Chapter 58

The safehouse basement was dim, the air thick with the scent of dust and old paper. A single overhead bulb flickered slightly, casting eerie shadows across the room. The atmosphere was heavy with tension, the kind that settled deep into your bones, making every sound feel louder than it was.

Tony sat hunched over a cluttered desk, his fingers moving rapidly over the keyboard. His pulse pounded in his ears as he scrolled through file after file, his sharp eyes scanning lines of data at an almost inhuman speed.

There was something here. He could feel it. The missing piece. The answer they had been chasing for weeks.

His breath came in short, uneven bursts. The deeper he dug, the more the puzzle started to come together-fragments of conversations, encrypted messages, deleted logs that should never have existed. The truth had been hidden well, buried under layers of deception. But now, it was unraveling before his eyes.

And then he saw it.

A name. A timestamp. A conversation caught on a hidden surveillance camera.

His stomach clenched. He clicked the file open, his hands suddenly cold as the footage played out on the screen.

At first, it was nothing but static. Then, a shadowed figure stepped into frame. The video was grainy, the lighting poor, but there was no mistaking the person's posture, the slight tilt of their head.

Tony's body went rigid.

No. Not them. Not someone so close.

A sickening wave of realization crashed over him. His mind screamed for him to be wrong, for this to be some kind of mistake. But the footage didn't lie.

He swallowed hard, his throat dry as he grabbed his phone with trembling fingers. He had to warn Enzo. Had to tell him what he'd found. Everything was about to change.

But just as he pressed the call button, a floorboard creaked behind him.

His breath caught in his throat.

Someone was there.

Rain poured heavily outside, turning the city into a blur of glistening pavement and distorted neon lights. The alleyway was dark, narrow, the scent of damp concrete mixing with the lingering stench of garbage.

Tony moved quickly, his coat pulled tightly around him, his phone clenched in his hand. He had managed to escape the safehouse, but his mind was still reeling from what he had just uncovered.

This was bigger than he had ever imagined.

The betrayal wasn't just a crack in their team-it was a gaping wound, one that had been festering beneath their noses.

He had called Enzo, but the words had caught in his throat before he could speak. He needed to be sure, needed to get to a safe location before he relayed what he knew. If the mole was willing to sell them out, then they were capable of far worse.

The alley stretched ahead of him, the faint glow of city lights flickering just beyond its edge. He just had to reach his car, a few steps away. Then he'd disappear into the night, find a place to lay low until he could regroup.

But something felt wrong.

A cold prickle crawled up his spine.

He wasn't alone.

The air shifted behind him-just the slightest disturbance. A breath. A presence.

Tony barely had time to react before the cold press of a gun barrel settled against his lower back.

A familiar voice murmured behind him.

"You shouldn't have looked."

Tony's fingers tightened around his phone, his mind racing. He was still on the call with Enzo. Maybe he had heard. Maybe-

"Drop it," the voice ordered.

He hesitated.

The sound of a gun's safety clicking off sent a sharp pulse of fear through him.

Tony took a slow breath. "We don't have to do this," he said, voice calm despite the storm raging inside him. "There's always another way."

The person behind him chuckled softly. It was the kind of laugh that held no warmth.

"No, Tony. There isn't."

The last thing he heard was the crack of a gunshot shattering the night

The safe house was quiet. Too quiet.

Enzo sat at the worn wooden table, his fingers drumming against the surface. His phone lay in front of him, the screen dark, the last call with Tony still fresh in his mind. Something wasn't right.

Isabella stood by the window, arms crossed, her brows furrowed in deep thought. The unease between them was thick, neither willing to voice what they both felt.

"He was about to say something," Isabella finally murmured. "Then the call just-stopped."

Enzo's jaw tightened. "Yeah."

The silence stretched.

Then-a knock.

Both of them stiffened instantly.

Isabella moved first, grabbing the knife from the table. Enzo reached for his gun, moving toward the door in silence. No one was supposed to know this location.

He approached cautiously, pressing his ear against the wood. Nothing. No voices, no movement.

Exchanging a quick glance with Isabella, he cracked the door open just enough to peek outside.

No one.

But something sat on the ground.

A small package.

Frowning, Enzo knelt and picked it up, his grip tightening as he felt something damp against his palm.

The scent hit him first. Metallic. Sharp. Unmistakable.

Blood.

Isabella sucked in a breath as he sliced the package open.

A single object tumbled onto the table.

Tony's watch.

Isabella covered her mouth, horror flashing in her eyes. The leather strap was soaked through, stained a deep, unforgiving red.

A folded note lay inside the package, speckled with tiny crimson droplets. Enzo snatched it up and unfolded it.

Three words.

"Your move."

His grip tightened, the muscles in his jaw flexing as a slow, simmering rage built inside him.

Isabella's hands curled into fists. This wasn't a warning.

This was an invitation.

"They're baiting us," she said through clenched teeth.

Enzo exhaled sharply, forcing himself to keep his emotions in check. Moretti wasn't hiding anymore.

They had been playing defense for too long.

Now, it was time to strike back.