Page 65 of Declan

“Stupidity runs in that goddamn family,” I grunt. The Flanagans have never cared much about the families just so long as their piece of the pie is guaranteed. John always goes with the flow.

Nolan on the other hand, has always wanted to lead the Irish Consortium, but for that, he’d have to pull his head out of his ass,and that’s damn near impossible. When the wars started, he fled the country, only coming back after the Russians were kicked out. Leader? Yeah, right.

“Nolan needs a lesson after this. Going after your wife? Over a phone?” Flynn clicks his tongue in disapproval.

I take a deep breath. “I need you to play along, make it look like you believe all of it. But most importantly, I need you to keep her safe.” I try not to sound desperate as I hand him a glass of whisky.

He stares at me for a moment before a smirk tug at the corner of his lips. “Of course. I promise I’ll keep her safe. If they try anything—”

“You’ll kill them. All of them,” I interrupt, my voice low.

He laughs, taking a sip of the whiskey. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll fucking kill them. I never liked them anyway.”

After bringing Flynn up to speed, he leaves. For now, we need to cut contact to make it believable that he truly thinks Viviana is involved in all this.

I head to Viviana’s room, pushing the door open. Her scent lingers in the air, a mix of jasmine and something uniquely hers. The room feels like a sunless summer: dark, empty, suffocating. Fuck.

“Where should we look?” Connor asks, stepping in behind me. His gaze sweeps over the room. It’s pristine, everything in its place, neat and orderly.

“Everywhere,” I grunt, my voice dropping an octave. “Toss this fucking room upside down until we find that damn notebook.”

I know Giovanni has a reason for pulling this stunt, and that reason is hidden in that notebook. I’ll find it, no matter what it takes.

The lack of concrete proof against Giovanni is what grates on me the most. All we know is the informant is Italian, but theMorellis aren’t the only Italians in the city. Without undeniable evidence, it’s our word against his, leaving Giovanni in the clear for now.

But why orchestrate all of this? My gut says Viviana found something, something real, something that can seal his fate. And he knows it.

We tear apart her room. Every drawer, every book, every box. Where the fuck is it?

I stop, scanning the chaos we’ve made. Books lie scattered across the floor, the desk is bare, the drawers emptied, and her walk-in closet is stripped down to nothing. She’s going to kill me for this, I think grimly.

“She’s too smart for her own good,” I mutter, rubbing a hand over my face. It has to be somewhere we’d never think to look.

My eyes land on her bed, my old one. A king-sized monster with oak columns and draping red fabric, like something straight out of Victorian England. I tilt my head. The draping.

“She wouldn’t… would she?”

Climbing onto the bed, I reach for the fabric hanging from the columns. My fingers close around it, and I tug. Something falls onto the bed with a soft thud, wrapped in a worn leather casing. My chest tightens as I pick it up and open it.

The notebook.

Connor and Kian step closer, peering over my shoulder as I flip through the pages. My stomach drops, and my jaw tightens.

This is… this is Elva’s murder.

“What the actual fuck?!”

My hands tighten around the notebook, each page filled with Viviana’s handwriting.

October 31st

The body appears to have been dragged from its initial location.

The left side of the body shows more pronounced drag marks than the right.

My head shakes as I flip through more pages, searching for answers. Why the hell is she investigating this? I thought she had proof her father was dealing with the Koslovs, but there’s no mention of them here.

Father arrived past two in the morning and went for a shower. Didn’t see him until the next morning.

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