone was betraying the family, they weren't just risking money or reputation; they were putting lives on the line. His. Emilio's. Everyone's.

After a quick shower and black coffee, Alessio dressed in his usual all-black suit, the fabric pressed sharp enough to cut. He tucked his handgun into the holster under his jacket, the weight of it a familiar comfort, then stepped out into the brisk morning air.

The city felt alive, buzzing with an undercurrent of tension. Or maybe that was just him. As he slid into the driver's seat of his car, he mentally mapped out his next steps.

Step one: figure out if the anonymous tip was credible. Step two: watch Lorenzo. And step three? Well, that depended on what he uncovered.

By mid-afternoon, Alessio had done enough digging to find a few cracks in Lorenzo's armor. There were unexplained absences, accounts that didn't quite balance, and whispers from lower-level associates about side deals. Nothing concrete yet, but it was enough to make Alessio's gut tighten with suspicion.

He was sitting in his car outside one of the family's warehouses, scrolling through his notes, when his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, expecting a text from one of his men, but instead, it was from Emilio.

Meeting at the estate. Be there in an hour.

No details. Typical. Alessio sighed, running a hand down his face before starting the engine. Whatever this was about, it wasn't going to be good.

Emilio's estate was a sprawling mansion surrounded by high stone walls and iron gates. Alessio parked near the front steps and made his way inside, nodding at the armed guards stationed at the entrance.

The meeting was held in Emilio's study, a large room filled with bookshelves, leather chairs, and the faint scent of cedar. When Alessio walked in, Emilio was already seated behind his massive desk, his expression unreadable. Lorenzo stood off to the side, his posture casual but his eyes sharp.

"Alessio," Emilio said, motioning for him to sit.

"What's this about?" Alessio asked as he lowered himself into the chair across from Emilio.

Emilio leaned back, steepling his fingers. "We've been digging into the accounts, following the money trail. And it leads to one of our own."

Alessio's gaze flickered to Lorenzo, whose face remained impassive. If the man was guilty, he was doing a damn good job of hiding it.

"And?" Alessio prompted, keeping his tone steady.

"We're still narrowing it down," Emilio said, his voice cold. "But I have my suspicions."

Lorenzo shifted slightly, his hand resting casually on the back of the chair beside him. "You think it's me," he said, his tone even.

Emilio didn't deny it. He simply stared at Lorenzo, his silence speaking volumes.

"I've been loyal to this family since I was seventeen," Lorenzo said, his voice growing sharper. "Everything I've done—everything—I've done for us. For you, Emilio."

Alessio watched the exchange carefully, his own instincts screaming at him to stay alert.

"You're on thin ice, Lorenzo," Emilio said finally. "Until we know for sure, I'm keeping a close eye on you."

Lorenzo's jaw tightened, but he nodded. "Understood."

The tension in the room was palpable as Lorenzo turned and left, the door clicking shut behind him.

Emilio leaned forward, his eyes locking onto Alessio's. "I need you to follow him."

Alessio raised an eyebrow. "You think he'll slip up?"

"If he's guilty, he will," Emilio said. "And if he's not... well, then we'll know for sure."

Alessio nodded, his mind already working through the logistics.

"And Alessio," Emilio added, his tone softening slightly. "Whatever's going on with you—put it aside. I need you at your best for this."

Alessio's jaw tightened, but he nodded. "You've got it."

That night, Alessio followed Lorenzo through the city, keeping a safe distance as the other man moved between locations. A warehouse near the docks. A club in the heart of the city. A run-down apartment building in the outskirts.

Each stop raised more questions than answers.

At the club, Lorenzo met with a man Alessio didn't recognize—tall, sharp-dressed, with the kind of presence that screamed power. Their conversation was brief, but the way they shook hands at the end made Alessio's stomach turn.

By the time Lorenzo finally returned to his own apartment, Alessio had enough to confirm one thing: something wasn't adding up.

As he drove back to his own place, his mind churned with possibilities. If Lorenzo was the traitor, it meant this whole situation was about to get a hell of a lot messier.

And if he wasn't?

Then the real traitor was still out there, and Alessio had no idea who to trust.

As he parked outside his building and climbed the stairs to his apartment, one thought lingered in his mind: This was only the beginning.

