Tangled Loyalties

Chapter Six

The warehouse was dim and musty, the air heavy with the scent of oil and stale smoke. Faint shafts of early morning light pierced through broken panes in the ceiling, catching dust motes in a slow, swirling dance. Alex leaned against a rusted support beam, arms crossed, watching Sophia across the room as she spoke in hushed tones to Diego.

She stood tall despite the exhaustion on her face, arms moving in careful gestures as if measuring every word. It wasn’t just her composure that caught his attention—it was how she wore it like armor. Something about her didn’t sit right, and yet, against every instinct screaming at him, he couldn’t stop watching her.

“You’re staring,” Diego muttered beside him.

Alex didn’t look away. “I don’t trust her.”

“Neither do I,” Diego said, “but we need her.”

“She’s hiding something.”

Diego shrugged. “So are you.”

Alex didn’t answer.

When Sophia finally turned and approached, her gaze met Alex’s head-on. Calm. Unflinching. But behind that polished front, he caught it—something flickering in her eyes. Nerves? Guilt? Or something far colder?

“I told him everything I know,” she said coolly. “Carlo trusted me, but he didn’t let me in on all the details.”

“You expect me to believe that?” Alex asked, voice sharp.

“I don’t expect anything from you.” She tilted her head slightly. “But if we’re going to find out who killed him, maybe stop wasting time accusing the one person actually trying to help.”

Alex took a step closer. “You showed up the morning after his murder. Said you were tied to a development deal. But that was a lie, wasn’t it?”

Sophia didn’t flinch. “No. It wasn’t.”

“You know how that looks?”

“I know exactly how it looks,” she snapped. “Which is why I came straight to you instead of running.”

Diego raised a hand between them. “Enough. We don’t have the luxury of fighting each other.”

Alex backed off but didn’t take his eyes off her. “What did Carlo tell you about the leak?”

“Only that he suspected someone close to him was working with the Russos,” she said. “He didn’t have proof. He told me to stay away if anything happened to him.”

“And yet here you are.”

Her gaze hardened. “Because I don’t run when things get dangerous. Unlike some people.”

The jab stung, but Alex let it pass. He stepped away, his mind already calculating his next moves.

“We have a location,” Diego said, pulling out his phone. “One of Carlo’s burner phones pinged a warehouse in the East Docks three nights ago. Russo territory. The signal went dark right after that.”

Alex’s eyes narrowed. “That’s where we’re going.”

Sophia looked between them. “You can’t just walk into Russo territory. You’ll get gunned down before you make it past the fence.”

“We’re not walking in,” Diego said. “We’re ghosting in.”

Sophia crossed her arms. “Then I’m coming with you.”

Alex turned sharply. “Absolutely not.”

“You need me,” she said. “I know their networks. I’ve dealt with the Russos before. I speak their language—and I’m not talking about Italian.”

Alex hesitated. Every instinct told him to keep her as far away as possible. But Diego was already nodding.

“She might be right. We’ll need eyes that won’t draw fire.”

Reluctantly, Alex relented.

By sunset, they were in motion.

They moved in silence across the abandoned pier. The docks were a graveyard of rusted containers and idle cranes, shadows stretching long beneath the rising moon. The warehouse they sought stood at the far end, lights faintly visible through warped glass panes.

Sophia moved like a ghost beside Alex, quiet and alert. Diego covered the rear, keeping low.

“Security cams at the entrance,” Sophia whispered. “But there’s a blind spot near that shipping container. We can cut through.”

Alex motioned her forward, still uneasy letting her lead—but they had no choice. The closer they got, the more it became obvious the place wasn’t just a storage facility.

It was a hub.

Three black SUVs sat parked at the side. Armed guards patrolled the perimeter—Russo muscle, no doubt. But they were too relaxed. Not expecting company.

Sophia crouched low. “We can’t get inside without triggering alarms.”

Alex scanned the building, his eyes locking on a vent shaft running down the far wall.

“There.”

Minutes later, they slipped through the dark corridor, avoiding the security beams. Inside, the air was humid and thick with the scent of gun oil and metal. Voices echoed down the hallway—men speaking in hushed tones, one voice louder than the rest.

They reached a narrow observation platform.

Below, in the center of the warehouse, was a meeting.

Three Russo lieutenants stood around a steel table. Blueprints were spread across it—construction sites, district maps, city plans.

And there, at the head of the table, was someone Alex never expected to see.

Luciano Martelli.

The Russos’ chief strategist. A man was presumed dead five years ago after a failed ambush by the Vitali family.

“He’s alive,” Diego whispered.

Alex’s pulse spiked.

Martelli had been Vito Morano’s rival during the worst years of the territory wars. Brilliant, ruthless, and utterly untraceable—until now.

They couldn’t hear the details, but one word echoed clearly from the floor:

“Morano.”

Martelli pointed to one of the maps. There, circled in red, was a Morano-owned shipping terminal—recently reassigned under Alex’s name.

“They’re targeting your assets,” Diego muttered. “Taking your name off the board.”

“Undermining me in Vito’s eyes,” Alex whispered. “Piece by piece.”

Sophia shifted behind them, her breath shallow.

“They’re not just destabilizing the business,” she said quietly. “They’re trying to force a fracture between you and your father.”

Alex stared down, mind racing. “It’s a coup.”

Diego tapped his shoulder. “We’ve seen enough. Let’s move.”

But just as they turned to leave, a floorboard creaked beneath Sophia’s boot.

The entire warehouse froze.

“Go!” Alex hissed, grabbing her arm.

The shout below erupted—guards storming toward the stairs.

They bolted through the upper walkway, bullets sparking off the metal railings. Diego pulled his pistol, covering their retreat.

They burst out the back, racing across the lot. Sirens blared behind them. The SUV was waiting—one of Arturo’s, parked three blocks away.

They dove inside. Diego hit the gas.

Back at the safehouse, the adrenaline still buzzed in Alex’s veins.

“We need to get that intel to Vito,” Diego said. “Now.”

Alex nodded. “But first—”

He turned to Sophia.

“You’re going to tell me who you really are. No more half-truths. No more dodging.”

Sophia stared at him, jaw tight, eyes unreadable.

“I already told you—”

“Save it.” His voice was steel. “You don’t flinch under fire. You read Russo maps like you helped design them. And you knew who Martelli was the moment you saw him.”

Sophia’s silence was answer enough.

Diego stepped forward, tense. “You’ve got one chance, Sophia. Start talking.”

She met Alex’s eyes—no fear, only a hard glint of defiance.

“Carlo wasn’t just my employer,” she said. “He was my uncle. And he didn’t just suspect a leak. He knew who it was.”

Alex’s breath caught.

“Who?”

Sophia took a slow breath. “He thought it was someone close to your father. Someone high up. Carlo was going to confront them the night he died. But someone got to him first.”

“And you?” Alex asked. “What were you going to do?”

Sophia’s answer was quiet. “Finish what he started.”

For a long moment, no one spoke.

The storm outside intensified, rain hammering the roof like distant gunfire.

Alex didn’t know if he could trust her.

But he did know one thing.

They were already at war.

And the enemy might not just be outside the gates.

It might be standing beside him.