MORNING MASK

I spent the rest of the morning pretending everything was fine.

Playing dinosaurs with Luca. Smiling at Maria's comments about what to make for lunch. Acting like my phone wasn't a ticking bomb in my pocket. Like I wasn't counting down the hours until tomorrow's meeting where I will either walk into a trap or miss my only chance at real answers.

Thirty-four hours and thirteen minutes.

Not that I was counting.

By noon, Luca was getting restless. Six-year-olds weren't meant to be cooped up in penthouses, no matter how luxurious. He needed to run, to play, to burn off the endless energy that came with childhood.

"Mama, can we go outside?" he asked for the third time. "Just to the park? Please?"

"Not today, baby."

"But why? We always go to the park."

Because there are men with guns watching this building. Because someone wants to hurt you to get to me. Because your father is hunting a traitor and the last thing we need is to be exposed in an open space where anyone could take a shot.

"Because we're still getting settled," I said instead. "Maybe in a few days."

"You always say that." His lower lip jutted out. "You said that in Jersey too. And in the place before that. And the place before that."

Guilt twisted in my chest. He was right. I'd been saying "maybe later" and "not today" and "when it's safe" for his entire life.

When would it actually be safe?

"I know, Luca. I'm sorry. But..."

"I could take him to the building's gym," Ghost said from the doorway. I hadn't heard him approach. "They've got a basketball court. Kid could burn off some energy. I'll stay with him the whole time."

Luca's face lit up. "Can I, Mama? Please? Ghost can teach me basketball!"

I looked at Ghost. He gave me a slight nod. It's secure. Controlled environment. I won't let anything happen to him.

"Okay," I said. "But you stay with Ghost the entire time. No wandering off."

"I won't! Promise!" Luca was already bouncing toward the door. "Come on, Ghost! Let's go!"

They left, Luca chattering excitedly about whether he'd be tall enough to play basketball for real someday, Ghost responding with patient answers that made my heart ache.

This man had been more of a father figure to my son than I'd wanted to admit. For three years, since he'd saved us in Lagos, Ghost had been the constant male presence in Luca's life. Teaching him things. Protecting him. Being there.

Now Dante was here. And Ghost was being pushed to the sidelines.

Another casualty of our complicated situation.

I stood alone in the living room, listening to the silence, feeling the weight of the phone in my pocket.

I should be doing something. Preparing for tomorrow. Researching the Brooklyn families. Planning what I will say and how I'll present myself.

Instead, I pulled out my phone and read the message again.

Tomorrow's meeting..perfect opportunity for you to show your loyalty. Leave your phone behind. Come alone to the ladies' room on the second floor at exactly 8:47 PM.

8:47. Such a specific time. Not 8:45 or 8:50. Exactly 8:47.

Which meant they would be tracking the meeting's progression. Knew when there'd be a natural break. When I could slip away without raising immediate suspicion.

They had been to these meetings before. Knew the routine.

Someone familiar with how Dante operated. How these negotiations flowed.

The list of suspects narrowed with every detail.

"You look like you're planning a murder."

I jumped, nearly dropping my phone. Spun around.

Dante stood behind me, jacket off, sleeves rolled up, hair still disheveled from lack of sleep. He looked like he'd been working non-stop since our conversation this morning.

"I didn't hear you come in," I said.

"I noticed." His eyes dropped to the phone in my hand. "Everything okay?"

"Fine. Just...checking messages."

"From who?"

The question was casual. But his eyes weren't. They were sharp. Assessing. Reading me the way he'd probably learned to read everyone in his world..looking for the lie beneath the surface.

"No one important," I said. "Just some old contacts. People I knew in Lagos."

"People in Lagos have your new number? The one I had my tech team set up with triple encryption?"

Damn it. I'd forgotten about that detail.

"I gave it to a few trusted people," I said quickly. "Before I left. In case of emergencies."

