I couldn’t stop the feeling that the world I had known was crumbling around me, piece by fragile piece. Vincent had been keeping secrets, but how could I have known that the truth would be so… dangerous?
The night before had been a blur of confusion and rage. I had confronted Vincent about the massacre that had killed my father, and for the first time since I’d met him, I saw something break in his usually impenetrable demeanor. "Some pasts are better left buried," he had said, his voice low, barely above a whisper. That look—haunted, regretful—had chilled me to the bone. It wasn’t just the attack on my father he was hiding from me. It was something much bigger. But what?
The next day, Vincent told me we were doing a "simple exchange" with the Irish—nothing too complicated, he assured me. But the moment we stepped into the dingy back alley of an Irish pub, I felt the air shift. It wasn’t a simple handover; it was a drug deal. And the man standing there waiting for us was none other than Sean O'Sullivan, the leader of the Irish mob.
Vincent greeted him like an old friend, an intimacy in his voice that made my skin crawl. They spoke in low, guarded tones, like they had done this a thousand times before.
The moment the transaction started, the door burst open. Gunshots rang out, chaos ensued. Before I knew it, Vincent had shoved me behind a stack of crates, covering me with his own body. I could hear the exchange of fire, the shouts of men, but all I could focus on was the sharp pain in Vincent’s arm when he jerked away from the hail of bullets.
I panicked. “Vincent, you’re hit!”
He didn’t respond immediately. We scrambled, fleeing through the back alley as men shouted behind us, but Vincent barely slowed down. My heart pounded in my chest as we reached the safety of an abandoned warehouse.
Vincent ripped his shirt sleeve off, revealing the wound. But what I saw stopped my heart. Tattoos. A massive one that ran across his chest. An iris—exactly like the one my father had given me. And wrapped around it? An FBI badge.
For a moment, everything stilled. I couldn’t breathe.
“Vincent...?” The word slipped from my lips, barely above a whisper.
He grimaced as he pressed the cloth tighter to the wound. "My real name is Daniel Rossi," he said, his voice calm but the look in his eyes betraying something I couldn't quite understand. "I’m with the FBI. I’ve been undercover in the Moretti family for seven years. I’ve been tracking the organization, trying to bring it down from the inside."
I couldn’t process it. FBI? Undercover? That made no sense. He’d been with us—with me—for so long. How could he be lying to me, so deeply?
But he continued, speaking faster now, his breath shallow. "Your father’s death wasn’t a mistake. I was there to stop the hit, but I was too late. I couldn’t protect him."
I staggered back, feeling like the ground had been ripped out from under me. My father had trusted him. He’d trusted Vincent, the man who’d been with us, protected me—his daughter.
Suddenly, the air shifted again. I turned to see Marco, Salvatore’s right-hand man, standing in the doorway. A gun gleamed in his hand, pointed directly at Vincent.
“Salvatore knew about you,” Marco sneered. "Anthony protected you for years, but why? What was he hiding?"
I felt a cold chill run down my spine as Marco turned to me, his eyes narrowing. "Your father wasn’t just a loyal soldier, Lena. He was a mole. A federal agent. Code name ‘Iris.’ He was gathering intel to take down the entire family. But it wasn’t just about the family. He had evidence that could bring down the entire Midwestern criminal empire—and the FBI itself."
My breath caught in my throat. My father... was a mole? He’d betrayed us all? Everything I thought I knew about him—about my family—was a lie.
Vincent’s face tightened in shock. "No," he whispered, more to himself than anyone else. "Your father couldn’t have been a mole. I—"
A deafening crash from outside interrupted him. More men stormed the warehouse. Sean O’Sullivan himself. His laughter echoed in the chaos as he led a group of men toward us.
“Well, well, well,” Sean’s voice boomed through the room. "Look at this. The daughter of Anthony Moretti and the federal dog. How precious."
He looked at me with disdain before turning to Vincent. "You think you can take down the Irish? You’re nothing but a traitor."
With a sneer, he advanced. "Hand over the evidence your precious daddy left behind, and maybe I’ll let you both walk out of here."
I stood frozen, my mind spinning, trying to make sense of everything. Vincent—the man who’d protected me—had been an FBI agent all along. But my father... he was an agent, too? Had everything been orchestrated from the start? Had everyone been lying to me?
Just as I thought the world would close in around me, I felt a hand grip my arm. Vincent. He pulled me to the side, his voice low. "Stay with me. Do as I say, and we get out of here alive."
But before I could process anything, a shout came from across the room. Marco moved to block the exit, gun raised.
“Don’t try it,” he growled. “We’re taking you both back. Alive.”
Suddenly, Isabella’s voice rang out. "Lena, move now!"
I turned to see Isabella and a handful of Moretti’s men rushing in. But I wasn’t out of danger yet. Salvatore’s voice crackled through the comms, deep and cold. "Bring Lena and the traitor back. Alive."
The words sent a chill through my spine.
I barely had time to react before Vincent shoved something into my hand. A small, silver USB drive.
“Your father left this for you,” he whispered, his voice raw. “In the ring. It’s everything. Trust me, Lena. He knew. It’s all for you.”
I stood there, frozen, staring down at the USB drive. My father had left me something. Something that could change everything. The truth, buried in the heart of all the lies.
But would it be enough to save me from everything I’d just learned?