CHAPTER 39: PEACE: BUT THE OTHER WAY ROUND

Chapter 39

JACE MARINO

The scent was the last thing to fade. It clung to the sheets and to me. From the upstairs window, I watched Marco’s car idle in the drive, exhaust curling into the cold. Julian stood beside it, adjusting his collar against the wind. He didn’t look back at the house. Maybe he knew I’d be watching.

I stayed behind the glass. I couldn’t risk being seen with him. Not here, not now. My name alone was enough to make him a target.

Marco said something, light enough to make Julian laugh. Then the trunk closed, the door opened, and the car rolled off down the long stretch of gravel until it disappeared past the gates.

The silence afterward felt heavier than it should have. The kind that seeps into your bones and stays.

I turned from the window, back into the room that still smelled like him. The bed was a mess of sheets and memory. Two indents in the pillow, a detail my mind registered out of habit. Observation has always been my defense mechanism. Even now, I catalogued the evidence of him like it might help me forget he’d been here.

But it didn’t.

Not the scent. Not the quiet. Not the way the space suddenly felt larger and smaller at once.

I told myself it was a problem I needed to solve.

Not the feeling. The vulnerability.

The Monday morning silence was ripped apart by my phone. A notification, or better still an override from the family line. No one used it unless the news was bad, or Father needed a performance.

"The meeting is at ten," Mateo’s tight voice clipped. "Dress appropriately."

I didn’t ask what it was about. I already knew. The call hadn’t waited until business hours; it had come the moment the sun was high enough to light the shame on our faces. I didn’t need the details; the gut-deep sickness told me enough. It was Saturday night. It was the private bathroom. It was Julian.

I was back in the main Marino residence by nine-forty-five, the silence of the marble floors swallowing the sound of my expensive shoes. I was wearing a charcoal suit, the fabric perfectly tailored to convey indifference. Control was a uniform. I needed it today.

Father was already seated in the parlor, not the office. This was not a business discussion; it was a family interrogation. Mateo and Marco stood near the fireplace. Marco looked physically ill. I gave him a slight, almost imperceptible shake of the head. Don’t speak.

Father didn’t look up when I entered. He continued to study the sheaf of papers in his hand. "Jace. I trust your weekend was productive."

The formality of the greeting was a warning flare. I kept my face blank. "As productive as a weekend can be, Father."

He finally lifted his gaze. His eyes, usually cool and calculating, were chips of polished ice. "A security lapse occurred Saturday night at the West Side. A camera in the west corridor, the one directly opposite the private family facilities, recorded two unidentified men entering a bathroom at 1:17 AM. The footage was obtained and, as of this morning, has been circulated to—let’s call them—interested parties."

He paused, letting the implication hang. My stomach performed the expected slow twist. But my voice remained level, a smooth, manufactured calm.

"Unidentified, Father?"

"Don’t insult my intelligence, Jace. One of them was you. The other, judging by the poor fit of his jacket, was Detective Pole’s son." He slapped the papers onto the mahogany table. "We have a problem."

"We-have-a-problem," Father repeated, leaning forward just enough to make his suit jacket wrinkle. The movement was a predator’s twitch. "It is not simply the act, Jace. It is the leak. The footage was secured by our team twenty minutes after it was recorded. It was destroyed by 2:00 AM. Yet, copies reached multiple key contacts before eight this morning."

My mind raced, running the calculations. Six hours. It wasn’t an outside job; it was an internal breach. Someone on the payroll had betrayed us for an outside party. The implications were catastrophic. This wasn’t about a tryst; it was about trust, loyalty and the structure of our protection.

"You ordered an internal sweep, I assume?" I asked. My question wasn’t about the security measure; it was about the timing. Who else knew about the sweep?

"Of course," he said, his voice laced with disdain. "But the information was gone before the initial sweep even began. The individual who leaked it also provided the current security layout of all the buildings. Every camera, every blind spot, every corridor patrol schedule. That is a betrayal of the highest order, and it suggests a much larger, more sophisticated operation than a simple disgruntled cleaner."

Marco shifted by the fireplace, the sound of his shoes scraping the marble loud in the silence.

"Marco. Stand still," Father commanded without looking. Marco froze.

"The security layout leak concerns me more than the footage," I stated, keeping my tone purely analytical. It was easier to discuss logistics than the personal disaster involving Julian. "That information is contained within a very small circle. The usual suspects for a simple video leak would be the cleaning staff and the low-level tech. I bet you they have no access to the architectural schematics or patrol rotations. This points to one of Dominic’s men, or possibly Mateo’s."