The soft hum of Alessio's espresso machine filled the silence of his apartment the next morning. The bitterness of the coffee mirrored his mood as he sat at the kitchen counter, flipping through his notes from the night before. Every detail of Lorenzo's movements, every interaction he had witnessed, was written down in neat, precise handwriting.

It still wasn't enough.

Alessio stared at the page, frustration bubbling under the surface. Lorenzo was either incredibly careful or incredibly innocent—neither option sat well with him. And Emilio's words from the meeting still echoed in his mind: Put it aside. I need you at your best for this.

But how could he be at his best when his thoughts kept drifting to her?

Arabella.

Her name was like a phantom in his mind, constantly there no matter how much he tried to block it out. He had heard through whispers that she was back home, that she'd been seen out shopping with her friends, laughing, living her life as if he didn't exist. As if she'd already moved on.

It was a bitter pill to swallow, but he knew he had no one to blame but himself.

The sharp ring of his phone jolted him out of his thoughts. He grabbed it off the counter, his brow furrowing when he saw the caller ID: Emilio.

"Yeah?" Alessio answered, his voice rough.

"Come to the estate," Emilio said without preamble. "We've got a problem."

The tension in the estate was palpable when Alessio arrived. Emilio stood in the center of the study, his hands braced on the desk as he leaned over a series of documents spread out in front of him.

"What's going on?" Alessio asked as he stepped into the room.

Emilio didn't look up. "Lorenzo's been busy."

Alessio's stomach tightened. "What do you mean?"

"We intercepted a message," Emilio said, finally meeting his eyes. "Encrypted, but not enough to stop my tech guys from cracking it. Lorenzo's been feeding information to an outside party."

Alessio's pulse quickened. "So it's him."

"It looks that way," Emilio said, his voice grim. "But I want confirmation. I want undeniable proof before I make a move."

"And if we get it?"

Emilio's expression hardened. "Then I'll handle it."

Alessio nodded, his jaw tight. "What's my role in this?"

"I need you to get close to him," Emilio said. "Earn his trust, see if he slips up. If he's working with someone outside the family, we need to know who they are and what they want. This isn't just about Lorenzo—this could be bigger than we think."

The weight of the task settled on Alessio's shoulders, but he welcomed it. For the first time in weeks, he felt a sense of clarity. This was his chance to prove himself, to show Emilio—and himself—that he was still the man he used to be.

"I'll take care of it," Alessio said firmly.

Emilio studied him for a long moment before nodding. "Good. Don't let me down."

The next few days passed in a blur of careful planning and calculated moves. Alessio began shadowing Lorenzo more closely, using every tool at his disposal to monitor his actions. Conversations were overheard, phone calls were recorded, and meetings were tracked.

It didn't take long for cracks to appear in Lorenzo's seemingly perfect facade.

One night, Alessio followed him to an upscale restaurant in the city. From his position in the corner of the bar, Alessio watched as Lorenzo slipped into a private dining room, his movements guarded. Through the thin crack of the door, Alessio caught glimpses of a man he recognized from the club—a man with ties to a rival family.

Alessio's hands clenched into fists as he watched the exchange. Lorenzo was leaning in close, his voice low as he passed a folded piece of paper across the table. The other man nodded, pocketing it before slipping out the back door.

Alessio didn't follow. He didn't need to. The message was clear enough: Lorenzo was selling them out.

When Alessio returned to Emilio's estate later that night, he didn't bother knocking. He stormed into the study, dropping his notebook onto the desk with a loud thud.

"It's him," Alessio said, his voice tight with anger. "I followed him tonight. He met with someone from the Falcone family."

Emilio's expression darkened as he flipped through the notebook, his eyes scanning the details Alessio had meticulously recorded.

"This is enough," Emilio said, his voice cold and final. "I'll take it from here."

Alessio nodded, but his mind was already racing ahead. Lorenzo's betrayal ran deep, and while Emilio might be content to deal with it quietly, Alessio wasn't.

This wasn't just business for him anymore. It was personal.

Because while Lorenzo had been selling out the family, Alessio had been spiraling, lost in his own mess. And that was a mistake he wouldn't make again.

As he left the estate that night, one thought burned in his mind: He wouldn't just take Lorenzo down—he'd make sure everyone knew what happened to those who betrayed the family.