I let out a shriek. “What are you doing?”
He stands. “One hour starts now. Not a minute to waste, Panini.”
He smacks my ass and starts for the door.
Chapter Thirty Three
Luca
I leave Elena satisfied and asleep and head downstairs. The house is quiet. In the office, Roberto and Antonio are already at the table. Nico stands by the window, phone in his hand, eyes on the hedges. Giovanni has a laptop open, cables snaking to a small black box we use when I want answers fast.
“Where’s Vito?” I ask, taking the seat at the head.
Nico doesn’t look away from the glass. “Confirming some information with a witness.”
Roberto’s mouth pulls, the closest he comes to a frown. We all know what it means when Vito’s doing the interrogations.
“Report,” I say.
Nico pockets his phone and moves to the table. “Bianchi’s clean. We pulled access logs, door swipes, camera timestamps—she never touched Elena’s chart outside the exam room, and she didn’t speak to anyone after. Staff phones and personal email headers look clean so far.”
“So who?” I ask.
“We think a PA,” Nico says. “Not on Elena’s chart. On another patient. She was in the hall when you came through the service corridor. We think she recognized you and put two and two together.”
“I need more than ‘think.’ Tell me more.”
“Name is Savino. Mid-twenties. Brother with small-time gambling markers.”
“So, you think that she told the brother, and he sold the info,” I say.
“That’s what Vito’s confirming with the brother now,” Nico says evenly.
I nod. “Good. Let me know when you do.”
Giovanni turns the laptop so I can see. “On the SUV: Tahoe, graphite. Partial we pulled matches six registered within fifty miles. Two are clean. One is in a body shop in Newark after a‘parking mishap’, fifteen minutes after the garage hit. We’re en route to verify.”
“Driver?”
“Working through the shop’s intake. Cash job, fake name,” Giovanni says. “We’ll peel it.”
“Peel fast,” I say.
I look to Roberto. “Elena needs an attorney.”
He lifts a brow. “Isn’t she one?”
“She was fired this morning.” The room stills a fraction. “Some office of responsibility and a board next. They received another tip last night.”
Roberto whistles once, humorless. “The Office of Professional Responsibility,” he says.
“That’s the one,” I confirm.
“Then we move now.” He flips the small notebook he carries. “Two options. Marta Levin—ex-OPR, runs a boutique shop now, eats administrative boards for breakfast. Or Chang, Durning & Vale—their ethics group is lethal; you’ll get three lawyers and a small army of paralegals. Levin is sharper on strategy, CDV has scale.”
“Both. Get them working together,” I say.
“Getting her job back might not be realistic, Luca,” Roberto says. “We have to focus on the license.”
