Page 64 of Of Lies and Shadows

“My marriage is irrelevant,” I snap. “I saw your message—Harbor thirty-two was raided?”

He sobers immediately, setting the cup down. “Yeah. And the timing was too perfect to be coincidence.”

“What about Martino?” I ask, leaning forward.

He was the only one who vanished right after we uncovered Salvatore’s involvement. Too neat. Too well-timed. I’d convinced myself he ran until I got distracted by the walking contradiction that is my traitor-nanny-wife.

But it wasn’t her. I’m certain of that now.

“We found him,” Vito says, tone flat.

My jaw tightens. “Alive?”

He lets out a breath, shaking his head slowly. “Don’t get too excited. I should’ve said we foundpartsof him.”

Vito crosses his arms. “We have bigger problems than Martino’s death.”

I don’t like the way he says it, tight and deliberate. Thekind of tone he only uses when something is about to blow up in our faces.

“A second shipment’s gone missing,” he adds. “And this time, not just weapons. Clean cash. Laundering channels.”

I go still. Vito doesn’t have to say the rest. I already know.

“It had to be someone with internal clearance,” he finishes grimly. “Someone close.”

Not a leak; it’s so much worse. It’s a fucking betrayal.

And not just any betrayal. Intimate. Familiar. Trusted.

My mind goes first to logistics, but my gut goes to the kitchen. To Francesca. To Alessio and Lucia. To the world I’ve let grow around me while I wasn’t paying attention. If this is a war from within, they’re all exposed. And that makes it personal.

My stomach twists, but my expression doesn’t change. I nod once, slowly, like I’m digesting it, but I’m already moving three steps ahead. Running names. Faces. Patterns. Who touched what, when, and why.

Only a handful of people have that level of access. Less than ten. Maybe five.

Vito watches me carefully, waiting for the explosion.

But it doesn’t come.

Instead, I lean back in my chair, fingers steepled again, my voice calm. “I’ll organize a party at home to celebrate my nuptials.”

He blinks. “A party?”

I nod. “Call it a celebration for the union of two families.” My words drip with sarcasm. “I’ll invite everyone. Especially Francesca’s father.”

“You want a fucking family reunion?” he mutters.

“No,” I say. “I want everyone under my roof. Smiling. Drinking. Talking too much.”

Because when people drink, they get sloppy. When they pretend to celebrate, they reveal who they really hate.

“When?” Vito asks, more alert now.

“Next Friday.”

“You’re hunting,” he says. “You want to see who gets nervous. Who avoids eye contact. Who doesn’t show up at all.”

I meet his gaze, calm and cold. “No. I want them relaxed. I want them to think I’m stupid. That they’re in the clear. People make mistakes when they think they’ve won. And when they do?” I pause. “I want a name.”

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