Page 119 of Power & Punishment

Bellini looks young. Probably in his late twenties.

He’s striking with a thinning hairline and sharp facial features that would be hard to miss in any line-up.

It’s the kind of face that makes you want to lean in closer until you see two cold eyes accompanied by an eerie smile that cuts deep even in this old photo. It’s strangely familiar.

“Say he did fake his death, why the hell would he stay here? If it was me, I’d be living in Mexico.”

“That’s a great question,” I reply, squeezing the edge of the desk. I’m so close, I can feel it. “Maybe he had plastic surgery or something.”

Keith stands up and walks over to the board. “I had an old FBI buddy that told me a story about someone who did it in the witness protection program. But that was a high-profile case.”

He turns, looking over my shoulder at the mugshot on the screen. “That seems like a lot of trouble to go through for someone who was trying to escape their fate.”

My stomach twists.

Maybe he didn’t want to escape.

I stare at the photo again. This time, I look more closely at the eyes and mouth. The features are cold and predatory—something that distinguishes a psychopath from a criminal.

And then it hits me.

“Keith,” I whisper.

His head snaps up, quickly rushing to my side. “What?”

I don’t say anything. I just minimize Bellini’s mugshot and pull up another image so we can look at them side by side.

He may be younger in this photo with less hair and a different nose, but the dead look in both of their eyes is unmistakable.

“Holy shit,” Keith breathes, speaking up before I can say anything. “Adrian Moretti is Marco Bellini.”

All the missing pieces pull together so quickly it makes me physically ill.

“He didn’t just survive,” I say lowly, feeling the gravity of my own statement. “He rebuilt himself into someone untouchable. Enzo’s own personal mole.”

Keith’s face drains. “Do you think he⁠—”

“I don’t think. I know he killed my brother,” I say, shock hastily replaced by unfiltered anger. “And I’m going to bury him for it.”

“Does Leo know?” Keith asks.

“Shit. He was supposed to meet with him today,” I answer, scrambling for my phone. “I need to call him. If Adrian has connections within the NYPD, he knows I was looking at Bellini and⁠—”

A door slams. Both of us freeze.

The sound ricochets through the empty concrete room like nails on a chalkboard.

I slide my hand to my waistband where my gun sits snugly. Keith does the same.

It happens so fast, I barely have time to blink.

Three men appear in the entrance, adorned in dark clothes and masks that make them completely unrecognizable. Their weapons are pointed and ready.

I raise my gun in one swift motion. I hear Keith’s gun click too. But the men don’t back down. One of them even laughs.

“Looks like the boss was right,” the leader says. My fingers feel numb, ghosting over the trigger.

This entire time, we thought Enzo was calling the shots. But it’s been Adrian.