Page 12 of The Assassin’s Captive (The Roma Syndicate #5)
LORENZO
T he terrace overlooks rolling hills that disappear into darkness beyond the property's boundaries.
Cypress trees line the driveway below, their shadows long and sharp under security lights that activate at the slightest movement.
I lean against the stone railing and pull out my secure phone, the one reserved for conversations that can never be recorded or traced.
Three AM passes on my watch as I scroll to Emilio's contact. The call will wake him, but the information I carry won't wait for business hours. My thumb hovers over the screen while I rehearse the words that will change everything between us.
The phone rings twice before his voice cuts through the night air, gravelly with sleep and irritation.
"This had better be worth waking me up."
"It is." I take a breath and step into territory I've never navigated. "The woman from the car accident—there's been a development."
"What development? You said you were handling it." He's not just sleepy. He's probably drunk too. His words are slurred.
"I am. But the hospital ran routine blood work. DNA testing flagged a match in the national database."
"DNA testing is routine?" he grumbles, and I hear the rush of fabric shifting in the background.
"It must be when the person has no identification. Her ID must've been lost in the wreck or something. Look, it was a match," I tell him, already bracing for his reaction.
Emilio's breathing changes on the other end of the line, becoming more alert. "A match to what?"
"To you."
The words punctuate the air between us across the digital connection. I can hear him processing, calculating, rejecting the possibility before it can take root. "That's impossible."
"The laboratory confirmed it. Direct familial match to your sample from the tax case two years ago… The one where they thought you killed that Interpol agent. They have you in the database, Boss." I have to make this very clear to him or he's going to think I’m crazy.
"This is a setup. Someone's playing games, trying to get close to me through manufactured evidence."
His voice carries the steel that has kept him alive and in power for three decades. Emilio Costa doesn't believe in coincidences, doesn't trust information that seems too convenient or complications that arise at inconvenient times.
"The woman is a prosecutor, Emilio. She's been building cases against your organization for months. Why would she manufacture a connection that puts her in danger?"
"Because it's exactly what no one would expect. Smart strategy—claim blood ties to gain protection, then use that access to destroy us from the inside." Add a hiccup to the mess and it confirms what I know—he's been drinking too much.
I understand his logic, but I've seen the test results. Laboratory science doesn't lie, and the hospital has no reason to fabricate evidence that creates problems rather than solving them.
"I'm sending you proof."
I end the call and photograph the DNA report with the secure phone's camera.
The image captures every detail—the laboratory letterhead, the technical analysis, the conclusion that links her genetic profile to his.
I encrypt the file and transmit it through channels that will reach him without leaving traces in any system that law enforcement can access.
The phone rings again before I can pocket it. "Where did you get this?"
Emilio's voice has changed, becoming quieter and more dangerous. The steel remains, but underneath I hear something I've never detected before—uncertainty.
"I took it from her medical chart before anyone else could see it. Only the attending physician and lab technician know about the results."
"And they're still alive?"
The question doesn't surprise me, nor does his reaction. Emilio's first instinct is always to eliminate sources of exposure, to control information by removing the people who possess it. "Victor is on it, Boss. Don't worry."
"Which means we have time to figure out how this happened and what it means.
" I hear him moving around on the other end of the line—footsteps across the floor, the sound of a door closing, the clink of glass against glass.
He's pouring himself another drink, which means he's accepting the possibility that the DNA results are legitimate.
"Where is she now?" he asks around a sip of whatever liquor he's served himself.
"Here. Safe. Under medical supervision."
"Good. Keep her there. No contact with the outside world, no press, no police. Nobody knows she exists until I decide what to do with her."
The instructions are clear, but they create complications he hasn't considered.
Hospital staff will notice her absence when the morning shift arrives.
Police will investigate the disappearance of an accident victim who was stable enough to walk out on her own.
Questions will multiply into investigations that could expose all of us.
"The hospital will report her missing."
"Handle it. You're good at making problems disappear."
"This isn't the usual problem. She's not some street dealer or corrupt official. She's a prosecutor with connections throughout the legal system. People will look for her." I sigh. "And they'll just go back to CODIS and find out who they tested her against. It's just a matter of time…"
"Then make sure they don't find her." Emilio's tone indicates the conversation is ending, but I need to understand the parameters of my new assignment. Protecting her is different from eliminating her, and the difference affects every decision I'll make in the coming days.
"For how long?" I ask, already wondering how he'll take it when he learns I fucked her too.
"Until I figure out if she's really my daughter or an elaborate trap designed to destroy me.
" His voice hardens with resolve that I recognize from decades of following his orders.
"If she's mine, then she becomes family.
If she's not, then she becomes a lesson to anyone else who tries to manipulate me with fake blood ties. "
The line goes dead, leaving me alone on the terrace with new responsibilities that contradict everything I thought I understood about this assignment.
The woman upstairs was supposed to be a source of information, then a casualty of war.
Now she's potentially the most important person in Emilio's world.
I pocket the phone and return to the house through French doors that lead directly to the kitchen. Dr. Catalano sits at the granite island, updating medical charts with the methodical attention to detail that makes her valuable for situations requiring discretion.
"How is she?"
"Stable. The concussion is healing properly, and there's no sign of internal injuries. She'll be sore for another week, but nothing that requires hospitalization."
"Can she travel?"
Dr. Catalano looks up from her notes with a cautious expression and says, "Short distances, yes. But I wouldn't recommend anything strenuous for several days. Her body has been through significant trauma."
I nod and climb the stairs toward my bedroom, where the woman who has turned my world upside down waits under the protection of my roof. The hallway feels different now, charged with possibilities I never anticipated when I designed this house as a refuge from the chaos of my professional life.
Her breathing reaches me before I open the door, the rhythm indicating sleep. But her body position seems too controlled, too perfectly arranged for someone truly unconscious. She's awake and listening, gathering information while pretending vulnerability.
I don't call her out on the deception. Intelligence and caution are assets that will keep her alive in the coming weeks, and I need her alive while Emilio decides whether she's truly his blood.
Moonlight filters through the bedroom windows, illuminating her face in shades of silver and shadow. The bruises from the accident are dark and haunting, revealing the strong bone structure that carries her father's genetics. The resemblance seems more obvious by the second.
She shifts slightly under the covers, and I catch the flutter of her eyelids that confirms my suspicion. She's been awake the entire time, monitoring my movements and trying to understand her situation.
The photograph that sits behind the books on my nightstand is exactly where I left it but it betrays her exploration. She knows who I am now, knows the connection that binds me to the Costa family. The knowledge makes her more dangerous and more valuable in equal measure.
I settle into the chair beside the window and study her profile in the dim light. Tomorrow will bring new complications—hospital inquiries, police questions, the pressure of keeping her hidden while Emilio investigates her background. But tonight, she's safe under my protection.
She isn't leverage anymore. She's a target that every family in Rome will want to claim or eliminate once they learn about her connection to Emilio Costa, and especially since she has buried so many of their men under the strict purpose of justice.