Chapter 6 - The Traitor in the Shadows
Morning came to the coastal cliffs not with golden sunlight, but with a thick, gray maritime fog that blanketed the Atlantic in cold mystery. Vivien woke up slowly, enveloped in the heavy warmth of an oversized cashmere sweater that smelled unmistakably of Matteo. The cut on her shoulder throbbed with a dull, manageable ache, but the warmth lingering in her chest was something entirely new, terrifying and exhilarating in equal measure.
She padded out of the bedroom in bare feet, the hardwood floors cold beneath her toes. From the ground-floor study, the sharp, clipped sound of voices drifted through the quiet house.
Vivien paused near the doorway, keeping her silhouette concealed behind the heavy library curtains.
"We traced the bank accounts through the Caymans, Boss," Dario’s gravelly voice reported, tight with anger. "The transfer came from Russo's shell company three days ago. But it wasn't one of the street runners who took the bait. It was an authorized signature."
Vivien peered through the cracked wooden door. Matteo was standing behind a massive walnut desk, wearing a clean black shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing the dark, intricate tattoos that marked his status in the syndicate. On the leather blotter lay a thick manila folder and a surveillance photograph.
"Show me," Matteo commanded, his voice deadly calm—the kind of calm that preceded an execution.
Dario slid the photograph forward. Vivien caught a glimpse of the glossy paper. Her breath caught in her throat, a sharp gasp escaping her before she could clamp her hand over her mouth.
Matteo’s head snapped toward the doorway instantly. "Hart. Come in."
Vivien stepped into the light of the study, her eyes wide as she looked at the photograph on the desk. "That’s Marcus," she said, her voice shaking with disbelief. "Marcus Vance. Your head of logistics."
"He was also the man who handed Russo the gala security schedule," Matteo said, his eyes darkening as he watched her reaction. "Marcus has been skimming from the shipping lines for six months. When our internal audit team got close, he panicked and ran to Russo for protection. Russo told him the only way out was to deliver Providence on a silver platter."
"He sat across from me at the office every Friday," Vivien murmured, memories of coffee runs and harmless office banter twisting into something sick and foul in her stomach. "He asked about my mother's surgery. He smiled at me yesterday when I printed out the gala itinerary."
"He knew you were going as my date," Matteo said, rounding the desk with measured steps until he stood before her. His fingers reached out, tilting her chin up until she met his unblinking gaze. "He told Russo that the fastest way to break my concentration in that ballroom was to put a gun to your head."
"Boss," Dario interrupted, checking his vibrating phone with a grim frown. "Marcus just made a move. He’s at the private airfield outside Warwick. Russo arranged a private charter to take him to Montreal in forty minutes."
Matteo’s expression turned into pure stone. "He won't make the runway. Dario, prep the team. We take him alive long enough to get the names of Russo’s remaining contacts."
"Wait," Vivien said suddenly, her administrative instincts cutting through the panic. "Marcus is terrified of flying commercially, but he’s paranoid about leaving a paper trail. If he’s running to Montreal, he didn't just leave with the hitman's payment. He took the master logistics drive—the one with the encrypted offshore accounts that controls your whole shipping network."
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Matteo stared at her, an eyebrow slowly arching. "How do you know that?"
"Because three days ago, he asked me for the backup override codes for the harbor servers," she said, her jaw setting with fierce determination. "I told him no, but he had my desk keys. If he leaves with that drive, Matteo, he doesn't just give Russo your life—he gives him your entire empire."
