Chapter 7 - The Mask Comes Off
Cassian swallowed hard, his eyes darting wildly toward the exit as blood dripped from his crushed hand.
“It was Marcus!” Cassian shrieked, his voice cracking with desperation. “Your second-in-command! Marcus came to me three weeks ago! He gave me the girl’s location in New Jersey! He wanted me to force Isabella to plant the bug so you would think she betrayed you!”
Aleandro froze, the world around him turning into a cold, terrifying vacuum.
Marcus.
The man who had stood at his side for fifteen years. The man who had grown up in the same neighborhood. The man who sat at his family table every Sunday afternoon.
“Why?” Aleandro asked, his voice dropping into a register so low it sounded like gravel grinding together.
“Marcus wanted you to execute Isabella for treason!” Cassian stammered, tears of pain spilling over his bruised cheeks. “He knew if you found out she was spying, your code would demand her death! And once you killed the woman you loved, Marcus was going to use the grief and chaos to stage a coup within the syndicate!”
Aleandro stared down at the groveling rival boss.
Every piece of the puzzle fell into place with devastating clarity. The military-grade bug. The flawless knowledge of his schedule. The security blind spots around the estate. It hadn't been an outside enemy at all—it had been the Judas sitting right beside him.
“Is that everything?” Aleandro asked softly.
“Yes! I swear on my life, that’s everything!” Cassian wept. “Just let me leave the city! I’ll never come back to New York!”
Aleandro looked down at him for three long seconds.
“You kept a four-year-old child in a concrete cell for four days,” Aleandro said quietly. “You don't get to leave the city.”
Thwip.
A single suppressed shot rang out, and Cassian Vance went limp against the cold concrete floor.
Aleandro turned around, holstering his weapon, and looked at Marco, who was standing twenty feet away, holding his tactical rifle.
Marco’s face was pale. He had heard every word of Cassian’s confession over the open tactical comms.
“Boss…” Marco whispered, his hands shaking slightly. “Marcus is at the estate right now. He’s guarding the main house with eight of his personal loyalists.”
May you like
Aleandro walked past Marco, wiping a small speck of rain from his cheek.
“Then let’s go home,” Aleandro said softly, “and finish this.”
