Page 42 of Savage Reckoning
“Your father was brilliant,” my mother goes on, painting this picture that feels too vivid, too real. “Investigating Alessandro’s network. He didn’t know about me or North Korea—he just knew the Varelas were rotten, and he was going to expose them.”
“And?” I whisper, hating how I’m hanging on her words, even as my mind screams trap.
“And Nico found out.” She spits his name like poison. “He couldn’t let your dad get closer. So, he had him killed. Staged the accident to protect his empire.”
It fits—the missing piece I’ve chased for years. The reason I hated Nico from the start. It all fits... doesn’t it? Or is this just what I want to hear, the easy villain to blame? Nico’s been a monster, yeah, but those moments... the way he stopped yesterday, the regret in his eyes. His raw emotional retelling of how he watched his mom die. Was that all fake? Or is Mom twisting things again to save her own skin? God, I don’t know anymore. My head’s spinning.
“All these years...” Her voice breaks with a sob that tugs at me, sounding so damn real. “I’ve been trying to take him down from the inside, for your father. For justice. That’s why I linked up with Moretti—to find something big enough to hit Nico with. But Moretti’s turned on me, and now Nico has you. We’ve lost.”
The line goes dead.
I lower the phone, shaking all over. The welts sting, but now they’re tangled up with confusion. Were they just punishment from a killer? Or something more twisted, like the messed-up connection I’ve started feeling with him? No. Focus, Lea. Mom’s story lines up with what I’ve always suspected, but it feels too perfect. Too rehearsed. And yet... what if it’s true? What if Nico really killed Dad?
I look up at Isabel. That sympathy in her eyes. Is it real, or just another play? “I’m sorry,” she says softly, plucking the phone from my limp hand. “I thought you deserved to know the truth.”
“Why are you doing this?” I ask, my voice hollow. “Helping me? What do you get out of it?”
Isabel’s smile is sharp. “I want what you want, Lea. Justice for your father. Your mother’s safety.” She steps closer, her fingersbrushing my cheek—intimate, but it burns like a warning. “But most of all, I want Nico Varela’s downfall.”
“What do I need to do?” I ask, ice forming over the chaos inside, even as questions nag at me.
“When Nico returns, be his perfect little pet—loyal, broken. Tell him I tried to turn you.”
“And then?”
“And then,” she purrs, voice like silk over steel, “you’ll help me tear down everything he loves, bit by bit, until he’s dust.”
I nod, sharp and quickly. Vengeance sounds good. Saving Mom, ending Nico. But doubt lingers. What if she’s wrong? What if he’s not the monster she says he is? My mission’s shifting from survival to something darker, but I’m not all in. Not yet.
“I’ll need proof,” I say, the words surprising me with their steel. “About my father. Something real, not just words.”
Isabel’s smile ticks up, as if she expected it. “Of course. You’ll get your proof.” She hands me a tiny burner phone. “Take this. I’ll call you about the proof.”
She heads for the door, then glances back. “Remember, Lea. Nico exploits weaknesses. He doesn’t love people. Don’t fool yourself into thinking you’re special.”
She’s gone, vanishing like a ghost, leaving me alone with this acid burn of “truth” eating away at the fragile feelings I’ve started having for Nico. But the doubt? It’s still there, gnawing. I won’t believe it fully until I see the proof. Until then, I’ll play the game; because if it’s true, I’ll burn him down myself. And if it’s not... god, I don’t even know what that means for me anymore.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
NICO
“It’s a ghost, Nico.”
Alessandro’s voice is flat, the sound swallowed by the large study. He stands by the grand fireplace, swirling a crystal tumbler of whiskey. The ice cubes clink, a lonely, rhythmic sound.
“The intel is fabricated,” he continues, his gaze fixed on the amber liquid. “My sources confirmed it. No unusual activity in Vancouver. No flagship shipment from Moretti. Isabel played you.”
The words hurt. Played. The Diplomat, sent on a fool’s errand. Heat floods my chest, a bitter, scalding thing aimed not at Isabel, but squarely at myself.
The reason for my failure has a name, and it occupies the space where my judgment should be: Lea.
The storm on the yacht, the punishment, her breaking... the corrosive guilt that followed. It carved out a weakness, a fissure in my armor for Isabel to exploit. She smelled blood in the water.
“Why?” The word is a rasp, forced from my throat. I’m not asking Alessandro. I’m forcing my own compromised mind to work. The answer comes back instantly. “She wants her.”
“She wanted you out of the way,” Alessandro corrects, turning from the fireplace. His gaze pins me in place. “Unfettered access. An intelligent move.” He sets his tumbler on the mantelpiece with a sharp click, the sound an exclamation point on his disapproval. “Your focus has been… divided, Nephew. You took the word of a known cartel liaison without verification. That isn’t how I trained you.”
His accuracy is eating at me. I push past the sting. What lies did Isabel plant? What weaknesses did she probe? The image of Isabel inside Lea’s head, turning her, is a violation I can’t permit.
