Trust is a currency.
You spend it once, and it's gone.
Try spending it twice, and someone ends up dead.
The morning after the intercepted photo, I didn't sleep. I just sat in the dark, listening to the antique grandfather clock in my study tick like the countdown to my own funeral. Something had shifted in the city, subtle and wrong, like the wind blowing from the wrong direction. The tension wasn't just in the streets. It was inside the bones of the men I trusted. Inside the smile of the people who served me coffee.
Even Marco, quiet as he was, kept glancing over his shoulder more than usual.
Naples had started whispering behind my back.
And I was about to slit its throat for it.
At exactly 9:00 a.m., I summoned Benedetta to the estate.
My lawyer. My spy. My leash on half the corrupt officials in Campania.
She arrived in tailored navy silk, heels clicking on the marble like gunshots in a chapel. Cold, beautiful, untouchable. Just like me. We understood each other in that way only monsters do.
"You look like you've murdered someone," she said casually, taking a seat across from my desk.
"I haven't," I replied, "but I will soon."
She crossed her legs, eyebrows lifting slightly. "Should I be worried?"
"Depends. Are you working for the Russians now?"
Her lips barely moved. "No."
"Then you're fine."
I tossed the file across the desk. She didn't even blink as she opened it.
Giulio's web. Money. Offshore accounts. Diplomatic names.
She frowned at one. "This one's French intelligence."
"I know."
"And this one's MI6."
"I know, Benedetta."
She leaned forward slightly. "He wasn't just betraying you. Giulio was a broker, Adriano. Selling access. Routes. Infrastructure. He was using your ports to move more than arms. This is espionage-level business. You don't come back from this clean."
"Clean was never the goal."
She shut the file, sharp and deliberate. "Then you better decide fast how far you're willing to burn. Because this isn't just Naples anymore. This is Rome. Paris. Moscow. London. They're circling."
I leaned back, fingers steepled beneath my chin.
"And someone's feeding them information from inside my house."
That night, I called a meeting of my inner circle. No aliases. No fronts. Just six men who had built this empire with me.
We met in the wine cellar beneath the estate. Concrete. Silent. No windows. No cell signal. Just walls thick enough to mute gunfire.
I arrived last.
Rocco was gone. Giulio dead. That left Sandro, Matteo, Tomas, Enzo, and Marco.
Five pairs of eyes. Each one dangerous. Each one guilty of something.
"Someone," I began without preamble, "is playing both sides."
They remained still. No blinks. No denials.
"Giulio wasn't alone," I continued. "And the Russians aren't just expanding. They're preparing for something."
Tomas tilted his head. "A war?"
I stared at him. "Or a takeover."
Silence.
"I want names," I said flatly. "I want movement. I want to know if any of you is dumb enough to sell me out and smart enough to stay alive this long. Because whoever you are…"
I stood slowly.
"…I'll make sure your death is remembered for a hundred years."
Enzo grunted. "You want us to spy on each other?"
"I want you to survive. Pick a side."
After the meeting, I didn't go upstairs.
I went deeper.
Behind the wine racks, past a false panel, down a flight of stone steps only I had the key to.
This was where I kept the old truths.
Files. Photos. Torture tools.
The original oathbook signed in blood when we were just boys.
I opened the locked cabinet, pulled out the black envelope marked Project HYDRA.
It was a myth. A story told between agents. A ghost network used by rogue states to infiltrate organized crime syndicates across Europe. Giulio had hinted at it in one of his old encrypted messages. I'd dismissed it as fantasy.
Now I wasn't so sure.
Inside the envelope was a document I hadn't looked at in years. Stolen by my mother when she fled my father. A list of names.
One had been redacted.
All the others were dead.
But one name was coming to Naples.
Unknown. Russian origin. Operative codename: Twilight.
Purpose: Infiltration. Destruction. Seduction.
Status: Active.
Seduction.
I stared at that word too long. It meant something else in this world. It meant compromise. Leverage. Emotional access. Seduction wasn't about sex.
It was about control.
And someone thought they could control me.
The next evening, I watched from the shadows as the port buzzed with movement. Cranes. Lights. Trucks. Men with guns disguised as dockworkers.
The Russians were moving fast.
In the corner of the yard stood Orlov. Big. Arrogant. Gold chain glittering under floodlights. Beside him stood a thinner figure. Face hidden beneath a hoodie. Gloved hands. Still. Too still. Not a soldier. Something else.
"Is that him?" Marco asked quietly beside me.
I didn't answer. I couldn't be sure.
The silhouette looked… elegant. Controlled.
Not like the beasts Orlov usually dragged behind him.
Elena's voice echoed in my memory.
You'll know him when you see him.
I didn't. Not yet.
But I felt something.
Like a storm crawling under my skin.
Back at the villa, the alarm went off at 2:47 a.m.
A breach.
Enzo burst into my room seconds later. "South corridor. Internal. Only one."
I was already moving, gun in hand, robe abandoned behind me.
We reached the hall.
Empty.
Just the distant sound of a piano playing.
Soft. Out of tune. Unfamiliar.
"What the fuck…" Marco murmured.
The music was coming from the parlor.
And when I entered… the keys stopped.
No one was there.
Just a folded paper on the piano bench. My name on the front. Elegant handwriting. Russian cursive.
I unfolded it.
See you soon.
- T.