1
Sabine
Rule number one: neverfuck your source.
They drill it into you from day one of journalism school.
You blur the lines, you lose the story.
Take your source to bed, wake up with no story—or worse, no job.
I knew better, but when did that ever stop anyone?
Ten weeks in, I was elbow deep in research for the story that seemed to be an open secret in this town. Everyone knew something, and most couldn’t wait to spill rumors about the Bellante family’s criminal enterprise.
Oh, excuse me, I mean legitimate real estate business. Six of one, half a dozen of the other.
In any case, not one person would go on the record.
Matteo Bellante built luxury empires up and down the East Coast. Hotels, marinas, casinos. The papers called him a philanthropist. I’d heard about the other version of him, the one with bodies under the concrete and politicians in his pocket.
He was dirty as fuck. The whole family was.
I’d chased a hundred leads, stretched lines of thread across pins, tried to connect all the dots. It had been going on for decades in plain sight. Some of it was likely hearsay, but even if it was all true, it didn’t matter.
The evidence wasn’t there.
I was following breadcrumbs through an arson/accidental death investigation that locals thought was tied to the Bellantes when I met her. I’d stopped in at a diner for a bite and a coffee. Asked the cook a couple questions about the dead man.
The woman slid onto the stool next to me. Dark hair. A silver streak at the temple… very sexy, if I’m honest. All-black pants suit. I thought she looked like trouble.
I had no idea how right I was.
I tried to concentrate on my French onion soup, but she propped one elbow on the counter and turned toward me. I nodded. She smiled. Introduced herself, said she’d heard I had questions about the Bellantes and she might have a few answers.
She did have answers. Every answer, in fact.
All I had was a first name. “Call me Dom,” she’d said. We met once a week at a warehouse near my loft, and every single time I was sure I’d be the next missing person report filed. I told my editor Mark I was meeting a source on the Bellante family, so at least the police would have somewhere to start looking for my body.
Mark hated how obsessed I was with the story.
I hated how obsessed I was with meeting Dom every week.
Her voice sounded like music and she told stories, each more twisted and gruesome than the last. She implicated herself again and again. I wondered if she was telling the truth or playing out an elaborate cosplay of a Mafia family member.
It didn’t stop me from sleeping with her. She was charming. Gorgeous. The first time was in the warehouse, bent over a shipping crate stamped with the name Bellante. I came like a fountain, barely able to catch my breath.
After that, we started meeting at a nearby hotel. Not a great one, mind you, but not the worst either. It had a bed, a shower, and a bathroom counter, and we made liberal use of all three. I had almost forgotten my story. Almost.
Then Isabella Bellante was killed. She was the wife of Matteo Bellante, and a powerhouse in her own right. The belle of the charity circuit, beloved by too many, in my opinion. According to the news, she was shot to death in a home invasion.
Nobody but me seemed to wonder how her husband and oldest son, both present at the time, had escaped without a single bump or bruise. Matteo still wore his fancy Rolex in the tearful interview he gave on the front steps of the family home.
My source showed up to the hotel that week with a cardboard bank box so heavy I could barely lift it.
That day, her eyes were as hard as diamonds. When she fucked me, she pulled my hair so hard I cried out. It didn’t slow her pace one bit. I had barely recovered from the first round when she was ready to go again. After round four, when she lit the cigarette that signified she was taking a break, I asked about the box.
“Everything you could possibly need to take down Matteo Bellante. Just keep my name out of it.” She grabbed my arm, hard. “I’m fucking serious, Sabine. Very few people have access to what’s in that box. Matteo will destroy anyone and everyone who gets in his way. Even me. If he comes for me over this, I’ll drop your body in the fucking river. Don’t make me do that.”