He studied me for another long moment. I could see him weighing whether to push, whether to call out the obvious lie, whether to demand I show him the phone.

Instead, he just nodded slowly. "Be careful who you trust, Aria. Even people you think are loyal can surprise you."

"I know, I know."

"Do you?" He moved closer. Close enough that I could smell his cologne something expensive and gentle that made me think of the boy I had loved seven years ago and the man he'd become. "Because you've been jumpy all morning. Distracted. And Maria said you looked upset after checking your phone earlier."

Of course Maria had told him. She was loyal to Dante first. I should have expected that.

"I'm fine," I insisted. "Just nervous about tomorrow. The meeting. Meeting the families. It's a lot."

"It is," he agreed. "Which is why I wanted to go over some things with you. Make sure you're prepared." He gestured toward his office. "Come on. We should talk strategy."

I followed him, tucking my phone away, trying to calm my racing heart.

The office looked different in daylight less intimidating, more like a regular workspace. The maps on the wall were still there, still marked with their color-coded pins, but somehow they seemed less ominous in the afternoon sun.

Dante moved to his desk, pulled out a folder thick with papers and photographs.

"The key players tomorrow," he said, spreading photos across the desk. "Antonio Battaglia he runs the docks in Red Hook. Been in business forty years. Old school. Doesn't trust women in leadership but he respected your father."

I studied the photo. Older man, maybe late sixties, hard face that had probably never smiled.

"Angelo Ricci construction unions. Younger, more progressive, but ambitious. He'll be trying to figure out if you're an asset or a threat to his own plans for expansion."

Another photo. This one mid-forties, expensive suit, calculating eyes.

"Sal Fontana imports and exports through the Brooklyn ports. Quiet. Observant. Doesn't talk much but sees everything. If anyone's going to spot something off about you, it'll be Sal."

Third photo. Nondescript face that you'd forget five minutes after meeting. Which was probably the point.

"And finally, Gianna Costello."

He laid down the last photo and I felt my breath catch.

A woman. Maybe fifty, elegant, perfectly styled, looking at the camera like she owned everything in frame.

"Gianna runs the Costello family since her husband died five years ago," Dante continued. "She's smart, ruthless, and doesn't tolerate disrespect. She'll be your biggest challenge tomorrow."

"Because she's a woman."

"Because she had to fight twice as hard as any man to earn her position. She'll see you as either competition or someone making a mockery of the struggle she went through." He looked up. "Gianna didn't have a powerful husband to back her when she took over. She did it alone, through blood and strategy. You walking in with my protection? That's going to stick in her throat."

Great. So I'd be judged by the men for being a woman and judged by the woman for not suffering enough to earn my position.

"What do I say to her?" I asked.

"The truth. That you're not trying to compete with her. That you respect what she's built. That you're looking for allies, not enemies." He paused. "And whatever you do, don't patronize her. Don't try to bond over being women in a man's world. She'll betray you."

I studied Gianna's photo, memorizing her face. She'd be my test tomorrow. My real challenge.

"Tell me about the meeting structure," I said. "How does it work?"

"Dinner first. Appetizers in the main room while everyone arrives and does the social dance. That's where first impressions are made. Small talk, subtle threats disguised as compliments, people feeling out the power dynamics."

"And I'll be introduced?"

"As my wife and as Marco Moretti's daughter. They'll have questions. About where you've been, why you're surfacing now, what your intentions are." He leaned against the desk. "The key is to answer without actually answering. Give them enough to satisfy curiosity but not enough to show vulnerability."

"I can do that."

"Then dinner. That's when business starts. Territory discussions. They'll bring proposals, I'll counter, we'll negotiate. This is where you mostly observe. Learn how the game is played."

"And after dinner?"

"Drinks. Dessert. More informal conversations where the real deals get made. That's when people drop their guards a little. When alcohol loosens tongues." His eyes held mine. "That's also when you'll face the real test. When someone will try to isolate you, get you alone, ask harder questions away from my protection."

