Marco

“I don’t believe her.”

The words hung heavy in the air, and as I lifted my eyes from the long oak table in front of me, I watched Francesco’s face shift—his eyes widened, and his lips parted like he hadn’t heard me correctly.

“What?” he asked, voice sharp. “What do you mean you don’t believe her?”

I didn’t blink. “Exactly that,” I said slowly. “I don’t believe her.”

Silence dropped over the room. Francesco sat across from me, flanked by Franco and Emilio—two of my oldest, most trusted men. They didn’t speak. They didn’t need to. I could feel their eyes on me, their understanding settling without question.

Francesco,...