Page 9 of Watch Me Burn

FLY ON THE WALL

G iovanni Mortelle did not become the most feared man in New York by practicing patience. Patience was a luxury he never afforded himself. For a man of his stature, power was measured in moments seized—not wasted.

Giovanni’s office was silent, heavy with the oppressive quiet of power. The city sprawled beneath him, ignorant of the puppet-master watching from above.

He examined the report in front of him, his weathered fingers tracing the names: Aaron Jackson and Tristan Barlow. Ambitious boys playing in a world they didn’t understand, thinking they could outsmart him with their little insurance policy. Little did they know Mortelle was playing his own game.

“How many clients have they lost this week?” he asked, not looking up.

Lorenzo, his most trusted advisor, cleared his throat nervously. “Three major accounts, sir. Porter Tech, Johnson Media, and Stratton Financial. And Jackson didn’t close on a major celebrity home.”

“And remind me why we can’t just retrieve the drive forcibly?”

“Tristan and Aaron have protected themselves with a failsafe encryption system that only they can safely disarm. If we attempt to access it incorrectly, it will trigger an automatic upload of all sensitive data to multiple law enforcement agencies and media outlets.”

Giovanni showed no emotion on the outside, but internally he was fuming at the fact that his twelve-men IT security team isn’t smart enough to take down one man. He made a mental note to dispose of them all and replace them with a more competent team.

“We also believe Tristan has contracted a cybersecurity firm offshore to manage his failsafe. We cannot risk any of this,” Lorenzo added.

Mortelle closed the folder. “And my daughter? Has she made progress?”

Lorenzo hesitated, adjusting his collar uncomfortably. “Ms. Caterina remains thorough in her surveillance. But she still doesn’t have the location of the drive. Perhaps she’s playing another angle?—”

“Perhaps,” Mortelle repeated, disgusted by the incompetence. “Meanwhile, they still possess information that could damage our interests.”

“Yes, sir. The drive remains unaccounted for.”

Giovanni stood, walking to the window that overlooked the city—his city. For decades, he had built this world on calculated risks and swift, decisive action. He had sacrificed so much to get here. He hadn’t survived this long by letting problems fester.

“That drive could expose secrets I’ve spent decades burying. Find it, Lorenzo. Before it brings down everything.”

Lorenzo’s gaze dropped to the floor, unable to meet his boss’s eyes. “We’re trying every angle, sir.”

“Trying is not good enough.”

Then it came to him. Clear as day, the solution that was going to take care of both his problems.

“Send invitations to the Donovan gala,” he said finally. “For Jackson, Barlow, and my daughter. It’s time to put an end to this.”

Lorenzo nodded, already making notes. “And if they refuse to attend?”

Giovanni turned, his eyes cold. “They don’t have a choice.”

The invitation arrived on heavy cardstock, embossed with gold leaf and smelling faintly of copper.

“The Annual Donovan Foundation Charity Gala,” Aaron read aloud. “Honoring the city’s most influential business leaders.”

Tristan plucked it from his fingers, scanning the elegant script. “We’ve never been invited before.”

“That’s because we weren’t on Mortelle’s radar before.

” Aaron poured himself a generous whiskey, not bothering to offer one to Tristan.

Things had been tense between them since the client exodus began.

“This isn’t an invitation,” Aaron muttered darkly.

“It’s a trap, and Mortelle is daring us to step inside. ”

“Then we don’t go.”

Aaron laughed. “You think that’s an option? After what we’ve lost this week?”

“We still have the drive,” Tristan said, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper, even in the secure confines of Aaron’s penthouse.

“For all the good it’s doing us.” Aaron downed his drink in one burning swallow. “Besides, I found out something about our stalker problem.”

Tristan raised an eyebrow, waiting. “Tell me.”

Aaron studied his friend, realization hitting him hard—he barely recognized the man standing in front of him. How long had Tristan been hiding things? “You have no idea what I’m going to say?”

“No. What the fuck?”

“Dammit, Tristan. She’s not just connected to Mortelle.” Aaron poured another drink, needing the buffer of alcohol. “She’s his daughter. Caterina Mortelle.”

Tristan sank onto the couch, face pale, jaw clenched in fear. “Caterina Mortelle? Via? Jesus Christ, Aaron, she’s been right under our noses.”

“That about sums it up.”

For the first time, in a long time, Tristan had been outplayed. “No way. Via? How do you know?”

Aaron thought back to the parking garage, to Caterina’s smile as she revealed her true identity. To the way his body had unwillingly reacted to her, coming alive even as his mind screamed danger.

“She told me. Confronted me in the parking garage after work. Well, I tried confronting her but it didn’t go as planned.”

Tristan sank further into the couch, running both hands through his hair. “His daughter. Jesus Christ.”

“She knows about the drive,” Aaron continued. “Or at least suspects. Which means, we’re dead men.”

“Not yet.”

“Meaning?”

“We do have some protection with the drive. It’s not just encrypted, Aaron.

It’s rigged to send every piece of information we’ve collected directly to every major federal agency if we fail to authenticate every forty-eight hours.

Mortelle can’t risk killing us—not until he has a way around it. ” Tristan’s voice was flat.

“What the fuck? Did you recently add this new measure?”

“Yes, extra security which helps me sleep at night. Another reason why we can’t give them the drive.”

“It’s a piece of technology. Our lives are worth more.”

“It’s not that simple.” Tristan stood, pacing the room. “There are complications.”

Tristan’s eyes flickered with something Aaron had never seen before—fear and desperation. “You don’t understand what’s on that drive, Aaron. It’s not just information, it’s insurance against something much worse.”

“It’s a fucking USB drive with dirt on Mortelle’s operation. Valuable, yes, but not worth dying for.”

Tristan shook his head. “You don’t understand what’s on it.”

“Then explain it to me,” Aaron snapped.

For a moment, Tristan looked like he might confess something. Then he shut off, the mask of nonchalance sliding back into place. “We need it. Because if that drive gets out…it won’t just be Mortelle who wants us dead.”

Aaron’s skin prickled. How many secrets had Tristan buried while pretending to be the one person he could trust? And how many of them had teeth? They’d been friends for years, business partners through every high and low, but in this moment, Tristan felt like a stranger.

“Fine. Keep your secrets.” Aaron tossed the invitation onto the coffee table. “But we’re going to that gala.”