The Leak

The house was quiet.

Cassandra sat by the window of the nursery, her hand resting on her stomach. The baby had been active all morning—tiny kicks, gentle flutters, a constant reminder of the life growing inside her. She smiled, tracing slow circles on her belly.

"Good morning, Grace," she whispered.

The door opened behind her. Dante stepped inside, his hair still damp from the shower, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar. He crossed the room and knelt beside her chair, his hand covering hers on her stomach.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Better. The nausea's easing."

"Good." He kissed her forehead. "You scared me, you know. When you ran out of the car—"

"I know." She touched his face. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize. Just... don't do it again."

She laughed softly. "I'll try."

---

Marco had been interrogating the traitor for three days.

The man's name was Thomas—a guard who'd been with the Moretti family for nearly a decade. Dante had trusted him. Promoted him. Paid him well. And Thomas had betrayed them all.

Marco sat across from him in the basement of the safe house—a cold, windowless room with a single bulb hanging from the ceiling. Thomas was tied to a chair, his face bruised, his eyes bloodshot.

"I've told you everything," Thomas rasped. "I don't know anything else."

"You know more." Marco's voice was flat. "You're just not telling me."

"I swear—"

"Don't swear." Marco leaned forward, his scarred face inches from Thomas's. "Swear to me again and I'll cut out your tongue."

Thomas fell silent.

---

It took another day, but Thomas finally broke.

He told Marco everything—how Isabella had found him six months ago, how she'd threatened his family, how she'd promised him money and protection if he fed her information. He told Marco about the meetings, the phone calls, the coded messages.

And then he told Marco something else.

"Isabella wasn't working alone," Thomas whispered. "There's someone else. Someone with money. Someone with power."

Marco's eyes narrowed. "Who?"

"I don't know his name. But I heard her talking to him once. She called him Salvatore."

---

Marco brought the information to Dante that evening.

Dante was in his study, going over security reports. He looked up when Marco entered, his expression shifting when he saw the look on his face.

"What is it?"

Marco told him. About Thomas. About Isabella. About Salvatore.

Dante's blood ran cold.

"Salvatore," he repeated. "Vincent's old rival. The man I dealt with months ago."

"He escaped from prison three weeks ago. No one told us."

"Because no one knew." Dante stood, pacing the room. "He's been funding Isabella's operation from the shadows. He's the one who helped her fake her death. He's the one who's been orchestrating everything."

"It makes sense," Marco said. "He wanted revenge. He used Isabella to get it."

Dante made a decision.

He was going to find Salvatore. He was going to end this once and for all.

But this time, he wasn't going alone.

He called Evan. He called Adrian. He called every man he trusted.

They gathered in the study—Evan, Marco, Adrian, Daniel. The room was tense, the air thick with determination.

"Salvatore is hiding somewhere in the city," Dante said. "He has resources. Connections. But he's also desperate. And desperate men make mistakes."

"What's the plan?" Evan asked.

"We find him. We corner him. We end this."

Cassandra found them in the study.

She stood in the doorway, her hand on her stomach, her eyes moving from face to face.

"You're going after him," she said.

Dante turned. His expression softened when he saw her.

"Yes."

"I want to come."

"No."

"Dante—"

"You're pregnant." He crossed the room, taking her hands. "You're carrying our daughter. I can't risk you. I can't lose you."

She stared at him. Her eyes were wet.

"Then don't lose yourself," she whispered. "Come back to me."

"Always."

---

That night, Cassandra lay in bed, her hand on her stomach.

Dante was beside her, his arm draped across her waist, his breath warm against her neck. He was asleep—finally, after days of restlessness.

She stared at the ceiling, her mind racing.

She didn't know what tomorrow would bring. She didn't know if Dante would come back. She didn't know if any of them would survive.

But she knew one thing.

She wasn't going to let fear control her anymore.

---

Her phone buzzed.

She glanced at the screen. An unknown number.

She answered.

"Your boyfriend is walking into a trap," a voice said. Cold. Male. Unfamiliar.

Cassandra's blood ran cold. "Who is this?"

