Chapter 203: "Irrational"

The Cabrera Library.

Accardi District.

10:00 PM, Thursday.

At this hour, Borgata’s oldest library had long since closed to the public — its grand reading halls dark, its aisles deserted.

Yet, several floors beneath the sleeping library, the basement remained fully illuminated, its central room humming with quiet activity.

Rows upon rows of computers occupied the secured chamber, their monitors casting cold blue-white light across desks otherwise swallowed by shadow.

At one workstation sat the Accardi brothers, both staring at the same screen.

Several encrypted files copied directly from House Ombra’s primary server had finally been decrypted.

What their men had uncovered, however, was serious enough to drag both of them into the same room at ten o’clock at night.

Of the two, Isaac Accardi wore the considerably more troubled expression.

He had good reason.

Several of the compromising recordings currently displayed on the monitor featured him personally.

Some showed clandestine meetings, in which, he could clearly be seen bribing government officials.

Others documented activities of a considerably more private nature — including footage of him submitting rather enthusiastically to an attractive professional dominatrix — all inside an exclusive sex club.

"Isidore, I don’t understand you at all!" Isaac exploded, anger and frustration carved into every line of his face. "Ombra has critical tapes on us! Apparently, Bellini somehow managed to record all of this and sell it straight to Ombra!"

He jabbed an accusing finger toward one of the open files.

"They’re obviously working together! So we destroy Bellini first — and we do it fast. Then Ombra is left on its own!"

Throughout his brother’s outburst, Isidore barely reacted. His attention remained fixed on several email windows open across the monitor.

They contained the messages through which the compromising recordings had been delivered to House Ombra, but Isidore wasn’t interested in the attachments themselves. His gaze had narrowed to the sender field.

Every email had come from the same source. There was no name, no address, no identifying information. Only a single encrypted letter:

"B."

"So," Isidore finally said, his voice as calm and flat as ever, "you believe the mysterious entity selling these recordings to Ombra is House Bellini solely because of the letter ’B’?"

Isaac felt his blood pressure climb another notch.

He knew that tone.

Isidore wasn’t explicitly calling him an idiot, which somehow made it considerably more irritating.

"You have a better idea who this ’B’ is, then?" Isaac shot back, raising a challenging brow.

"None." Isidore didn’t hesitate. "But I’d rather leave room for uncertainty than arrive at a conclusion based on a single letter."

"Aside from Ombra, Bellini’s the only House with enough clout to get into places like these," Isaac insisted. "Reporters, socialite— it is Bellini."

Isidore gave the faintest shrug.

"Or someone wants us to believe it is. I refuse to take action against Bellini until we know exactly who — or what — ’B’ is."

Isaac stared at him incredulously.

"And what happens if Ombra discovers we’ve gotten hold of their data? We simply sit here and let them leak those recordings to the public?"

At last, Isidore turned his head.

The look he gave Isaac was perfectly flat.

"Whose fault is it that those scandalous recordings exist in the first place?"

Isaac immediately pointed at him.

"You—"

The accusation died before it could become a sentence.

Isaac’s finger remained suspended between them for several furious seconds, before slowly veering away.

Fortunately for Isaac — and perhaps for his blood pressure — the door to the central chamber opened before the argument could escalate any further.

Mrs. Cabrera entered carrying a tray laden with freshly brewed tea.

The elderly librarian wore the faintly entertained expression of a woman who not only understood exactly what was happening, but had also overheard enough of the brothers’ argument from the corridor.

"Still arguing over this mysterious ’B,’ aren’t you?" she asked, surveying Isaac’s furious expression, then turned to Isidore’s utterly impassive one. "Perhaps a little tea might clear the air."

The sight of her restored some measure of Isaac’s composure. He immediately reached for the teapot and poured himself a cup before Mrs. Cabrera had even set the tray down.

"Thank you, Mrs. Cabrera."

Isidore merely extended one hand toward her and waited.

"Thanks."

Mrs. Cabrera gave Isidore a distinctly displeased look.

Nevertheless, she set down the tray, poured him a cup, and thrust it into his waiting palm with considerably more force than necessary.

"You’re very welcome," she said, in the most pointedly annoyed tone she could manage.

Then, as she poured herself a cup, a teasing note returned to her voice.

"Though, speaking of scandals... have either of you heard about the horrendous one that broke this morning?"

Isidore didn’t reply.

