Page 28 of When She Tempts (The Fallen)
I sink backwards in my leather chair and take a sip of coffee. One of the feeds is from a camera pointed at the main square in Casal di Principe. Some neighborhood kids run around the sputtering fountain in the plaza, oblivious to the four bulletproof cars parked in front of the church. The alert I got earlier came from the facial-recognition software I have running on this device when it detected Sal’s arrival.
Another camera shows the church’s interior. It’s packed today for Sunday service, and Sal’s in his usual spot in one of the front pews.
On Sal’s left is his consiglieri, Calisto Lettiero, and on his right is his latest mistress. The two men are listening closely to the priest’s sermon, a man Sal handpicked himself. In Casal, the mafia rules even in the house of God. Nothing escapes its reach.
The chair creaks beneath me as I shift my weight. I miss the setup I have back in my apartment on the outskirts of Naples. Double the monitors, a desk twice the size, and a chair that can comfortably hold my weight without any whining. When De Rossi called me about taking in Martina, I knew I’d be stuck here for longer than normal, and I briefly considered upgrading the equipment, but it felt too much like settling in.
The thought of doing that makes my skin crawl.
It had been a bad idea to buy this place, but I didn’t realize it until it was too late. My mother lived here a long time ago. I thought I’d be honoring her memory. Instead, the first time I opened the door with my new key, I felt an overwhelming sense of intruding on something that wasn’t meant for me.
There were other locations I could have taken Martina, but not on that short of a notice. The castello is the best place for her—secure, hidden, and comfortable. Big enough for both of us to have our own space during the day.
I didn’t think she’d be so taken aback by our sleeping arrangements. After all, it made sense that I’d be close to her when she’s asleep and most vulnerable. But after one night, I’m already starting to doubt the wisdom of putting her so near me.
First, that maddening “I sleep naked” comment. Then discovering her in just a flimsy pajama set in my room this morning—I could see the outline of her nipples clear as day.
Andthenthat fucking bruise…
Just the memory of her smooth skin and the dip of her spine sends a jolt of lust to my dick. How her snooping around my room escalated to her pulling down her tiny shorts in front of me defies any kind of logical explanation.
I drag my palm over my mouth. Whatever the fuck that was can’t happen again. I didn’t need to touch her, but I just couldn’t resist. I know better than to cross any kind of line with her. If she says a word of it to her brother, my plan is screwed. He needs to have full trust in me for all of the pieces to work, and whatever aspirations he has for his sister sure as fuck don’t involve a man like me.
I freeze with my coffee mug halfway to my mouth when I see Calisto reach for his phone. Everyone knows not to call him during the sermon unless it’s truly urgent, which means this might be the phone call I’ve been waiting for.
Calisto presses the device to his ear and listens.
I toggle to the camera located behind the priest so that I can see his reaction.
Slack expression. Wide eyes. His lips spit out a curse word.
This gets Sal’s attention.
I read the don’s lips.“What?”he asks.
Calisto hangs up and whispers something into Sal’s ear.
The two men stand up and leave through the side door in a rush, a trickle of soldiers following after them. The rest of the audience exchanges worried looks. Everyone knows Sal never leaves Sunday service early unless something is really wrong.
Minutes later, the logs are bursting with frantic phone calls. I’m not omnipotent, but all my surveillance systems get me pretty damn close. I’ll let the AI analyze the recordings for keywords, and when it’s done, I’ll send the relevant bits to Ras, Damiano’s right-hand man. He’ll have the unenviable task of listening through it all until he finds something useful for his boss.
My role in this war is pulling on certain strings from behind the scenes. If I announced I’m going to De Rossi’s side now, there would be widespread panic. Probably good for De Rossi, but terrible for me. Even if he wins this war, as soon as it becomes common knowledge that I backed him from the start, I won’t have a job left. I’ll be seen as someone whose loyalty is easily swayed. None of the clan members will trust me again, and when it comes to giving someone priceless valuables to hide away, some trust is fucking necessary.
I have to play this carefully. I want De Rossi to win, but I can’t fuck myself over in the process. If I make it seem like I switched sides only once the key players in the clan aligned themselves with De Rossi, I’ll be seen as a neutral party simply following the lead of others.
The human version of Switzerland.
But sharing information is something I can do quietly, and it’s a resource as valuable as money or ammo. I learned that lesson at fifteen when I managed to hack into encrypted police comms and sell that information to an area capo. The capo had been pressuring me for nearly a week to join his sorry gang of drug pushers in Secondigliano. If I’d kept brushing him off, the conversation would have turned to threats, so the next time he came to me, I handed him something far better than the cash he could have made off my back.
I’m doing the same for Damiano now. Lending him my particular skill set in exchange for freedom.
Or at least my version of it.
A knock sounds on the door. “It’s Polo. Can we talk?”
Tossing back the rest of my coffee, I rise from the chair and step out into the hallway.
Sweat glistens on Polo’s face, and his white T-shirt is marred with streaks of dirt. He must have just come back from the garden with Martina.
