Deadly Devotion

Chapter Five: Evidence and Doubt

I stayed at Dante's apartment all of Tuesday.

We had breakfast together. He made coffee while I checked emails on my laptop. It felt domestic. Comfortable. Like we'd been doing this for years instead of days.

"I have to go into the office for a few hours," he said around ten. "Will you be okay here?"

"I'll be fine. I have work to do anyway."

"Make yourself at home. Anything in the kitchen is yours. The TV remote is on the coffee table." He kissed me before leaving. "I'll be back by two. We can have lunch."

The door closed behind him, and I was alone in Dante DeLuca's penthouse.

I sat very still for a full minute, listening to the silence.

This was it. This was the opportunity I'd been waiting for.

I pulled out my phone and texted Chen.

Me: Alone in his apartment. Going to look around.

Chen: Be careful. Don't take anything physical. Just photos. And don't get caught.

I put my phone down and stood up. My heart was racing.

This was my job. This was why I was here. Gathering evidence, finding proof of criminal activity, building the case that would bring down the DeLuca family.

So why did I feel like I was betraying him?

I started in his home office. A sleek space with a massive desk, built in bookshelves, and a view of the city. Everything was organized, neat. Very Dante.

I rifled through the desk drawers carefully, making sure to remember exactly how things were arranged so I could put them back. Bills, receipts, personal correspondence. Nothing obviously incriminating.

His computer was password protected. I couldn't risk trying to break in. If he had security software, it would alert him.

The filing cabinet in the corner was locked. I knelt down, examined the lock. Simple. I could pick it with the tools I had in my bag.

I hesitated.

This felt wrong. Not wrong because it was illegal. I had authority to do this as part of an undercover operation. Wrong because it was Dante. Because he'd trusted me enough to leave me alone in his home.

"Do your job, Santos," I muttered to myself.

I picked the lock. It took less than a minute.

Inside were files. Property deeds, investment documents, business records. I pulled my phone out and started taking photos. Page after page of financial documents.

Some of it looked legitimate. Real estate holdings, restaurant ownership papers, investment portfolios.

But some of it was suspicious. Shell companies with vague purposes. Offshore accounts. Transfers of large amounts of money with no clear source.

This was it. This was evidence of money laundering.

I photographed everything, my hands steady even though my heart was pounding. This was enough to start building a case. Enough to show the pattern of illegal activity.

Enough to destroy Dante.

I put everything back exactly as I'd found it, relocked the filing cabinet. Checked the office to make sure nothing looked disturbed.

Then I went to his bedroom.

His closet was full of expensive suits, perfectly organized. His dresser held watches, cufflinks, personal items. I felt like a voyeur going through his things.

In the back of his nightstand drawer, I found something interesting. A small notebook. Handwritten notes in Italian.

I photographed each page, not sure what they said but knowing they could be important. Names, dates, numbers. Some kind of record keeping.

I was putting the notebook back when I heard the front door open.

My heart stopped.

He wasn't supposed to be back for hours.

"Mia?" Dante called out.

I shoved the notebook back in the drawer, closed it as quietly as possible. Smoothed the bedspread where I'd been sitting.

"In here," I called back, trying to keep my voice normal.

He appeared in the bedroom doorway. "Meeting got cancelled. Thought I'd come back and surprise you." He looked at me, his expression curious. "What are you doing in here?"

Think fast.

"I was cold. Thought about taking a nap in your bed. Is that okay?"

His expression softened immediately. "Of course it's okay. This is going to sound crazy, but I like the idea of you in my bed. Even when I'm not here."

The guilt was crushing. I'd just violated his privacy, stolen information from him, and he was standing there looking at me like I was something precious.

"Come here," he said.

I went to him, let him pull me close. He kissed me, soft and sweet.

"I'm glad you're here," he said against my lips.

"Me too."

The lie felt like poison.

That evening, after Dante fell asleep beside me, I locked myself in his bathroom and sent the photos to Chen.

She called immediately.

"This is good," she said, her voice low and urgent. "Really good. These shell companies, these offshore accounts. This is exactly what we need."

"There's more," I said quietly. "A notebook with handwritten notes in Italian. Names and numbers."

"Send it to translation. This could be the smoking gun, Mia. You did excellent work."

Excellent work. I'd just betrayed the man sleeping in the next room.

"What happens now?" I asked.

"We analyze everything. Build the case. We're probably still months away from moving, but this moves us significantly forward." She paused. "How are you holding up?"

"I'm fine."

"Mia, I need you to be honest with me. Are you getting too close to the target?"

Yes. I'm sleeping in his bed. I'm meeting his family. I'm starting to care about him in ways that have nothing to do with the assignment.

"I'm maintaining appropriate distance," I lied.

"Good. Because we need you focused. This family has killed people, Mia. Your partner. Others. Don't forget that."

"I haven't forgotten."

But when I went back to bed, when Dante instinctively pulled me close in his sleep, I had to fight the urge to wake him up and tell him everything.

To warn him. To beg him to run.

I didn't, of course. I just lay there in the dark, hating myself.

Wednesday, Dante had business meetings all day. I went back to my own apartment, needing space to think.

My phone rang around noon. Unknown number.

"Hello?"

"Mia Santos?" A male voice. Unfamiliar.

"Yes?"

"This is Marco DeLuca. Dante's brother. We need to talk."

My blood went cold. "About what?"

"Not over the phone. There's a coffee shop on the corner of Lafayette and Spring. Meet me there in an hour."

"I don't think..."

