Page 78 of Accidental Alliance

I know some part of him admires my tenacity even as he hates being the target.

Family has been the altar at which I have sacrificed every piece of my soul and never asked for anything in return.

It took Isabella from me and stole the life I wanted to have with her, torturing me with the knowledge of her finding it with someone else while I lived and died for the same people who are now eager to harm her.

Never once have I questioned any of that until now.

My father studies me for a long time. When he exhales, there is a quiet laugh attached to it. “You see? This is what love does. It makes them weak and untrustworthy.” Then he turns away, heading for the door. “Enjoy your victory, Elio. Small ones are often the most expensive.”

I don't move. My hand stays near my gun until his back disappears through the doorway. Alessio follows, but not before giving me one final look.

It is full of warning and disappointment and something sadder than both. Grief, maybe, buried so deep, he would rather slit his own throat before admitting to it.

His eyes flick once toward Giovano, then back to me, a silent promise flashing in his eyes.

This is not over.

I answer with nothing but my stare.

When the door closes behind him, I am left in the interrogation room with Giovano Russo’s blood on the floor and his eyes on me. Blood has dried in dark streaks along his chin and has painted the front of his shirt in thin rivulets, his left eye swelling shut from Alessio’s blow.

I know what he sees, someone standing between him and death, but still a Conti.

The son of the man who he believes destroyed his brother. Trust is not something men like me get to demand after an event like this.

It is built slowly over time or destroyed quickly, and everything my family has ever touched has apparently ended in ruin.

But that does not stop the question that has been chewing at the inside of my skull. “Do you truly believe my father was behind Amos’s death?”

For a second, he does not answer. His chest rises and falls in shallow, painful pulls, his breath rasping faintly through his nose.

Then he coughs, a wet, brutal sound that bends him forward as far as the restraints allow. The chair creaks beneath him as pain flashes across his face, tight enough that even his hatred cannot fully hide it.

When he recovers, he spits blood onto the plastic sheeting at his feet and winces as he lifts his head again.

“Yes.”

I feel something in me resist it on instinct. Some old, loyal part of me that still flinches away from the possibility of my family being involved, reaching for explanations or some version of history I was fed and swallowed obediently.

“What proof do you have?” I ask. “Other than what you have already said.”

He pulls in a ragged breath, spitting out more blood before rolling his shoulders back. “There was a ledger my brother wrote in religiously back then. One he never left the estate without. After his death, I had been searching for information to help piece together a timeline of his movements the day of the assassination. That’s when I found the ledger.”

There is a faint ache behind his eyes.

Amos Russo with a ledger.

Of course, it fits too well.

I remember seeing him at meetings with his hand sometimes resting over a closed leather book beside his glass. I never thought much of it then.

Amos had always seemed like the type to keep evidence close, though not because he feared betrayal, exactly. There always seemed to be another hidden agenda within him. One I never cared to question until now.

Had he planned on needing an insurance policy? Proof for something?

Giovano swallows, his throat working hard. “After his death, I searched for information. Who he met, which routes he took and if they changed for some reason, what calls came in before he left the estate for the gala. I wanted to know every step he took that night leading up to what happened.” His eyes harden. “That is when I found the ledger.”

My hand drops from my gun.