Page 38 of The Cost of Silence

Heat spikes through me, hot enough to blister. “If Domenico touched her, he’s a dead man, blood or not.”

“We don’t know that yet,” Rossi says quickly. “We only know he’s involved on the political side. Operational orders may still be coming from Orlov.”

It doesn’t matter.

Family betrayal is still betrayal.

And the idea of my uncle lending his name, his access, his shadow… to hunt Isabella, to hunt us, it lights a fuse in me I didn’t know I had.

Adi meets my gaze. Matteo, too. Three brothers. One truth forming in the space between us.

If Domenico Bellucci chose the other side?

He’s already dead. He just doesn’t know it yet.

Except men do ugly things when they’re convinced they’ve been wronged. And grief doesn’t always turn people gentle. Sometimes it turns them into a rusty blade.

Adi’s voice cuts through my thoughts. “We need proof before we move on him. Accusations without evidence will just muddy the waters more.”

Matteo shakes his head, eyes dark. “I don’t need proof to put a bullet in a man who set a fire outside my brother’s woman’s door.”

“She’s not my woman,” I snap automatically. The words feel thin even as they leave my mouth. “And you’re not putting a bullet in anyone without a plan. We’re not going back to running on rage. That was the life Papà spent years dragging us out of.”

Rossi’s gaze softens for the first time tonight. “Your father would be proud you said that.”

The compliment sits rough in my chest. I tip the bourbon back, letting the burn keep me grounded, then set the glass down carefully. My hands want to move, to hit, to break. Instead, I force them flat against the counter. “Okay,” I say. “We do this Dad’s way. Smart. Clean as we can make it. Orlov and whoever is feeding him need to be cut off at the root. No noise. No splash.”

Adi nods, already shifting into strategy. “I’ll start combing through the paper trail in the morning. Shell companies, donations, anything that ties Orlov to the old accounts. If Domenico is involved, there’ll be a bridge somewhere. Men like him can’t resist mixing personal and business.”

Matteo leans forward, forearms on his knees, energy coiled. “What do you need from me?”

“Watch,” I say. “Listen. Your clubs pull in every kind of scum there is. If Orlov is strutting around bragging about having a Mancini family member in his pocket, we’ll hear it there first.”

He smirks faintly. “So, flirt with criminals and drink expensive whiskey. My burden is heavy.”

Adi rolls his eyes, but there’s no real heat in it. We all know Matteo does more than flirt. He hears things the rest of us don’t, because people underestimate a pretty face with a crooked grin.

Rossi clears his throat again. “What about the girl?”

I don’t miss the way he says it, careful, testing. “She stays here,” I say immediately. “No argument.”

Adi lifts a brow. “We already agreed on that.”

“I’m reminding myself,” I answer. “Because every part of me wants to go to the warehouse right now and peel Orlov’s name out of that bastard’s throat. But if I leave, she’s one step closer to a body bag.”

Matteo whistles softly. “You’ve got it bad, brother.”

I shoot him a look sharp enough to cut. “This isn’t about feelings.”

“No,” he says, watching me over the rim of his glass. “That’s the problem.”

Rossi gives a small nod, satisfied. “I’ve doubled the men on this floor. Cameras are live, feeds secure, and I’ve also increased your own personal guard, especially on Miss Letty. No one gets on this door or near any of you without us seeing them first.”

“Her mother,” I say suddenly.

Adi looks up. “What about her?”

“Isabella will call her tomorrow. When she does, I want someone outside the woman’s building. Quiet, no contact. If Orlov is using Isabella as leverage, he might go after her mother, too.”