Chapter 8 - The Traitor Unmasked
The safehouse was a fortified penthouse in Battery Park, hidden behind three layers of biometric security. By 4:00 a.m., a private mob physician had stitched Aleandro’s arm, bandaged Bella’s hand, and left them with a bottle of prescription painkillers and strict orders to rest.
Bella sat on the edge of the king-sized bed, wearing an oversized cashmere sweater Aleandro had given her, nursing a mug of black coffee. The terror of the night had settled into an icy, exhausting calm.
The door opened, and Vinnie stepped inside, his clothes soot-stained, holding a bloody leather wallet.
"Lucchese’s men are dead or scattered," Vinnie reported, looking grim. "The feds are swarming the Bellagio Club, but we wiped the security drives. But there’s a problem, boss."
Aleandro stood by the window, his arm in a black sling. "Speak."
Vinnie tossed the wallet onto the glass coffee table. "Carmine didn't plan this alone. He had the interior schematics, the power grid override codes, and the guest arrival list. Someone from our inner circle gave him the keys."
Aleandro’s face turned to stone. "Who?"
"Salvatore Bianke," Vinnie said. "Carmine promised him half of our downtown distribution if he helped eliminate you tonight. And Bianke had an inside contact at St. Jude's."
Bella dropped her coffee mug. The ceramic shattered against the hardwood floor, dark liquid splashing across her bare feet. "What did you say?"
Vinnie looked at her with genuine pity. "Bianke knew the girl was your leverage, boss. He sent two hitters to St. Jude’s twenty minutes ago to pull Marco Rossi out of his bed. They wanted insurance in case the hit failed."
Bella let out a strangled, animal scream of pure agony. She lunged toward the door, completely blind with panic. "Marco! Oh God, Marco—"
Aleandro caught her around the waist, pulling her back against his chest with his uninjured arm, holding her firmly as she fought, kicked, and sobbed hysterically.
"Let me go! He’s all I have! Please, let me go!" she shrieked, clawing at his chest.
"Bella! Look at me!" Aleandro roared, shaking her gently until her terrified eyes met his. "Listen to me! Look at my face!"
She gasped for air, chest heaving, tears streaming down her pale cheeks.
"Before we walked into that ballroom, I stationed four of my most ruthless men outside your brother's hospital room," Aleandro said, his voice absolute steel. "Bianke’s men never made it past the elevator. They are already in the trunk of a car on their way to the docks. Marco is sleeping. He is untouched. He doesn't even know anything happened."
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Bella stared at him, her legs completely giving out. Aleandro lowered her to the floor, wrapping his coat around her shivering shoulders, pulling her against his chest as she buried her face in his neck, weeping with a relief so violent it shook her entire body.
"I told you," Aleandro whispered against her hair, his hand stroking her back. "Nobody touches what is mine. Ever."
