Page 25 of The Mafia King's Baby

Back at the Nevada safe house, I’ve spent the past week trying to resume normal operational procedures. I established new communication protocols with my remaining associates, analyzed intelligence reports about Lang’s movements, and planned contingencies for various scenarios involving federal interference with our activities. The work should consume my attention completely, demanding the kind of focused strategic thinking that’s kept me alive through eight months of constant pursuit.

Instead, I’m continuously distracted by thoughts that have no place in tactical planning. I keep replaying scenarios of what could have gone wrong that night, imagining Celia discovering my presence and demanding explanations I couldn’t provide without endangering us both. I think about the expression she would have worn if she’d caught me stealing back evidence she’d found, the betrayal and confusion that would have replaced the trust I’d seen in her face during our last conversation.

The rational part of my mind insists retrieving the notebook successfully resolved the situation. Celia is safe because she has no connection to information that could make her a target. Lang has no reason to trace my activities to Lake Tahoe because there’s no evidence linking me to that location. The problem is solved, the threat neutralized, and the innocent civilian protected through strategic distance.

But at three in the morning when sleep refuses to come, I remember the way she looked in candlelight while sharing stories about her father’s death and her failed relationship. I think about her genuine laughter as that ridiculous dog brought her sticks during our hike, and the simple pleasure she took in showing me trails she loved. I replay the conversations where she revealed aspects of herself that felt precious and unguarded, truths she shared because she believed I was someone worthy of her confidence.

The guilt of deceiving someone so fundamentally decent eats at me more than any tactical mistake I’ve made during this extended survival operation. Celia deserved honesty from the man she invited into her bed, not carefully constructed lies designed to protect my identity. She deserved better than waking up alone with cash on her kitchen counter and a notethat revealed nothing about my real feelings or the genuine connection I’d felt during our brief time together.

My encrypted phone buzzes with an incoming message that breaks through these unproductive thoughts. Leonid’s communication appears in the coded format we use for sensitive intelligence, but even through the layers of security protocols, his urgency comes through clearly.

“Lang made contact with your Lake Tahoe location. Direct approach to target yesterday. Situation compromised.”

The words shake me as each one confirms the fears I’d tried to convince myself were paranoid overreaction. Lang traced me to Celia’s house despite my precautions and the careful operational security I’d maintained throughout my stay. Somehow, he connected my presence there to activities he’s investigating, and she’s become a factor in his pursuit rather than an innocent bystander.

I type back immediately, fingers moving across the keyboard with the urgent precision of someone whose world has just shifted into crisis mode.“Target status? Level of contact?”

“Unknown. Surveillance confirms federal presence. Recommend immediate relocation your position.”

Leonid’s advice follows standard protocol for situations where operational security has been compromised. When enemies identify your associates or locations, you distance yourself from both to prevent further intelligence gathering. You write off whatever connections have been exposed and rebuild elsewhere with new people who can’t be traced to previous activities.

The strategy makes perfect sense from a tactical perspective. Celia is now a known quantity in Lang’s investigation, whichmakes her a liability rather than an asset. Maintaining any connection to her increases my risk while providing no operational benefits. The smart play is to let her handle whatever federal attention I’ve brought to her door through her own legal channels. Leaving my current safe house isn’t necessary, since she knows nothing about it, but I should forget about her existence.

I should follow Leonid’s recommendation without hesitation. Every survival instinct I’ve developed in this business screams that getting further involved will only make the situation worse for both of us. Despite that, the image of Lang approaching Celia’s house with federal credentials and hostile intentions makes rational tactical thinking impossible.

Marcus Lang often goes rogue when civilians fail to provide the cooperation he expects. My organization’s investigations have turned up multiple incidents of him using harassment to achieve his goals. The house fire he set that killed a family was the worst of his actions that we’ve uncovered so far, but there are more that weren’t fatal but still destroyed lives.

Five years ago, when a dockworker in San Diego refused to reveal information about shipping schedules of a company implicated in a smuggling operation Lang was working, Lang arranged for the man to be arrested on fabricated drug charges that cost him his job and his family’s financial stability. Two years ago, when a restaurant owner in Los Angeles wouldn’t admit to laundering money through his business, Lang ensured that health inspectors and fire marshals found violations that forced the establishment to close permanently.

Lang uses leverage and intimidation as tools of investigation, applying pressure to innocent people until they provide information or services that advance his goals. He doesn’thesitate to destroy lives when more conventional approaches fail to produce results, and he’s skilled at making civilian casualties appear to be consequences of their own poor choices rather than systematic harassment. His actions often get him praised and promoted by the FBI, not shut down and put in his own cell, as he deserves.

If he’s identified Celia as someone with information about my activities, he won’t simply ask polite questions and accept her denials. He’ll find ways to make her life difficult until she cooperates with his investigation, and he won’t care whether that cooperation is based on actual knowledge or desperate invention designed to make his attention go away.

The thought of Celia facing that kind of systematic harassment because of my poor operational security makes rage build in my chest like pressure in a sealed container. She didn’t choose to become involved in federal investigations or criminal enterprises. She offered hospitality to someone she believed was a legitimate businessman, and now she’s paying the price for my deception and carelessness.

My phone buzzes again with another message from Leonid. “Do not compromise current position for civilian complications. Advise immediate departure from region.”

Leonid understands the realities of this business better than almost anyone, and his advice represents the kind of cold strategic thinking that separates survivors from casualties.

He knows what he’s talking about, and yet…

As I stare at his message, I realize my feelings for Celia have evolved beyond what can be managed through professional distance and rational decision-making. The connection I feltduring our night together wasn’t just physical attraction or temporary emotional vulnerability. It was recognition of something I’d forgotten existed in a world defined by violence and betrayal and constant vigilance against people who want to destroy everything I’ve built.

She made me remember what it felt like to be human instead of just a collection of calculated responses to external threats. For twelve hours, I experienced conversation without hidden agendas, touch without ulterior motives, and companionship based on genuine interest rather than tactical advantage. She reminded me of the person I might have been if different choices had led to different consequences, and if my brother’s death hadn’t required me to become something harder and more dangerous than the man she’d welcomed into her home.

The idea of her facing Lang’s intimidation and harassment because of connection to me is unbearable in ways that transcend tactical considerations. Whether maintaining that connection makes strategic sense becomes irrelevant when weighed against the certainty that walking away condemns her to consequences she doesn’t deserve for sins she didn’t commit.

I type a response to Leonid that I know he won’t approve of but can’t prevent from this distance.“Returning to Lake Tahoe. Situation requires direct intervention.”

His reply comes immediately.“Negative. Emotional compromise leads to operational failure. Maintain current position.”

“Not negotiable. She’s a target because of my mistakes. I will fix this.”

“You can fix this by disappearing. Let the civilian handle federal attention through legal channels. Your involvement escalates risk for everyone.”

Leonid’s logic is sound from every angle except the one that matters most to me now. Celia doesn’t have the resources or knowledge to handle someone like Marcus Lang and doesn’t understand the level of danger she’s facing or the kinds of pressure he’s capable of applying. She’s an unemployed marketing professional trying to make ends meet through short-term rentals, not someone equipped to navigate federal investigations involving organized crime and government corruption.

Without protection and guidance, she’ll become another casualty of Lang’s ambition, another innocent person destroyed because she happened to be in the wrong place when dangerous men decided to use her as leverage against each other.

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