Page 19 of Wicked Bloodlines

Matteo

Istood at the window of my office, watching Belle’s car pull away from the villa with Sofia inside. Belle had insisted on taking my reluctant fiancée for a wedding dress fitting, giving me the window of opportunity I needed. The memory of Sofia’s body against mine from the night before lingered, but sentiment couldn’t override duty. Something about her didn’t add up, and with our wedding less than three weeks away, I needed answers, not just the intense heat smoldering between us. I waited until the car disappeared through the gates before heading toward the east wing where Sofia’s suite waited, ready to be searched.

The hallway stretched empty before me. Most of the staff knew better than to question my movements through my own home, but I still moved with purpose. At her door, I paused, listening for any sounds from within before slipping the master key from my pocket. The lock clicked open with minimal noise.

Sofia’s scent hit me first—that rain-on-warm-stone mixed with something sweet and uniquely her. I closed the door behind me, standing motionless for a moment to absorb the room. She’d been here less than a week, but already the space carried her essence. A cashmere wrap draped over the back of a chair. A half-empty glass of water on the nightstand. A book splayed open, face-down, marking her place. Small signs of life that made this more invasive than I wanted to admit.

“Business,” I reminded myself aloud, shaking off the strange guilt. Sofia might warm my bed now, but she remained Cesare Marchesi’s daughter until proven otherwise.

I started with the dresser, methodically checking each drawer. The top ones contained precisely folded lingerie and sleepwear—some items I recognized from our nights together, others I hadn’t yet had the pleasure of removing from her body. I ran my fingers along the seams and bottoms of each drawer, finding nothing hidden. The lower drawers yielded similar results.

The closet came next. I inspected pockets, shoe boxes, the lining of her suitcase. I checked behind drawers, under the mattress, inside pillowcases. Sofia had unpacked carefully, leaving little out of place that would suggest hidden compartments or secret stashes. Either she truly had nothing to hide, or she was more careful than most.

“Come on, princess,” I muttered, growing frustrated. “Everyone has secrets.”

I moved to her small desk, examining the modest collection of books she’d brought. Nothing fell from the pages when I shook them. Her laptop sat closed on the desk, but I left it for now. If I found nothing else, I’d take it to Alessandro. He could do his computer thing and get whatever was on the drives.

In the bathroom, the marble counters gleamed under recessed lighting. Sofia’s makeup and skincare products lined one side in a neat row. The shower held high-end shampoos and body washes. Everything spoke of refined taste and meticulous organization. The medicine cabinet revealed prescription sleeping pills—interesting, but not damning. No hidden drugs, no suspicious medications. Just the normal contents of a wealthy woman’s bathroom.

I almost missed the toiletry bag tucked beneath the sink. Black leather, expensive but understated, it blended with the shadows of the cabinet. I pulled it out, unzipped it, and began sorting through its contents. Makeup remover. Extra mascara. Tampons. Hair ties. A small sewing kit. The mundane contents of a woman’s emergency supplies.

But the weight felt… off. Too heavy for the contents.

I emptied everything onto the counter, examining each item before setting it aside. When the bag appeared empty, I ran my fingers along the interior, feeling for inconsistencies. Near the bottom, the lining felt different. Thicker. I pressed harder and felt something solid beneath my fingertips.

“Clever girl,” I whispered, finding the hidden zipper concealed by a seam.

The compartment opened to reveal a small flash drive wrapped in waterproof fabric. My pulse quickened as I held it up to the light. This tiny device, hidden so carefully, had to contain whatever secrets Sofia Marchesi wanted to keep.

I pocketed the drive, then meticulously replaced every item exactly as I’d found them. The bag went back under the sink. I moved backward through the suite, rechecking every area I’d disturbed to ensure no trace of my search remained.

I locked her door behind me and headed for my office, my mind racing with possibilities. Was this evidence against my family? Information for her father? Or something else entirely? The drive burned in my pocket like a live coal, demanding answers I wasn’t sure I wanted to find.

I stepped inside and locked the door to my office before settling into the leather chair behind my desk. Whatever Sofia had hidden away with such care would tell me exactly what kind of woman I’d brought into my home, into my bed. My fingers hovered over my laptop for a heartbeat before I plugged the drive in, bracing myself for whatever betrayal might be contained within. The screen flickered as the device connected, and folders appeared – dozens of them, meticulously labeled and organized. I clicked on the first one and felt my breath catch.

Not what I expected. Not even close.

The folder contained financial records—spreadsheets, bank statements, offshore account numbers—all belonging to Cesare Marchesi. I scrolled through document after document, each one more damning than the last. Money laundering operations. Payments to government officials. Funds moving through shell companies that eventually traced back to known enemies of my family. All in my backyard, but done undercover as part of their normal territory.

“What the fuck are you playing at, Sofia?” I muttered, opening another folder. This one held photographs. Cesare meeting with Vincent Rossi in locations that suggested secrecy like abandoned warehouses, remote restaurants, and private clubs with back entrances. The timestamps showed these meetings occurred regularly over the past year, including times when Cesare was supposedly negotiating exclusively with us. Each photo was crystal clear, the figures unmistakable, the implications undeniable.

Another folder contained voice recordings. I hit play on the first file. Cesare’s cultured voice filled the room, discussing the elimination of a business rival who just happened to in be my family’s employ. Low level to be sure, but still one of our people. Now, the vague report we’d all assumed was just another hazard of our way of life came clawing its way back to the front of my memory and I grimaced. As a rule, I didn’t let my people go down without an investigation, and I knew one was ongoing. I’d have to make sure this got pushed to the front of the line.

I listened to three more recordings before my stomach turned enough that I had to stop. The conversations ranged from murder to human trafficking. The man was a fucking monster, even by the flexible moral standards of our world.

But what hit me hardest was the organization of it all. Sofia hadn’t just collected random dirt on her father. She’d built a case. Meticulous, comprehensive, annotated with dates and cross-references. This wasn’t the work of weeks or even months. This was years of careful documentation, a patient spider weaving a web designed to completely trap its prey.

The most recent folder contained communications between Cesare and the Rossi family dating back just weeks, when put in place plans to use Sofia’s position in our family to gather intelligence on our shipping operations. The very thing Cesare had tried to force Sofia to do that night at The Black Rose when he’d struck her.

I leaned back in my chair, running a hand through my hair. Whatever game Sofia was playing, it wasn’t the one I’d assumed. She wasn’t her father’s puppet. She was hunting him. “Jesus Christ,” I whispered, a newfound respect blooming alongside my wariness.

The woman I was marrying had been methodically building a case to destroy her own father. And from what I could see, she had more than enough to do it. This evidence could put Cesare away for multiple lifetimes, or get him killed by any number of enemies if it reached the wrong hands. Including mine.

I checked the metadata on the files, confirming my suspicion. The earliest dated back three years. Sofia had been collecting this evidence since she was in her late teens or early twenties, working under her father’s roof, living with the man while gathering the means to destroy him. The nerve required to maintain that façade day after day, year after year… I couldn’t help but admire it, even as it sent a chill down my spine.

What kind of woman could pull that off? And what did it say about our marriage that she’d brought this explosive information into my home without saying a word?

I opened my secure server and began copying the files. If Sofia had gone to these lengths to gather this information, there must be a reason she hadn’t used it yet. She was waiting for something. The right moment, perhaps. Or the right leverage.