Chapter 87 The moles
Carlino’s POV
Things were collapsing.
Not loudly. Not all at once.
But steadily.
Shipments were delayed. Deals stalled midway through negotiations. Contracts that had been sealed months ago were suddenly “reconsidered.” Stakeholders who used to call daily had gone silent.
Some withdrew entirely.
Others waited.
Watching.
Like vultures circling a wounded animal.
The office lights burned long past midnight most nights. Files stacked higher on my desk than they had in years. Reports. Losses. Territory disruptions.
Sleep has become a luxury.
And tonight, like the last several nights, I didn’t bother trying.
Neil stood across the office while I scanned the latest shipment report. “Three containers seized in Valencia,” he said.
“Customs?”
“No.”
My eyes lifted.
“Private enforcement,” Neil continued. “They were tipped off before the ship even docked.”
Someone inside.
Again.
I set the file down slowly.
Even with everything I owned — the money, the properties, the reach of my empire — I felt like the poorest man on earth.
Because the one thing I wanted was nowhere near me.
Lina had been gone for days.
Kailen had hidden her well.
Too well.
But I was still looking.
Every warehouse. Every abandoned dock. Every illegal pit of trade that existed in this city had been searched twice already.
Smuggling ports. Underground fighting rings. Black market weapon routes.
Nothing.
No trace of her.
No trace of Kailen.
It was like they had vanished off the surface of the earth.
My fingers curled slowly against the desk. “I’ll find her,” I said quietly.
Neil didn’t answer. He knew better than to offer reassurance.
I pushed away from the desk.
“Another search team finished the west docks two hours ago,” he said. “Nothing.”
“And the shipping yards?” I questioned.
“Empty.”
The silence that followed was tight.
Too clean.
Kailen was careful, but not invisible. And yet every place he should have been… wasn’t. No cars. No guards. Not even their shadows. It felt deliberate. Like chasing smoke.
I walked to the window overlooking the bungalow's grounds. “I swore I would find her,” I said. “And I will.”
Neil shifted slightly. “Yes, Don.”
I turned back toward him. “Get me reports on the council.”
His brow creased slightly. “All of them?”
“Yes,” I responded, sharply.
“Even Ruggero?”
“Yes.”
That made him pause.
Ruggero had been close to me for years. But close meant nothing anymore. Damien had broken the shield. And now, trust has become expensive.
And I was running out of currency.
“There’s someone inside the council helping Kailen,” I continued. “Someone feeding him movement patterns, shipments, negotiations.”
Neil nodded slowly. “I’ll start the dig.”
“No,” I corrected. “Start the excavation.” My gaze hardened. “I want everything.”
He pulled out a tablet.
“Names?”
I began listing them.
“Luca Romano.”
“Matteo Bellini.”
“Kenji Sato.”
“Marcio Alvarez.”
“Chris Varela.”
“Kenneth Doyle.”
“Michael Carter.”
“Rald Kovac.”
“Rafael Serrano.”
“Ivana Dragova.”
“Tatiana Orlov.”
“Ravenna Solis.”
“Elara Vance.”
I paused.
“Ruggero Conti.”
Neil typed each name carefully.
“I want full movement logs,” I said. “Where they go. Who they meet. Financial movements. Private communications. Every shadow they cast.”
“And if we find something?”
“We will.”
He nodded once and left the office.
\~~~
Two days later.
The reports began arriving.
One by one.
Stacked across the long meeting table like pieces of a puzzle that didn’t want to be solved.
Neil stood beside the screen while I skimmed the first file.
“Start talking.”
“Luca Romano,” he said. “Clean. Meetings exactly where expected. Financials match council activity.”
I flipped the page.
“Matteo Bellini.”
“Also clean.”
My attention sharpened.
“What about Sato?”
Neil hesitated.
“Kenji Sato has been moving outside authorized operations.”
I looked up.
“Define.”
“Unregistered shipments through the eastern ports. Not council-sanctioned.”
“What kind?”
“High-grade rifles.”
My jaw tightened slightly.
“Continue.”
“Marcio Alvarez,” Neil said next. “Unexplained financial activity. Several laundering chains connected to offshore accounts.”
I leaned back in my chair.
“Chris Varela,” he continued. “Frequent private meetings outside council hours.”
“With who?”
“That’s the problem.”
“Speak clearly, Neil.”
“He meets with both Marcio and Elara Vance regularly.”
The room grew still.
My fingers tapped once against the table. “Go on.”
“Kenneth Doyle,” Neil said. “Drug shipments moving through smaller routes. Independent operations.”
“Michael Carter,” he continued. “Weapons distribution beyond council oversight.”
“Rald Kovac and Rafael Serrano are moving products through old Balkan connections.”
Unauthorized.
Every single one of them.
They were running side operations behind my back.
My empire was rotting from inside.
But something else caught my attention.
“Say the Elara line again.”
Neil glanced down.
“Elara Vance has been in repeated contact with Marcio Alvarez and Chris Varela. Private meetings, encrypted communications.”
“How often?”
“Almost daily.”
My eyes narrowed.
“And Ruggero?”
“Clean so far.”
That didn’t reassure me.
It only meant he was better at hiding.
I stood slowly.
“Put the last three reports on the screen.”
Neil obeyed.
Three profiles appeared side by side.
Marcio Alvarez
Elara Vance
Chris Varela
Connections between them formed a web across the screen. Meetings. Money transfers. Shared communication nodes. They were moving in quiet coordination. And the pattern was obvious now.
“They’re instigating the others,” Neil said quietly.
“Yes,” I answered.
Kenji.
Kenneth.
Michael.
Rald.
Rafael.
Several of the women.
All running unauthorized operations. All benefiting from instability. But these three…
These three were at the center of it. I walked closer to the screen.
“Pull the last communication log.”
Neil tapped the tablet. A message thread appeared. Encrypted. But the metadata remained.
Sender: Marcio
Recipient: Unknown channel
Time stamp: hours before one of Kailen’s earlier ambush attempts.
I stared at it for a moment.
Then exhaled slowly. “There it is.”
Neil looked at me. “The mole?”
“No,” I said.
“Not one.”
I pointed at the screen.
“Three.”
His expression darkened.
“Marcio Alvarez,” I said.
“Elara Vance.”
“Chris Varela.”
“They’re feeding Kailen information.”
Neil crossed his arms. “And using the council to destabilize operations.”
“Yes.”
The room went quiet again.
Then he asked the question. “What do we do with them?”
I looked out the window again.
The bungalow's grounds were calm. Peaceful. But that calm wouldn’t last. Not after this.
“Not yet,” I said.
Neil frowned. “Don?”
“If we cut them now,” I continued, “the others scatter.”
“And Kailen disappears again,” he completed. Understanding dawned slowly in his eyes. “You want them to keep talking.”
“Yes,” My voice dropped colder. “Let them believe I don’t see it. Let them keep whispering into Kailen’s ear.”
Neil nodded slowly. “Then we follow the whispers.”
I turned back toward the screen. Three traitors inside my council. Three knives pressed against the spine of my empire. And somewhere out there—
Kailen.
Holding Lina.
Waiting.
A faint smile touched my mouth. “You wanted me destabilized,” I murmured.
Neil looked at me.
“But now,” I continued, “I know where the rot is.”
My hand rested lightly against the table. “And rot,” I said quietly, “is easy to cut out.”
The screen glowed with their names.
Marcio.
Elara.
Chris.
Three shadows hiding behind power. Not for long. Because when I finally move—
The curtain falls.
And when it does, blood flows.