Page 33 of Indigo Deception
Despite everything that happened, my family survived. Sometimes that's all I can focus on.
I check my watch—a new Patek Philippe. I smashed the old one against my bathroom wall the night everything fell apart.
The night I learned that Sarah Bennett was actually Gianna Rossi, SEC agent.
The night I realized I'd fallen in love with a lie.
"Angelo Bellanti!"
I turn to find Senator Wilson approaching, younger blonde wife in tow. He's been on my payroll for years—useful when you need certain jurisdictions to look the other way.
"Senator, Mrs. Wilson." I kiss her hand, all charm and perfect teeth. "The foundation appreciates your continued support."
I make small talk on autopilot, my mind already elsewhere. Even surrounded by people who'd kill to be in my orbit, I feel completely alone.
Something vital is missing.
Someonevital.
Gianna Rossi.
My staff know better than to mention her name. I fired an assistant who left a newspaper on my desk with her photo in it. Four months ago, drunk on scotch and regret, I almost called Kaif at the SEC to ask about her. I stopped myself before dialing.
She disappeared after the Kovacs takedown. I told myself it was better that way. Told myself I was glad.
God, I'm a terrible liar.
"Excuse me," I mutter to the senator, shoving my empty glass at a passing waiter.
I need air. The museum's balcony is mercifully empty, the October chill keeping the socialites inside. I loosen my tie and gulp down cold air, trying to ease the constant pressure in my chest.
New York sprawls below me, all lights and darkness. My city. My empire. My fucking consolation prize, but it doesn’t feel that way.
Truth is, I've been sleepwalking for a year. Food tastes like nothing. Women feel like strangers. I'm the king of Wall Street again, and I'd trade it all for one more moment with her—even knowing what I know now.
How pathetic is that?
And then—like my tortured brain has conjured her from thin air—I see her.
Across the grand hall, standing near the Greek sculptures. Gianna. My heart slams against my ribs like it's trying to escape. She's wearing a black dress that hugs every curve I memorized. Her now darker hair falls loose around her shoulders, not in that severe bun she wore as "Sarah." But her eyes—those eyes that saw right through me from day one—they're exactly the same.
Run, whispers the voice of self-preservation. Run before she destroys what's left of you.
Instead, I move toward her like she's magnetic north and I'm helplessly drawn to her. She sees me coming and stands her ground.
"You still do that thing with your jaw when you're thinking too hard," she says as I reach her, and her voice hits me like a physical blow.
I struggle to keep my face neutral, though my pulse is racing. "I figured you'd be in witness protection by now. Or chasing down some other CEO in Wyoming."
"I quit the SEC." She takes a sip of champagne, but I notice her hand trembles slightly. "I couldn't stay after... everything."
"And now?" I ask, hating how desperate I am to know.
"I started my own financial compliance firm." She looks me straight in the eye, unflinching. "Turns out there's a market for someone who knows exactly how the most sophisticated money laundering operations work."
I almost smile. Of course, she'd turn her knowledge into a business. She was always smarter than everyone else in the room.
"Pretty bold showing up here," I say, stepping closer. "Half the room would happily see you dead for what you did."
