Chapter 6: The Trojan Horse

Jade's POV

The silence of the North Suite was heavy, broken only by the rhythmic, mechanical thud-thud of the guards’ boots in the hallway. Four hours. Enzo had been gone for four hours, and the coffee he’d ordered was now a cold, bitter sludge at the bottom of a china cup.

My fingers didn't stop. They moved with a life of their own, dancing across the matte-black keys. On the surface, I was doing exactly what Enzo demanded. I was reassembling the fragmented metadata of the Zurich accounts. To any observer—or the keystroke logger I knew he had installed—I was a model prisoner, diligently piecing together his fortune.

But beneath the GUI, in the raw command-line interface where the real magic happened, I was digging.

Enzo Cavallo isn't the only one with secrets, I thought, squinting at a string of encrypted packet headers I’d intercepted from the house’s internal relay.

I had found a pinhole. The smart-thermostat I’d dismantled earlier wasn't just a climate controller; it was bridged to the estate’s secondary security mesh. When Enzo plugged in this satellite terminal, he’d created a temporary handshake between the "clean" satellite air-gap and the "dirty" internal network of the house to sync the time-clocks.

It was a window of only three milliseconds every hour. For a human, it was nothing. For a ghost, it was an open door.

I waited. My eyes tracked the system clock.

05:59:58... 05:59:59...

Mark.

I hit Enter. A script I’d written in the last twenty minutes executed with a silent ferocity. It didn't go for the money. It went for the comms.

Suddenly, my screen split. On the left, the boring Zurich reassembly. On the right, a scrolling feed of the estate’s internal VOIP recordings and text logs.

I scrolled past the mundane: grocery orders for the kitchen, security rotations, a frantic message from a mistress Enzo apparently hadn't called back in weeks. Then, I saw the name that had made Enzo's jaw lock in the dining hall.

Moretti.

I opened a sub-folder labeled Archive: External Liaison. It was a recording from thirty minutes ago. I slid my headphones on, pulling my hood up to hide them from the security camera in the corner of the ceiling.

"...forty-eight hours," Moretti’s voice crackled through the fiber-optics. He sounded oily, like a man who enjoyed the smell of his own cologne. "If the Cavallo boy can’t produce the liquid assets by Friday, the hit on the Cicero warehouse is a go. We don’t just want the money, Valenti. We want the territory. If Enzo dies, the girl is mine. I want to see what those fingers can do for my accounts."

A cold shiver raced down my spine, turning my blood to slush.

I wasn't just a prisoner. I was a prize. A trophy to be handed over once Enzo was disposed of.

I looked at the door. Enzo was a monster, yes. He was cold, he was arrogant, and he had pinned me against a wall like a bug under a microscope. But Moretti... Moretti was the kind of man who didn't keep ghosts in gilded cages. He broke them.

I looked back at the screen. My plan had been to find a way to escape, to trigger a wipe of the Cavallo servers and vanish back into the shadows. But if Enzo fell, I wouldn't be vanishing. I’d be traded.

The enemy of my enemy, I whispered to myself, is my temporary employer.

I began to type again, but this time, I wasn't just gluing the mirror. I was building a Trojan horse. I started a deep-dive into Moretti’s private cloud. If he was planning a coup, he had digital footprints. He had payrolls for his mercenaries, GPS coordinates for his safehouses, and probably a few 'black' accounts of his own that he hadn't told the Commission about.

I found a vulnerability in his personal phone’s backup—a weak patch in a third-party messaging app. I slipped inside, moving like a shadow through a darkened house.

I saw it all. The photos of the Cicero warehouse. The blueprints of the Cavallo estate’s western wall. The names of the two guards on Enzo’s payroll who were ready to open the gate at 2:00 AM on Saturday.

My hands shook. This was more than a coup. It was an execution.

The door handle turned.

I didn't have time to close the windows. I slammed the lid of the laptop shut just as the heavy oak door swung open.

Enzo stood there. He had changed his shirt—a crisp, white linen that made his tanned skin look even darker. He looked at the closed laptop, then at me. His eyes narrowed, his predatory instincts immediately sensing the shift in the room.

"Progress?" he asked, walking toward the desk.

I stood up, my back to the terminal. "The first node is unlocked. Three hundred million is back in your primary Zurich hub. You can check it yourself."

He stopped a foot away from me. He didn't check the computer. He reached out, his hand hovering near my face. I flinched, but he didn't pull back. He tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering on the skin of my neck.

"You’re pale, Jade," he murmured. "And your heart is thundering. I can see it in your throat."

"It's a lot of money," I lied, my voice thin. "I get nervous when I handle that many zeros."

Enzo leaned in, his scent—sandalwood and sharp, dangerous man—overwhelming my senses. "You’re a terrible liar for someone who lives in a world of illusions. What did you find?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

He grabbed my waist, pulling me forward until I was flush against his chest. I could feel the hard lines of his body, the hidden holster against his ribs, the heat of him. "I didn't get to be the head of this family by being blind, Fantasma. You were in the system. You weren't just moving money. Your eyes were too bright."

He looked down at the closed laptop, then back at me. "If you’re trying to run, tell me now. Because if I find out you’ve signaled for help, I won't wait for the Commission to tell me what to do with you."

I looked up at him, and for a second, the urge to tell him everything—to tell him about Moretti, the Cicero warehouse, and the traitors at his gate—was almost overwhelming. But if I told him, I’d lose my only leverage. I’d be just another tool in his shed.

"I found a leak," I said, the truth serving as the best lie. "Your encryption isn't the only thing that's compromised, Enzo. You have people in your own house who are talking to Moretti."

Enzo’s grip tightened. His eyes turned to flint. "Names."

"I'll give you the names," I whispered, leaning in until my lips were inches from his. "But I want something in exchange."

"You’re in no position to negotiate, Jade."

"I’m the only one who can stop Saturday morning from being your last sunrise," I countered, my voice steadying. "I want a key to the library. I want to be able to walk this house without Marco holding my arm. And I want your word that if I save your life, you’ll stop calling me a thief."

Enzo stared at me, his breath hitching. The power in the room shifted. He wasn't the Don in that moment, and I wasn't the prisoner. We were just two people standing in the middle of a burning building, trying to decide who was going to hold the ladder.

"Library access," he growled. "And you can walk the grounds—with a guard ten paces behind you. Give me the names."

I leaned in and whispered the two names I’d found in Moretti’s logs.

Enzo didn't roar. He didn't even swear. He just went cold. A terrifying, absolute stillness settled over him. He let go of my waist and turned toward the door.

"Marco!" he barked.

The guard appeared instantly. "Sir?"

"Take the girl to the library. Let her stay there as long as she likes. And tell the Chef to prepare a dinner for two in the small dining room. I think Jade and I have a lot more to discuss than just money."

He looked back at me, a dark, complicated expression in his eyes. "You think you’re saving me, Jade? You’re just making yourself more valuable. And in my world, the more valuable you are, the harder it is to let you go."

He walked out, the door remaining open this time.

I sank back into the chair, my legs finally giving out. I’d bought myself time. I’d bought myself freedom. But as I watched Enzo’s retreating back, I realized I’d also done something much more dangerous.

I’d just chosen a side.