Mask and motives

Chapter three

The rain hadn’t let up.

It whispered against the steel roof of Arturo’s safe house like static—constant, low, unnerving. Alex sat hunched at the edge of the cot, staring at a wall that had nothing to offer but peeling paint and the stale scent of oil and gunmetal. His hoodie was damp, his mind soaked with unfinished questions.

Sophia Romano.

He hadn’t heard that name in three years. And now she’d resurfaced—on the heels of a murder, in the middle of a war, walking straight into the lion’s den with Vito Morano himself.

Coincidence didn’t exist in his world.

Diego entered quietly, shaking water from his jacket. “We’ve got eyes on her.”

Alex looked up. “Where?”

“She checked into The Marquette last night. Two rooms, but only one’s been used so far. She’s registered under her real name, which makes her either fearless or reckless.”

Alex stood. “She’s not reckless. If anything, she’s always been calculated. Cool.”

Diego arched an eyebrow. “You’ve met her before.”

Alex hesitated, then nodded. “Years ago. She was working under a different name back then. PR consultant for one of the Romano family’s shell corporations. Sharp. Beautiful. Dangerous.”

“So why lie to Nina?”

“Because if my father thinks I have a connection to her, he’ll use it.” His voice tightened. “Either to control her or control me. And I need to figure out which side she’s on before he does.”

Diego tossed him a burner phone. “She’s meeting your father at 10 AM. If we move now, we can be at the estate by then. Quietly.”

Alex grabbed his jacket. “Let’s move.”

By the time they reached the Morano estate, the rain had thinned to a mist. Fog clung to the hedges lining the private drive, giving the whole place a haunted feel. They entered through the east wing—Diego’s usual back route—avoiding the guards and security cameras with practiced ease.

Inside, tension thrummed in the walls like electricity. The mansion was awake, alert. Guards lined the hallways with sharper eyes than usual. Everyone knew the stakes had changed.

“She’s in the library,” Diego whispered. “Alone. The meeting’s in ten minutes.”

Alex nodded. “Keep a lookout. No interruptions.”

He made his way through the west corridor, each footstep echoing softly off the marble. The library doors were ajar. He paused, breath steadying.

Then he pushed them open.

She stood with her back to him, fingers skimming over the spine of an old volume—The Prince by Machiavelli.

Of course.

“Sophia.”

She turned.

Time hadn’t touched her beauty—it had sharpened it. High cheekbones, full lips, eyes like green glass flecked with storm clouds. Her dark hair was pulled into a sleek ponytail, her black suit was tailored to ruthless perfection. Elegant. Controlled. Untouchable.

And yet, when her eyes met him, something flickered. Something unsaid.

“Alex,” she said, her voice soft, measured. “Didn’t think you’d be here.”

“I could say the same about you.”

She closed the book gently, sliding it back into place. “Carlo and I were working on a development proposal. He brought me in as a private consultant. When I heard what happened…”

“You showed up to pay your respects?” he said dryly.

She tilted her head. “No. I showed up because someone was trying to kill everyone who worked with Carlo. I’d rather not be next.”

Alex stepped closer, lowering his voice. “That deal—was it real?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Because I’ve never heard your name tied to any of Carlo’s projects. Not once. And I made it my business to know.”

“I kept a low profile,” she said, tone even. “Carlo wanted it that way. We were preparing to take the project to your father. He didn’t want anyone interfering.”

“That’s convenient.”

She sighed. “You always did assume the worst.”

“And you always did play both sides.”

There was a beat of silence between them, charged and heavy.

“Is that why you never called?” she asked suddenly. “Because you thought I was playing you?”

Alex froze.

He hadn’t expected her to go there—not so soon. Not after three years of silence.

“I didn’t call,” he said finally, “because I knew if I did, I wouldn’t be able to stay away. And you… you already had one foot out the door.”

Her expression softened, just a fraction. But then she blinked, and the mask was back in place.

“I’m not here to reopen old wounds, Alex. I’m here because someone killed Carlo. And they’re coming for more. You’re on that list, whether you want to admit it or not.”

Alex studied her, every word weighing against his instincts.

She was right.

And that scared him more than the idea that she might be lying.

Before he could speak, the double doors opened.

Vito Morano entered like a storm cloud, flanked by two guards.

He stopped when he saw Alex. His eyes, sharp and cold, narrowed.

“Didn’t expect you here,” he said. “Weren’t you confined to the east wing?”

“I got bored,” Alex replied coolly. “And curious.”

Vito turned to Sophia. “Miss Romano. Apologies for the delay.”

Sophia nodded. “No problem, Mr. Morano.”

Vito motioned to a chair. “Shall we?”

Alex started to speak, but Vito raised a hand. “Stay, if you like. Maybe you’ll learn something.”

Alex took a seat opposite Sophia. She didn’t look at him again—not once during the meeting—but he could feel her presence like a shadow at his back.

The meeting was mostly posturing. Sophia presented the development proposal—something about a multi-use property along the riverfront, with substantial profit projections. Clean. Professional. Hollow.

Alex could see through it. It was a front.

He wasn’t sure for what—but he intended to find out.

An hour later, Sophia stepped out onto the marble terrace, needing air. The rain had stopped, but the scent of wet stone lingered.

Alex followed.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he said, stepping beside her.

“I could say the same to you.”

He leaned against the railing, eyes scanning the horizon. “Carlo trusted you. I’m trying to decide if that makes him a fool—or you a good liar.”

She turned to face him. “I cared about him. He was a good man. Better than most in this world.”

“Then help me find out who killed him.”

Something shifted in her eyes—wariness, maybe even fear.

“Are you sure you want to know the answer to that, Alex? Because once you do, there’s no going back.”

“I crossed that line the second Carlo died.”

Sophia hesitated, then nodded. “Fine. I’ll share what I know. But not here. Too many ears.”

“Then where?”

“I’ll text you a location. Midnight. Come alone.”

Alex stared at her for a long moment. Then nodded.

“I will.”

She walked away without another word.

That night, Alex left the estate the same way he came—through the shadows.

The address she sent led him to an abandoned rail station on the edge of East Docks. Deserted. Graffiti-stained. Echoes of another life.

She was already there, standing beneath a flickering light, her silhouette sharp against the damp concrete.

“You came,” she said.

“Did you doubt I would?”

“I hoped you wouldn’t,” she murmured. “This… it gets worse from here.”

She handed him a flash drive. “Carlo gave this to me the day before he died. Said if anything happened to him, I had to get it to someone I trusted.”

Alex frowned. “And you trust me?”

“I trust you want the truth. That’s enough.”

He pocketed the drive. “What’s on it?”

“Financials. Contracts. Messages. Names. Someone inside your family is feeding information to the Russos. Carlo found them out.”

Alex stiffened. “Do you know who it is?”

“No. But someone else does. Bianca Rivas. Carlo’s assistant. She’s not missing, Alex. She’s hiding.”

“Where?”

Sophia hesitated. “I don’t know exactly. But if you can find her—she’ll tell you everything.”

Alex stared at the shadows beyond the station, gears turning.

“If we do this, Sophia… there’s no halfway. No pulling back.”

She stepped closer. “I know. That’s why I’m here.”

He looked at her then—really looked. At the woman who had once stolen his heart and vanished. At the woman who now stood with him in the ruins of trust and war.

There were a thousand things he wanted to say.

Instead, he reached for her hand.

She didn’t pull away.