He barely shifted his attention from the monitor as he resumed his work, fingers moving over the keyboard once more.

Isaac, meanwhile, gave Mrs. Cabrera a look that communicated quite clearly that he had endured enough scandal for one evening.

"Still fascinated by celebrity gossip, Mrs. Cabrera?" he asked dismissively. "Please, save it for your conversations with our mother."

Mrs. Cabrera pressed an offended hand to her chest.

"Oh, dear, this is hardly ordinary celebrity gossip!"

She turned slightly toward Isidore, watching carefully for the slightest disturbance in his impassive expression.

"Believe me, this particular scandal may interest both of you. Not only does it concern House Castellano..."

Her smile deepened knowingly.

"...it also concerns the heiress of House Lombardi."

Isidore’s fingers stopped above the keyboard.

The movement was so abrupt that Isaac noticed immediately.

For several seconds, Isidore remained perfectly still before, very slowly, he lifted his gaze from the monitor and looked directly at Mrs. Cabrera.

"Which scandal?"

Mrs. Cabrera looked almost delighted that she’d finally captured his attention, though the sudden chill in his voice sent an involuntary shiver down her spine.

"Interested now, aren’t you?" she said, reaching for her phone. "Poor girl. She looked completely stunned up on that stage, as though she had no idea what to do."

She swiped through several screens, searching for the clip she wanted, then slid the phone toward Isidore.

"Why don’t you have a look yourself? Practically all of Borgata must know about it by now."

Isidore lowered his gaze to the screen.

The instant he recognized the young blonde woman in the footage, something flickered behind his eyes.

It vanished almost immediately, his face returning to its usual unreadable stillness as he picked up the phone and pressed play.

Behind him, Isaac’s curiosity finally overcame his irritation.

He stepped closer and leaned over Isidore’s shoulder, watching in silence as the footage began to play.

On the screen, Ariana Lombardi stood at the center of what appeared to be an opera-house stage, surrounded by a chaotic mass of reporters and cameramen.

Behind her, an enormous LED screen dominated the stage.

Across that screen played footage of Ariana herself — completely naked and engaged in sexual acts that had clearly never been intended for public display, much less projected before an auditorium full of journalists.

Isidore’s expression remained perfectly still as he watched, his gaze fixed calmly on the footage.

Isaac’s did not.

The longer the footage continued, the deeper his brows drew together.

At last, when the footage ended with Jeremiah Castellano hurling a microphone stand into the LED screen, Isaac immediately snapped his head toward Mrs. Cabrera.

"What the hell is this?" he demanded, still unable to quite believe what he’d just watched. "This happened this morning? Isn’t this Castellano Club’s press conference?"

Before Mrs. Cabrera could answer, Isidore’s voice cut through the room, carrying more ice than either of them had ever heard from him.

"Which company handled the event production?"

The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees.

Isaac fell silent.

Even Mrs. Cabrera’s lingering amusement disappeared.

And yet, Isidore seemed to notice none of it. He locked the phone, slid it back across the desk toward Mrs. Cabrera, and returned his attention to the computer as though nothing had happened.

Isaac and Mrs. Cabrera exchanged an uncertain glance, before Mrs. Cabrera retrieved her phone.

"Bellini Media," she answered carefully. "I believe it’s one of the smaller media-production companies Lucilla Bellini has managed directly, since she was named House Bellini’s heiress."

Not a single expression crossed Isidore’s face. His fingers continued flying across the keyboard, his voice calm and flat again.

"Bellini Media’s outstanding loan with Accardi Bank. Bring me the records."

For the briefest moment, Mrs. Cabrera looked profoundly offended by the curt command. She planted both hands on her hips, her voice rising into a reprimanding tone.

"Excuse me, young Mister Accardi," she scolded. "I believe I was put in charge of data decryption, not appointed as your personal assistant."

Isidore gave absolutely no reaction.

His attention remained firmly fixed on his work, fingers moving steadily across the keyboard as though she hadn’t spoken at all.

The silence stretched long enough to become awkward.

Eventually, Isaac shot Mrs. Cabrera a look that practically begged her to just get Isidore whatever he wanted.

Mrs. Cabrera caught the look and released an indignant huff.

"Fine." She turned sharply on her heel and marched toward the door. "Give me five minutes."

Exactly five minutes later, Mrs. Cabrera returned with a thick folder in her hands.

