Kill Order Kiss Novel Chapter 09

Kill Order Kiss Novel Chapter 09

The Castellano files revealed a financial empire built on sand.

Their legitimate businesses-restaurants, real estate, a chain of luxury car dealerships-were elaborate fronts for a money laundering operation that spanned three continents. The merger with the Morettis wasn’t about combining power, it was about using the Moretti infrastructure to clean Castellano money, Dante wasn’t

gaining an ally. He was becoming a washing machine.

And buried in the numbers, a detail that made my stomach turn: a human trafficking pipeline running through

the Castellano shipping routes, disguised as import costs in the accounting ledgers.

I sat back in my chair, staring at the spreadsheets until the numbers blurred.

This was bigger than Dante and me. Bigger than heartbreak and betrayal. People were being moved like cargo, and the money trail led straight through the family my ex-lover had just joined.

I called Rome the next morning.

“Does Dante know about the trafficking?”

Long pause. “Where did you-”

“Does he know?”

“I don’t think so. Castellano keeps his real operations compartmentalized. Dante only sees what they want

him to see.”

“And the wedding?”

“Two months out. Bianca’s already redecorating the compound.” His voice was tight with disgust. “She threw

out everything in Dante’s study. Including the photo he kept of you,”

I ignored the ache. “Rome, I need to ask you something, and I need you to be honest.”

“Always.”

“If I could bring the Castellanos down-not the Morettis, just the Castellanos-would you help me?”

The silence stretched so long I thought I’d lost him.

“What exactly are you planning, Val?”

“I’m a forensic accountant with evidence of a multi-billion-dollar laundering operation connected to human trafficking. I’m at one of the best research institutions in the world, surrounded by people who specialize in

exactly this kind of analysis. I don’t need a gun, Rome. I need a courtroom.”

“You’d be painting a target on your back. A bigger one than before.”

“I already have a target on my back. At least this time, I get to choose why.”

Another pause. Then: “Tell me what you need.”

Over the following weeks, I worked in secret. During the day, I was the diligent research fellow,/publishing papers, attending seminars, mentoring undergraduates. At night, I became something else-a/woman disassembling a criminal empire one transaction at a time.

I brought Professor Ashworth in when I had enough to show him. He reviewed the data over two days, said

nothing, then made a single phone call.

“I have a former student at the National Crime Agency,” he told me. “She handles exactly this type of case. I’m

going to connect you.”

“Will this put the university at risk?”

He gave me a look over his glasses. “My dear, I didn’t survive forty years in academia by being afraid of criminals. They’re far less terrifying than the tenure committee.”

The NCA agent’s name was Catherine Hale. She was sharp, skeptical, and thorough. She reviewed my analysis, asked three hundred questions, and at the end of our four-hour meeting, she leaned back and said:

“This is one of the most comprehensive financial forensic packages I’ve ever seen from a civilian source. If

this holds up-and I believe it will-you’ve just handed us the Castellano family on a silver platter.”

“There’s a condition,” I said.

She raised an eyebrow.

“The Moretti family is excluded from the investigation. They’re involved in the merger, but they’re not part of the trafficking. I want that distinction preserved.”

“That’s not how prosecutions work, Ms. Serrano.”

“Then find a way to make it work. Or I walk, and so does every piece of evidence I’ve compiled.”

Catherine studied me for a long moment. “You still care about him.”

“I care about justice being precise. Sloppy prosecutions create martyrs. I want convictions.”

She smiled, just barely. “I think we’re going to work well together.”