8:47 PM.

The message had specified the ladies' room. Second floor. During that post-dinner informal period.

Exactly when Dante was describing.

Which meant the traitor knew these meetings inside and out. Had been to enough of them to predict the timing perfectly.

"What do I do if someone tries to isolate me?" I asked, keeping my voice steady.

"Depends on who and why. If it's Gianna, she might be testing you. Seeing if you can handle yourself without me. In that case, stand your ground. Show her you're not afraid."

"And if it's someone else?"

"Then you make an excuse and get back to the main room. These people are allies for now, but that can change in a heartbeat. I don't want you alone with any of them until we know where everyone stands."

But I was going to be alone tomorrow. At 8:47 PM. In the second floor ladies' room.

Meeting someone who claimed to know who killed my family.

"Aria." Dante's voice cut through my thoughts. "Where did you just go?"

"What?"

"Your mind. You checked out for a second." He moved closer, concerned. "If this is too much, if you're not ready.."

"I'm ready," I said quickly. "I'm just processing. There's a lot to remember."

"We can cancel. Push it to next week. Give you more time.."

"No." Too sharp. Too desperate. I forced myself to soften. "No, I'm fine. I can do this. I want to do this."

He searched my face, clearly not convinced. "You're sure?"

"Positive."

Lie.

I wasn't sure about anything anymore. Except that tomorrow at 8:47 PM, I'd be making a choice that could either save my family or destroy it.

And I still had no idea which it would be.

"Okay," Dante said slowly. "Then let's talk about what you'll wear. Image matters in these settings. You need to look powerful but not threatening. Elegant but not trying too hard."

We spent the next hour going over details. What to wear. How to hold myself. What topics to avoid. How to read the room.

Dante was a good teacher patient, thorough, treating this like the serious preparation it was.

And I tried to focus. Tried to absorb everything. Tried to be present.

But my mind kept drifting to that message. To the impossible choice looming over me.

Tell Dante and risk the traitor's warning coming true.

Or go alone and risk walking into a trap.

There was no good option. No safe choice.

Just two different kinds of danger and the hope that I'd pick the right one.

By evening, I was exhausted from pretending.

Luca had returned from the gym sweaty and happy, full of stories about basketball and how Ghost had taught him to dribble. We'd had dinner together me, Luca, and Dante, like a real family with Maria serving and pretending not to notice how distracted I was.

Dante had been called away twice during the meal for security updates. The investigation into the forty-three suspects was ongoing. They'd cleared five more people, bringing the total to twenty-five cleared.

Eighteen suspects remaining.

Eighteen people who could be the traitor. Who could be planning to meet me tomorrow at 8:47 PM.

After dinner, Dante had offered to do bedtime with Luca again. Our son had been thrilled. I watched from the doorway as they read about space exploration, Dante explaining concepts that went over a six-year-old's head but trying anyway, Luca hanging on every word.

"Love you, Dad," Luca had said when the story ended.

"Love you too," Dante had responded, voice rough with emotion.

And I'd felt like an intruder in my own son's bedtime routine.

Now I sat in my bedroom, staring at my phone, reading that message for probably the hundredth time.

Tomorrow's meeting perfect opportunity for you to show your loyalty.

What did that mean? Show my loyalty to whom? To Dante? To the memory of my family? To whoever was sending these messages?

Leave your phone behind.

They'd know if I didn't. Would be watching close enough to see if I brought it. Which meant they had eyes on me. Possibly inside the meeting itself.

Come alone to the ladies' room on the second floor at exactly 8:47 PM.

Specific. Planned. Dangerous.

We need to talk. About the past. About who really killed your family.

This is what stopped me from deleting the message and telling Dante everything.

Because what if they really knew? What if this was my only chance to find out the truth about that night?

Vincent was the obvious suspect. The one who'd benefited most from my family's death. The one I'd spent seven years assuming was guilty.

