The memory of Inspector Giroux's visit hung in the penthouse long after he left. He had done what no assassin or rival had ever managed: he brought the harsh light of the outside world into Dante's dark realm. He stood for a law that Dante had always believed he was above, shaking the foundations of our stronghold.
"He's a problem," Elias Vance said in a flat tone as he reviewed the inspector's file in the war room. "Giroux doesn't bend or break. His case closure rate is the highest in the Federation. If he thinks there's a crime, he won't stop until he catches the criminal."
"Then we must make sure he finds nothing," Dante replied tightly. He paced the room like a caged tiger with bars closing in. He felt pressure from two sides—one from the law trying to expose him, and the Syndicate aiming to destroy him.
I watched him, my heart aching for the turmoil hidden beneath his calm exterior. The news about his father, combined with Giroux's visit, was a brutal blow that could have shattered a lesser man. He was trying to become the cold, ruthless commander once again, but I could see the cracks in his facade.
Later that evening, I found him in his private study, a room I hadn't entered since the shooting. A single lamp cast long shadows on the walls. He wasn't working; he stood before a framed photograph on his desk—a picture of a smiling man with kind eyes and familiar green irises. Antonio Moretti.
"He took me to my first board meeting when I was nine," Dante said quietly, not turning around. He knew I was there. "He sat me at the end of the table and told me to listen. After that, he said, 'Power is a responsibility, Dante, not a privilege.' How does a man who says that sell weapons to criminals?"
The question was raw and filled with vulnerability. It was the voice of the boy who had just seen his hero fall.
I walked to his side and gently traced the edge of the silver frame. "People are complicated, Dante. They have secrets. They make mistakes. What your father did or didn't do doesn't change who you are. It doesn't lessen the man you've become."
He finally turned to look at me, his eyes a stormy mix of conflict and pain. "And what man is that, Isabella? The one you saw shoot someone in my office? The one whose world you're now caught in?"
"No," I said, my voice soft but firm. I cupped his jaw, forcing him to meet my gaze. "The man who protected his sister his whole life. The man who bled for me on a dirty floor. The man who showed mercy to a woman who kept a secret from him for nineteen years. That is the man I see."
A shudder passed through his strong frame. He leaned into my touch, a silent surrender. The weight of his past and present was crushing him, and in that moment, I was his only support. He closed his eyes, resting his forehead against mine.
"They want to break me," he whispered, revealing his trust. "Finch, Giroux… they're all chipping away at the foundations."
"Then we stop defending and start attacking," I whispered back, my determination growing. "We can't stay locked in this tower waiting for the next blow. We have a lead. A real one. Colette Dubois."
He pulled back, the strategist emerging from his sorrow. "It's too risky to approach her directly."
"It's riskier not to," I countered, my mind already working on a plan. "Her father was a victim, just like yours. He was killed a year after he signed that manifest. That has to be a coincidence. He must have known something, and he might have told her. She's a journalist, Dante. An investigative journalist. She deals in secrets and hidden truths. She's not an outsider; she could be our strongest ally."
"She hates men like me," he argued. "Her whole career is about taking down powerful, corrupt companies. Sending Leo or Elias will be like sending a bull into a china shop. She'll run, and we'll lose her for good."
"So you don't send them," I said firmly. "You send me."
He stared at me, a hundred objections flitting across his face. The thought of letting me out of the fortress, of putting me back in danger, was clearly tearing at him.
"Think about it," I urged, laying out my reasoning. "I'm not one of your soldiers. I'm a law student. I understand her world. She'll see a peer, not a threat. I can speak to her, woman to woman, daughter to daughter. I can tell her the truth about what happened to my father—because for all intents and purposes, your father has become mine in this fight. It's a risk, but it's the last move we have."
I could see the moment he accepted the hard logic of my argument. The protector in him didn't want it, but the general knew it was the only option.
"Nyx will find a way to contact her safely," he said, his voice serious, the decision made. "You will have a full but invisible security detail. Leo will supervise it personally. You will wear a tracker, an earpiece, everything. But you will go in alone." He took my hands, his grip painfully tight. "If at any moment, for any reason, you feel something is wrong, you give the distress signal and you get out. Do you understand me, Isabella?"
"I understand," I replied, my heart racing with a mix of fear and fierce determination.
The Brussels gambit was on. I was no longer just a partner in the war room. I was about to become a soldier on the front lines.