"There you go." She practically smacked the folder onto Isidore’s desk. "Everything we have on Bellini Media."

Isidore took the folder without thanking her. He had already begun skimming through its contents before Mrs. Cabrera even straightened.

Before long, he stopped at a particular page. His gaze remained there for precisely three seconds, before he closed the folder and set it aside.

"Call Legal," he said flatly, already turning back to the computer. "Trigger the Immediate Reputational Default clause in our loan agreements with Bellini Media."

With that, the sound of his typing once again filled the room.

Isaac and Mrs. Cabrera exchanged another bewildered glance. They both knew precisely what that clause meant.

If Bellini Media became involved in a serious reputational scandal or regulatory violation, Accardi Bank could declare an immediate event of default — and accelerate the outstanding debt, making the entire balance payable within twenty-four hours.

In practical terms, the bank could freeze the company’s accounts, call in tens of millions in outstanding debt, and begin proceedings to seize pledged assets.

Unless Lucilla Bellini could produce an enormous amount of liquidity overnight, her company would be facing insolvency by Friday morning.

Of everyone in the room, Isaac looked the most delighted by Isidore’s sudden decision.

"Wonderful!"

He clapped his hands together.

"We’re finally taking actual action against Bellini, aren’t we?"

Even as he asked the question, a knowing smirk tugged at his lips. He could already guess why Isidore had suddenly recalibrated his position on Bellini.

Whatever the reason, however, the wind was finally blowing Isaac’s way. He quickly turned toward Mrs. Cabrera with a thoroughly pleased smile.

"Mrs. Cabrera, why don’t you go ahead and fulfill our Isidore’s request?"

Mrs. Cabrera looked even more offended than before. She pointed an admonishing finger at both brothers.

"Be careful, the two of you. For the last time, I am neither of your personal assistants. This sort of minor task isn’t even in my job description."

Still, she turned on her heel and left the room, already knowing exactly what needed to be done.

Once the door closed behind her, Isaac turned back toward Isidore, amusement thick in his voice.

"Now, that was quite a clever first step. Weaken Bellini financially without immediately making it look like we’re retaliating over Ombra."

He stepped closer and planted a firm hand on Isidore’s shoulder.

"I assume you’ll also direct Miss Lombardi to retrieve the physical copies of our... other compromising recordings as soon as possible?"

Isidore didn’t turn to look at him.

"We’ll see," he said, neither agreeing nor refusing.

The faintest trace of displeasure crossed Isaac’s face, but he quickly smoothed it away.

"Just do whatever you’re supposed to do to protect our House, little brother."

With that, he clapped Isidore’s shoulder twice and finally turned to leave.

The moment the door clicked shut behind Isaac, however, Isidore stopped typing.

Silently, he removed his glasses, placed them on the desk, then rose and stepped away from the computer altogether.

Every movement remained as measured and composed as ever.

Yet, beneath that calm exterior, something dangerously close to panic had ruptured the perfect order of his mind.

’What did I just do?’

Even if House Bellini truly was cooperating with House Ombra, as Isaac insisted, launching such a direct attack against one of Lucilla Bellini’s companies — even a relatively minor one — was far from strategically sound.

It was practically an announcement to House Ombra that Accardi knew something.

Minutes ago, he’d recognized that risk clearly enough to reject Isaac’s demand.

And yet, the instant he’d seen that woman standing beneath that screen, he’d discarded his own reasoning — all without even waiting to confirm who, or what, this "B" truly was.

’Irrational.’

’It was clearly irrational.’

’Why did I even do that?’

For a long moment, Isidore simply stood there, staring blankly at the white wall.

He searched for an explanation.

Cause and effect, strategic necessity, risk mitigation — anything, yet nothing came.

That failure irritated him more than the decision itself. At last, thoroughly displeased, he abandoned the matter and slipped one hand into the pocket of his suit jacket.

What he pulled out was a single piece of candy wrapped in bright yellow cellophane, which looked absurdly cheap against his immaculate tailored suit.

Isidore stared at it for a moment.

Then, almost absentmindedly, he brushed his thumb slowly over the wrapper.

Crink-crink.

The thin cellophane crinkled beneath his fingertip, an oddly distinct sound in the quiet basement.

He listened to it without expression.

When silence returned, he unwrapped the candy, placed it in his mouth, and turned back to the computer as though nothing had happened.