Page 141 of Forged

“No. I only expect you to believe that my love for them is a force greater than the one who hired me.”

For the first time, something breaks through the frost in his expression. I hope for mercy, but I get rage. It flashes in his eyes. I see the brother in him, the Don and the blood beneath the title, the man who would burn through the world for Lars without thinking twice.

“You are standing in my house after my sister-in-law’s car was blown to hell,” he says, voice rising now, “and you think I’ll believe you had nothing to do with it?”

The words hit exactly where they should. Shame is a blunt instrument in my chest. I let it land.

“I know what this looks like, but I had absolutely nothing to do with that hit.”

Enzo laughs once, sharp and humorless. “Really? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like a hired killer embedded himself in my family while my enemies lined up their shot.”

“I had no part of that bomb.”

His hand snaps forward, his fist tangling in the front of my shirt as he drags me closer. Dante’s grip adjusts. They work around each other with the ease of men who have done this for years.

“You better not be lying to me, Gabriel. I have rules in my organization and liars don’t live to tell another,” Enzo growls. “You have one chance to tell me your secrets. You tell me what you know.”

I draw a breath that feels like swallowing glass. “I’m a contractor,” I say. “An assassin, if you want the ugly word. Sera Corrigan recruited me. She gave me a target, The Blackwater Key. I didn’t know what it was when I was hired, but then she told me the purpose of it and what it held. She told me the Key was inside theestate. My job was infiltration. I was sent to find the Key, then deliver the information so she could activate it or use it as leverage.”

The silence that follows my words is filled with tension.

Enzo’s grip on my shirt tightens, the fabric straining against my skin. Dante doesn’t move.

“She sent you after Blackwater,” Enzo says, quieter now. “She sent you into my family?”

“Yes.”

“And you accepted.”

“Yes. But that was before I knew Lars and Neomi.”

He shoves me back hard enough that the bookshelf rattles. Dante keeps me upright with ease.

For a moment, Enzo says nothing. He just stares at me with a level of hatred I’ve earned. When he speaks again, his voice is low and controlled.

“Tell me why I shouldn’t put a bullet in your head before Lars ever learns your name was built on a lie.”

I know the words I want to say, ‘Because he deserves to hear it from me. Because I love him. Because if you kill me before I can fix this, Sera will still come for all of you.’ A dozen answers crowd my throat, and I'm not sure if any of them matter.

“Because I choose them,” I say. “I choose Lars. I choose Neomi. I’m done with the mission. I won’t complete it.”

Enzo’s mouth curls with contempt. “So fucking convenient.”

“It isn’t convenient.” The words come rougher now, dragged up from the place I’ve spent weeks trying not to touch. “It is the worst thing that has ever happened to me, because I have consequences if I fail. Either way, my life ends. If I let Sera gain access to the Key, I’ll lose the only two people I have ever loved. By telling you and not completing the mission, Sera sets off a safeguard. Every family and associate of anyone I have killed will be notified that I did it. I will be hunted. But I choose love, Enzo. I couldn’t let Sera destroy your organization and put your family at risk.”

I can feel the tears threatening to fall from my eyes. “I loveLars, I love Neomi, and if I could ever have a chance at anything real and lasting, I needed to tell you the truth.”

Enzo’s eyes sharpen at Lars’ name, protectiveness turning his whole body into a blade.

“Don’t use his name to soften me.”

“I’m not trying to soften you.” My voice drops. “I’m trying to tell you the truth before it destroys the only people I’ve ever loved.”

I force myself to keep going while I still can. “I let Sera know I was abandoning the mission. I can show you the text if you don’t believe me. Then she gave me forty-eight hours to produce the key or she sends everything. That means she’s moving now.”

Enzo turns away from me long enough to drag a hand across his mouth, then looks at Dante. Dante stays silent as Enzo reaches for the folder on the desk and flips it open. Enzo takes two photographs from it and holds them up in front of my face.

One is old enough that I barely recognize myself. The angle catches a younger version of me stepping into a hotel kitchen in Buenos Aires, my clothes splattered with blood, my eyes soulless. The other is grainy surveillance still from Munich, a body crumpled at my feet, my gun already down because I didn’t need a second shot.