Page 30 of Code Name: Grit

“Not a chance in hell,” Grit countered.

“But—”

He set the camera down. “Did you not hear me?”

“There’s another service entrance that connects to an alley behind the kitchen. Staff use it for smoke breaks. If I go in as a delivery person, I’m sure I could get close enough to eavesdrop. I need to hurry, though.”

He shook his head. “No way.”

“It’s the best option we have.”

“It’s unnecessarily dangerous, and it violates our orders for observation only.”

My mouth gaped at yet another dismissal from him. “Sometimes, the best intelligence comes from taking calculated risks.”

His expression hardened. “Not this time.”

“Once again, you’re making a call without even hearing me out.” The words came out sharper than intended.

“I heard you, and I’ll remind you again that, as point person on this op, it’s my decision.”

I stepped back, arms crossed. “But?—”

“I said no, Lumi.”

“Fine,” I conceded. “But this is an opportunity we won’t get again.”

For the next few hours,we worked in tense silence, documenting arrivals and departures. I alternated between monitoring communications and helping Grit swap out memorycards in the camera as he filled them with high-resolution photos. When Marco emerged from the restaurant shortly before midnight with a briefcase he hadn’t gone in with, Grit captured multiple images.

As we watched, my earpiece crackled with unexpected chatter from one of Tank’s surveillance teams positioned near a Patriarca stronghold.

“Rafael is on site,” came the update. “He’s giving direct orders to Giovanni to back off from the south side docks.”

“Copy that,” I responded quietly. “Any context?”

“Explicit instructions to cease operations in Belcastro territory. Giovanni doesn’t look happy, but Rafael shut him down hard. He said, ‘We’re not starting a war over scraps. Let them have it.’”

I glanced at Grit, who had heard the same transmission. This contradicted everything we thought we knew about Patriarca’s intentions. They were deliberately avoiding conflict with the Belcastros, not seeking it.

“The only way this makes sense is if it’s a set up,” I muttered, watching as the councilman left a few minutes later. “Not that it tells us much.” I was still frustrated by Grit’s unwillingness to let me enter the restaurant. Other than a few photos, we hadn’t learned anything useful tonight.

“Look, this is how it goes,” he said, running his hand through his hair. “Surveillance and building a case, advancing an investigation has to be slow and methodical to be effective. There are points of law we need to follow, and if we don’t, cases get tossed. Then people like Venutti realize we’re onto them and make necessary adjustments. Days, weeks, even years of work can be for nothing. Not to mention the expense involved. We can’t afford to make sloppy mistakes because we’re impatient.”

I glared at him, then turned my back. “Thanks for the lesson in criminal justice,” I snapped, walking out of the room. I wasn’t far before Grit’s arm snaked around my waist.

“Hold up.”

“Let me go,” I said, trying to wriggle from his grasp. When I felt his warm breath against my neck, the fight went out of me.

“You try every ounce of my resolve, Chiara.” His voice was rough against my ear, sending an involuntary shiver down my spine. Right then, the mission, the Belcastros, and everything else faded away—there was only his solid presence behind me and the undeniable current between us.

The moment shattered when our earpieces crackled with Dragon’s voice. “Activity at the warehouse has decreased. Security rotation changed an hour ago.”

“Copy that,” Grit responded, his voice professional even as his arm remained around me. “Anything else to report?”

“Negative,” Dragon replied. “Tank and I have been monitoring all channels. Looks like they’re settling in for the night. We’re calling it unless something changes.”

“Understood,” Grit said. “We’ll head back to the hotel and reconvene in the morning.”

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