But what if I was wrong? What if the real killer was someone else? Someone I'd never considered?

About what it'll take to keep your son safe.

Always back to Luca. Always threatening the one thing that could make me do anything.

Don't tell Dante. Don't bring security. Just you.

The condition that made this impossible.

Because telling Dante was the smart choice. The safe choice. The choice that made tactical sense.

But it was also the choice that might get my son killed.

Or the next photo I send won't be from a distance.

A knock on my door made me jump.

I shoved the phone under my pillow like a teenager hiding contraband. "Come in."

Dante entered, looking slightly less exhausted than this morning. He'd showered and changed into comfortable clothes..expensive sweats and a t-shirt that shouldn't have looked as good as it did.

"Luca's asleep," he said. "Went down easy."

"He always does after physical activity. Ghost knew what he was doing."

"Ghost is good with him."

"He's been good with him for three years. Since Lagos." I shifted on the bed. "He saved our lives, you know. When that assassin found us."

"I know. I read the report."

Of course he had. Dante probably knew every detail of my seven years away. Had probably investigated Ghost as thoroughly as everyone else.

"You trust him?" I asked. "With Luca?"

"I trust him more than almost anyone in my organization. Ghost is one of the eighteen people still under investigation, but only because I'm investigating everyone. Not because I actually suspect him." Dante moved further into the room. "He loves that kid. I've seen it. The way he is with him. Ghost would die before letting anything happen to Luca."

"I know."

We were quiet for a moment. Comfortable silence that felt dangerous. Like we were a real couple having an end-of-day conversation instead of two people bound by contracts and necessity.

"You should sleep," Dante said finally. "Tomorrow's going to be intense. You'll need to be sharp."

"I know. I will. I just " I gestured vaguely. "Still processing everything."

"Aria." He sat on the edge of the bed. "I need to ask you something. And I need you to be honest with me."

My heart rate spiked. "Okay."

"Are you having second thoughts? About tomorrow? About this whole arrangement? Because if you are, if you're not ready.."

"I'm ready."

"..we can find another way. We can.." He stopped. Really looked at me. "You're lying to me."

"I'm not.."

"You are. You've been lying all day. I can see it." His voice was gentle but firm. "What's going on? What aren't you telling me?"

This was my moment. My chance to come clean. To show him the message and let him handle it.

To trust him the way he was asking me to.

But my mouth wouldn't form the words. Because the message's warning echoed too loudly: Don't tell Dante.

And underneath that was something deeper. A fear that if I showed him this, if I proved I couldn't handle threats on my own, he'd see me the way my father had.

As weak. As a liability. As someone who needed constant protection instead of someone who could stand on her own.

"I'm scared," I said instead. Not quite a lie. Not quite the truth. "Tomorrow..meeting these people, claiming my father's legacy..what if I fail? What if they laugh me out of the room? What if I prove my father was right about me?"

It was enough truth to be believable. Enough vulnerability to satisfy his concern.

Dante's expression softened. "You're not going to fail."

"You don't know that."

"I do. Because I've been watching you, Aria. Watching how you think, how you strategize, how you present yourself. You're smarter than you give yourself credit for. Stronger than you realize." He reached out, tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. "Your father was wrong about you. And tomorrow, you're going to prove it. To them. To yourself. To everyone who ever doubted you."

The kindness in his voice nearly broke me.

Because here he was, being supportive and gentle and everything I needed, and I was lying to him. Keeping secrets. Planning to walk into a potentially deadly situation without telling him.

"Thank you," I whispered.

"Get some sleep." He stood, but paused at the door. "And Aria? Whatever happens tomorrow..whatever challenges you face..remember you're not alone anymore. I'm there. Backing you. Believing in you."

The door closed softly behind him.

And I sat there in the darkness, phone still hidden under my pillow, guilt crushing my chest.

He believed in me.

And I was about to betray that trust again.