"It's about my brother. And you. If you care about him at all, you'll be there."

He hung up.

I stared at my phone. This was bad. This was very bad.

I called Chen.

"Marco DeLuca wants to meet with me."

"Alone?"

"He didn't say. He called it a conversation about Dante."

"This could be a test. Or he could be suspicious." Chen was quiet for a moment. "Go. But be careful. Marco is more volatile than Dante. More dangerous."

An hour later, I walked into the coffee shop. Marco was already there, sitting at a back table. He stood when he saw me.

"Thanks for coming," he said, gesturing to the chair across from him.

I sat. "What's this about?"

"My brother. And your intentions toward him."

"My intentions are my business."

"Not when they involve my family." He leaned forward. "Dante is usually careful. Guarded. Takes months before he lets anyone close. But you, he met you less than two weeks ago and you've already met our parents, stayed at his place, gotten under his skin."

"Is that a problem?"

"It's suspicious. Makes me wonder what you want."

"I want Dante. That's all."

"Forgive me if I don't believe you." His eyes were cold. "See, I did some checking. Your story checks out. Parents with a restaurant in New Jersey. Art consultant based in New York, previously in Paris. Everything looks good on paper."

"Because it's true."

"Maybe. Or maybe it's a very good cover." He pulled out his phone, showed me a photo. "You know what this is?"

It was a surveillance photo of me. Leaving the FBI field office three months ago, before I went undercover.

My heart stopped.

"That's the FBI building in Manhattan," Marco said. "And that's you. Want to explain that?"

Think. Think fast.

"I consult for them sometimes. Authentication of seized art pieces. Stolen works recovered in criminal cases." I kept my voice steady. "It's part of my business. Museums, private collectors, law enforcement. I work with all of them."

It was plausible. Art consultants did work with law enforcement.

Marco studied me. "That's a good answer. Very smooth. But I don't trust you."

"You don't have to trust me. Your brother does."

"My brother is thinking with the wrong head. He's infatuated. Not thinking clearly." He leaned closer. "But I'm thinking very clearly. And I'm watching you. If you're using him, if you're playing some game, if you hurt him in any way, you'll regret it. Do you understand me?"

"Perfectly."

"Good." He stood up. "One more thing. Don't tell Dante about this conversation. He wouldn't appreciate me interfering. And I'd rather keep this between us."

"Why would you think I'd keep secrets from him?"

"Because if you tell him, he'll be angry at me for threatening you. And you don't want that. You want him on your side, happy, trusting. So you'll keep this quiet." He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "We understand each other, don't we?"

He walked out before I could respond.

I sat there for a long moment, my hands shaking.

Marco knew. Or at least suspected. The photo from the FBI building was damning, even with my cover story.

I needed to tell Chen. We might need to pull me out, abort the mission.

But that would mean leaving Dante. Never seeing him again. Letting the DeLuca family walk away free.

I couldn't do that. Not after everything. Not after Brian.

I'd just have to be more careful. More convincing.

I'd have to make Marco believe I was genuine.

Even if nothing about me was real.

That evening, Dante picked me up for dinner. He seemed distracted.

"Everything okay?" I asked.

"Marco called me today. Said he ran into you."

My stomach dropped. "He did?"

"At a coffee shop. Said he wanted to apologize for being rude at dinner." Dante looked at me. "What did he really say?"

I had a choice. Lie or tell partial truth.

"He wanted to make sure I wasn't using you. That my intentions were genuine." Close enough to the truth.

Dante's jaw tightened. "I'm sorry. He has no right."

"He's protective. I get it."

"He's paranoid. There's a difference." He took my hand. "I told him to back off. That you were none of his business."

"It's okay. He's your brother. He loves you."

"That doesn't give him the right to interrogate my girlfriend."

Girlfriend. He'd called me his girlfriend.

The word should have felt like a victory. Mission accomplished, relationship established, cover solid.

Instead it felt like another chain around my chest.

"Is that what I am?" I asked. "Your girlfriend?"

He pulled the car over, put it in park, turned to face me fully.

"I want you to be. I know it's fast. I know we barely know each other. But I don't care." His hand cupped my face. "I want you, Mia. Not casually. Not temporarily. I want to see where this goes. I want you to be mine."

I should have been thinking about the mission. About access and information and evidence.

But all I could think about was how much I wanted that too. How much I wanted to be his, for real, not as a cover.

"Yes," I said. "I want that too."

He kissed me, deep and claiming, and I kissed him back with everything I had.

When we pulled apart, he rested his forehead against mine.

"I'm falling for you," he said quietly. "I know it's crazy. But I am."

"I'm falling for you too."

It was the most honest thing I'd said to him.

And the most dangerous.

Later that night, in his bed, after we'd made love and he'd fallen asleep, I lay awake staring at the ceiling.

I thought about Marco's threat. About the evidence I'd gathered. About the case building against Dante and his family.

I thought about Brian, dead because of the DeLucas. About justice and duty and doing what was right.

And I thought about Dante. The way he looked at me. The way he touched me. The way he said my name like it meant something.

I was in love with him.

Somewhere between the lies and the mission and the pretending, I'd fallen in love with the man I was supposed to destroy.

And I had no idea what I was going to do about it.

I reached for my phone, opened my messages to Chen. Typed out the words I should send.

I'm compromised. I need to be pulled out.

My finger hovered over send.

Then I deleted it.

Put the phone down.

Curled back into Dante's side.

And made a choice I knew I'd regret.

I was staying. I was seeing this through.

Even if it destroyed us both.