The Leak

She found it on a Tuesday.

Not because she was looking, she was always looking, that was the point. But this particular Tuesday she was sitting at the kitchen counter with a coffee she hadn't touched, scrolling her phone like a woman with nothing to do, while quietly running a cross-reference on three names Dominic had mentioned at dinner.

One of them didn't line up.

Cael Briggs. Mid-level. Handled logistics for Dominic's shipping routes which routes moved when, which docks, which drivers. Invisible enough to be ignored. Important enough to do real damage. She had flagged him six weeks ago as a low-level concern.

Overnight, that thread had moved.

A transfer. Small enough to miss if you weren't looking for the shape of it. She knew that shape. Had used it herself — the specific way money moved when someone was being paid not to talk but to listen.

Cael Briggs was feeding information outside the Moretti organization.

The problem wasn't finding him. The problem was she couldn't report it without revealing she had access she had no business having. No cover story explained how Dominic's quiet companion had been running background checks on his logistics staff at two in the morning.

She would have to handle it herself.

She was still working through the how when Marco walked in.

No knock. Which meant either Dominic had given him a key or he'd had one long enough that knocking had stopped occurring to him. He was built like someone who had been in too many fights and won enough of them to stop being careful. Broad through the shoulders, tattooed across both forearms, with a face specifically arranged to make people uncomfortable.

He stopped when he saw her.

"He's not here," she said. "Left about an hour ago."

"I know." He didn't move from the doorway, eyes moving across the room the way they always did cataloguing. "I'm early."

"He said eleven."

"It's ten forty."

She said nothing. He pulled out a chair and sat without being invited, the way Marco did everything.

"You want coffee?" she asked.

"No." He put both forearms on the table. "You sleep alright?"

"Fine. Why?"

"You look tired."

"I'm not tired."

"Didn't say you were. Said you look it." He held her gaze without aggression. Just watchful. Persistently, exhaustingly watchful. "Long night?"

"The city was loud."

He made a sound that wasn't agreement. His eyes moved across the counter — the phone face-down, the untouched coffee, the notepad she'd been writing nothing on.

"Dominic mention the situation outside?" he asked. "From last night?"

"He said you handled it."

"Right." A pause. "The man in the sedan was gone before my guys got there." Casual. The way you said something you'd been holding and finally decided to put on the table. "You know anything about that?"

The kitchen went quiet.

"Why would I?" she said.

"I don't know." His eyes didn't move. "That's what I'm asking."

She held his gaze long enough to seem unbothered. Then she looked back at her phone. "I was here all evening. Making dinner."

"Yeah." Something moved at the edge of his expression. "Tomatoes."

She looked up sharply.

"Dominic told me," he said simply. "Said you made dinner. Said it was good." He stood, pushed the chair in with one hand. "Just making conversation."

He walked to the living room and dropped onto the couch like he owned it.

Lena stared at her cold coffee.

She had to move on Briggs tonight. Before whoever he was feeding decided to act on what he'd already given them.

She was still working out the details when Dominic's elevator opened.

His voice arrived ahead of him, mid-call, unhurried. "I don't care what he said. Tell him to wait." A pause. "No, tell him I said wait." He came around the corner, pointed at Marco in greeting without breaking stride. His eyes found Lena at the counter and did that small, specific softening he didn't seem to know about.

"I'll call you back." He hung up. Came to the kitchen. Looked at her mug. "That's cold."

"I know."

"How long have you been sitting here?"

"A while."

He took the mug without asking, poured it out, started a fresh one. She watched him move through the kitchen comfortable, certain — and felt that familiar pressure in her chest she had stopped pretending was anything else.

"Marco's here," she said.

"I see him." He glanced over. "You're early."

Marco stood. "We've got a problem. Cael Briggs didn't show up this morning."

Dominic set the fresh mug in front of Lena. His voice stayed even. "What do you mean didn't show up?"

"Nobody's seen him since yesterday afternoon. Car's still at the dock. Phone goes straight to voicemail." A pause. "He's gone, Dom."

Dominic was quiet.

Lena wrapped both hands around the warm mug.

She already knew where Cael Briggs was. She had made sure of it at 4am while Dominic slept with his arm around her.

"Find him," Dominic said.

"Already on it." Marco grabbed his jacket. Stopped at the door.

Looked back.

Not at Dominic.

At Lena.

One second. Then he was gone.

Dominic turned to her. Calm eyes, jaw set. "You okay?"

"Of course. Why?"

He reached out. Touched the side of her face two fingers, briefly. The way he did when he was checking she was real.

"No reason," he said. Walked away to take his call.

Lena stared at the empty doorway.

Marco had looked back at her. And this time his expression wasn't suspicion.

It was certainty.