Mateo, ever the politician, stiffened. "My people are vetted. My files are secure."

"Vetting is only as strong as the price of the betrayal," I countered smoothly.

Father waved a hand, cutting off Mateo’s retort. "The point is the message, Jace. The enemy, whoever is orchestrating this, chose to show us they can penetrate our inner sanctum and expose your indiscretion with Detective Pole’s son at the same time. They are hitting us on two fronts: the foundation of our business and the reputation of the heir."

He locked eyes with me. "That young man Julian. Is a gaping liability. A neon sign pointing directly to our weakness. He will be noticed. He will be pressured. He will talk."

"He won’t talk. He doesn’t even know anything." I asserted, the only time my voice carried a non-negotiable edge.

Father let out a short, humorless laugh. "You’ve been gone too long, Jace. Love is a weakness the enemy exploits first. Your engagement to Aiko is already strained. This footage destroys any remaining diplomatic goodwill. The Yakuza do not tolerate such disrespect, and neither do I. You need to eliminate the variable."

The temperature in the room plummeted. I knew exactly what he meant by "eliminate the variable." I straightened my tie, adjusting the knot that was already perfect.

"The variable is not the boy, Father. The variable is the traitor," I argued, pushing back just to buy time. "If we focus on getting rid of Julian, the true threat. The one who leaked the schematic remains in the dark, free to destroy us from the inside. We need to focus the internal sweep on who had access to both the footage log and the security files. I need to handle that, and I need Dominic’s full cooperation."

"Fine. You handle the schematics leak. I will handle the political fallout from the footage, and the Aiko problem," Father said, a dark promise in his tone. "But understand this jace. The leash is short. If the boy becomes a distraction or worse a liability, you will be held responsible for the consequences. Go. Find your answers."

I gave a short, sharp nod, a muscle in my jaw tight. I didn’t trust his promise to "handle" the Aiko situation without it somehow circling back to harming Julian. But I had what I needed: a path forward focused on the internal threat.

I left the parlor without another word. Mateo and Marco followed, flanking me as I strode through the grand foyer. The air outside was cold, a clean contrast to the parlor’s suffocating formality.

"What the hell was that?" Mateo hissed, pulling me to a stop near the black sedan.

Marco’s eyes were wide with genuine fear. "Jace, is Julian okay? Is he in trouble? Did they get his name? Is the old man going to—"

"Stop," I said, cutting off Marco’s panicked speculation. "He’s safe. He’s back home. He texted me. The current threat is us, not him."

Mateo ran a hand through his perpetually neat hair. "Jace, the security layout? That information is locked down. Only four people have access to the master files, and two of them are in this conversation."

"Exactly," I said. "It was surgical. Whoever took the footage knew exactly where the camera was, knew the patrol schedule to get in and out unseen, and knew who to send the footage to for maximum impact."

"So, who is the one?" Marco asked, his voice low.

I glanced around the courtyard. A gardener was trimming a hedge too meticulously. Everything was a potential listening post.

"The information about the footage itself, the time stamp and the location—came to me on Sunday morning from Dominic." I stated, watching their reactions carefully.

Mateo’s eyebrows shot up. "Dominic? Why you? Why not the head of security, or Father directly?"

"He said he intercepted the initial breach notification and brought it to my awareness before it went up the chain," I explained, relaying Dominic’s story without lending it any credence. "He was trying to protect me. A move to secure my loyalty before Father could hear it from someone else."

"A little too convenient," Mateo mused, leaning against the car. "He gets to play the loyal soldier, and he also gets to know exactly what’s in the wind before anyone else. He has access to our systems. He manages the low-level tech staff. He could have arranged the leak and the discovery."

"Or," I countered, running a hand over the cool metal of the car door, "he could be the patsy. Someone is setting up a fall guy. I need to know where the security schematics crossed paths with the camera log."

I looked pointedly at Mateo. "You manage the network security. Who accessed the master schematics database in the last forty-eight hours, and when? I need a full log, scrubbed of all noise, by noon."

"And what about the other problem?" Marco pressed, his anxiety about Julian still visible. "If they can leak the footage, they can leak his identity. Detective Pole will see it."

"That is the political fallout Father is supposedly handling," I said, my voice hardening. "But I will handle the protection. Marco, you will go back to the safe house. I need you both here, focused on the breach. That traitor is a big threat and bad publicity is even a bigger threat"

I’m trading wisely.

I have something to lose now.