Chapter 67
Dante’s study is a bunker for the intellect, not the body. The walls are paneled in walnut, so dark they drink the daylight, leaving only the amber pools from two banker’s lamps and the pale rectangles of city sky that seep through the high, narrow windows. The air carries the faint musk of leather and ink, and every surface is crowded with stratagems: framed maps, trays of black-lacquered pens, half a dozen chess sets frozen mid-game. The center of the room is claimed by an oak desk so massive it could double as a barricade.
Bell doesn’t hesitate; she strides to the far side of the desk and settles into the high-backed chair, the move unspoken but absolute. Dante doesn’t even blink at the usurpation; he’s already in motion, prowling a tight orbit around the perimeter, gaze flicking from one wall to another, as if expecting enemy fire from the baseboards.
Luca sprawls in the battered club chair near the fireplace, one ankle slung over his knee, body language all lazy disinterest except for the sharpness in his eyes as he watches the other two.
Bell wastes no time on pleasantries. She sweeps her hand across the desk, drawing together three files, one for each of the attacks, each tabbed with her own color-coded system. She lays them out like cards, then stares at the timeline, forcing the brothers into her field of gravity.
“We need to assume she’s not finished,” Bell says. “If this was just a test, there’d be a clean break. But the last strike was less than forty-eight hours ago. She’s still moving pieces.”
Dante stops pacing, leans against the window ledge, arms crossed over his chest, face a study in contained violence. “We pull all her handlers. Anyone who reported directly to Sofia gets shadowed, phones tapped, assets frozen. She’s not running this alone.”
Luca smirks, rolling his head back against the leather. “You’re assuming she doesn’t have a fail-safe. The minute she smells us closing in, she’ll torch the whole network.”
Bell shakes her head, lips pressed tight. “She won’t. She wants to see if we’re clever enough to catch her before it all burns down.”
The tension crackles, three minds, three agendas, one impossible family. Bell feels the old urge to run, to disappear into pure abstraction, but instead she lets herself ride the wave of adrenaline. “We maintain public unity. No one on the outside knows we’re even aware. Meanwhile, we dig, every shell company, every old alliance. Especially in New York and Miami. Those are the soft targets.”
Luca snorts, but there’s admiration in the sound. “Someone’s been doing her homework.”
A knock interrupts. Dante opens the door with the efficiency of a man who never expects good news.
Antonio enters, bearing a brown envelope with “URGENT” scrawled in red grease pencil. He’s gaunt from weeks of stress, eyes flickering to Bell before settling on Dante. “This just came in. It’s… bigger than we thought.”
Dante takes the envelope, tearing the seal with his thumb. He spreads the contents on the desk: satellite photos, printouts of wire transfers, surveillance logs annotated in spidery handwriting.
Antonio lingers, hands folded behind his back. “It’s not just Sofia. The Bianchi and Delacroix families they’ve been exploiting the gap. Half those attacks? They weren’t us at all. They staged them to look like inside jobs. And our own people were too busy cleaning up Sofia’s mess to notice.”
Bell sorts through the evidence, the patterns emerging in real time. Her finger traces the flow of money from Chicago to Zurich, then back to three different shell companies in Milan. She stabs the page. “She’s been set up as a decoy. Someone wanted us looking inward while they drained our accounts and cut off our allies.”
Dante’s control cracks; he slams his palm onto the desk, sending a ripple through the piles of paper. “She played right into their hands,” he growls. “We’re being circled like prey.”
Luca swings his leg down, sits forward, suddenly all predatory focus. “So what do we do? Go public? Start a war with half the eastern seaboard?”
Bell meets his eyes, and for once there’s no challenge, only grim partnership. “No. We let them think it worked. We keep Sofia out front, let them commit, and then we cut their lines. Hard.”
Dante’s jaw works, but the logic calms him. “We’ll need to bait a bigger trap. Something to bring the Bianchis out of hiding.”
Luca grins, all teeth. “Use the old woman as bait. I love it.”
Bell ignores the venom, sweeping the papers into a new order. “Antonio, pull in every trusted asset. No one gets wind of this unless I say so. And keep an eye on Sofia, she’s clever, but not as clever as she thinks.”
Antonio nods, some of the pallor fading from his face. “Yes, ma’am.”
As the door closes behind him, the trio is alone with the evidence, the air thick with old rivalries and the new intimacy of their alliance.
Dante clears his throat, voice softer. “You think this will work?”
Bell arranges the files into a single, brutal line. “It has to.”
For a moment, no one moves. Then Dante sits at the edge of the desk, closer to Bell than he’s ever dared. Luca pours himself a scotch and lifts the glass in a silent toast. The three of them, for once, on the same side of the table.
The city outside is grey with morning, but inside the study, the war has already begun.