"Someone who wants to help you. Salvatore knows about the baby. He knows about the name. He's going to use it against you."

"How do you know this?"

"Because I'm the one who helped Isabella fake her death. And I'm done being his pawn."

The line went dead.

Cassandra stared at her phone.

The stranger's words echoed in her mind—cold, urgent, terrifying. Salvatore knows about the baby. He knows about the name. He's going to use it against you.

She didn't know who the caller was. She didn't know if she could trust them. But she knew one thing.

Dante was walking into a trap.

---

She found him in the study.

He was standing over a map of the city, his hands braced on the table, his jaw tight. Evan and Marco were beside him, pointing at locations, discussing strategy.

Cassandra pushed open the door.

"Dante."

He looked up. His expression shifted when he saw her face—pale, tense, terrified.

"What's wrong?"

She told him about the call. The warning. The stranger's voice.

Dante's jaw tightened. His hands curled into fists.

"It could be a trick," he said.

"It could be. But what if it's not?" She stepped closer. "What if Salvatore really does know about the baby? What if he's planning something?"

Dante was silent for a long moment. Then he turned to Marco.

"Find out who called her. Now."

---

Marco dug into the caller's identity.

It took hours. He traced the burner phone, analyzed the voice, cross-referenced it with known associates of Salvatore and Isabella.

The voice matched someone in Salvatore's inner circle. A man named Luca—Salvatore's former head of security. He'd disappeared six months ago. Everyone assumed he was dead.

He wasn't.

---

Meanwhile, Evan discovered something else.

He'd been reviewing security footage from the past month—every camera, every angle, every entrance. He noticed something strange. A pattern. Someone had been accessing the system late at night, when everyone else was asleep.

He traced the access to a single terminal. A terminal in the east wing.

The east wing belonged to one person.

Elena.

---

Evan brought his findings to Dante.

Dante stared at the evidence—the access logs, the timestamps, the footage. His mother had been leaking information to Salvatore. His mother had been feeding them details about Cassandra, about the baby, about everything.

He felt the world tilt beneath his feet.

"Are you sure?" he whispered.

"I'm sure." Evan's voice was quiet. "I'm sorry."

---

Dante confronted Elena in her room.

She was sitting by the window, a book in her lap, her face calm. She looked up when he entered, a smile on her lips.

"Dante. What a lovely surprise—"

"Don't." His voice was cold. "Don't pretend."

Her smile faltered. "What are you talking about?"

"I know." He stepped closer, his eyes blazing. "I know you've been feeding information to Salvatore. I know you told him about Cassandra. About the baby. About everything."

Elena's face went pale. Her hands trembled.

"I—I didn't have a choice—"

"You always have a choice." His voice cracked. "You chose him over me. Over your own son."

"He threatened me." Tears streamed down her face. "He said he would kill me if I didn't help him. I was scared—"

"You were scared?" Dante laughed—a bitter, hollow sound. "You were scared, so you sold out your own family? You sold out the woman I love? You sold out your unborn granddaughter?"

Elena broke down. She sobbed, her body shaking. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Dante stared at her. His heart was shattered. His trust was gone.

"You're going to tell me everything," he said quietly. "Every detail. Every conversation. Every piece of information you gave him."

Elena nodded, tears streaming down her face.

---

Dante returned to the study hours later.

Cassandra was waiting for him. She saw the look on his face and knew.

"Your mother," she whispered.

"She betrayed us." His voice was hollow. "She's been feeding Salvatore information for months."

Cassandra crossed the room, pulling him into her arms. He held her tight, his face buried in her hair.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"I'm tired of losing people." His voice cracked. "I'm tired of being betrayed."

"I know." She held him tighter. "But you're not alone. You have me. You have Evan. You have people who love you."

He pulled back, looking at her. His eyes were red, swollen.

"How do you know?"

"Because I know you. And I know the people who truly care about you. We'll get through this. Together."

---

That night, Cassandra received another call.

The same unknown number. The same voice.

"He knows you're coming. He's moved the trap. New location. I'll send you the address."

The line went dead.

A text arrived a moment later.

An address.