“I’ll check up on the garage,” Giovanni says and follows them both out.
Nico doesn’t move, eyes on the door Giovanni walked through, then back to me. “She’s asleep?”
“For now,” I say.
“You want someone at the hall?” he asks.
“Not the hall,” I tell him. “She needs some quiet.” I glance at the ceiling, as if I can see through it to Elena sleeping. “But make sure it’s airtight, huh?”
Nico nods once but doesn’t leave yet.
“You think Savino was the first leak?”
“Doesn’t matter, does it?” I say. “Now that it’s out, there will be more waiting to cash in.”
He accepts that, then adds, “We’ll keep the PA alive. In rumor. If Russo thinks his line is blown, he’ll start another. I want to see where he goes next.”
“Good,” I say. “Let him think he’s clever.”
Nico turns for the door. I stop him with his name.
He looks back.
“Thank you,” I say. “In the garage. With her.” I don’t say the rest—that if he’d been ten seconds later, I’d be planning a funeral and a war in the same breath.
He just dips his chin and slips out.
Chapter Thirty Four
Elena
Morning turns the house into something almost normal. It’s bright from the morning sun, breakfast was lively with the whole family there, and I’m feeling a bit better today.
Until now, anyway.
I follow Luca down the hall with a notebook pressed to my ribs like armor and stop at the open door of his study.
Three people are already there.
Marta Levin looks exactly the way she sounded on the phone the day before: compact, brisk, gray bob tucked behind one ear, suitthe color of steel. She has a yellow legal pad and a capped pen aligned with military precision, and she’s not looking at either—she’s looking at me, measuring.
Beside her sits a man in a charcoal suit with a subtle tie. Late forties, maybe fifty. Calm eyes, courtroom posture, a portfolio laid flat in front of him. Vale, from Chang, Durning & Vale; he’d introduced himself on the call last night as “Evan Vale, ethics and white-collar,” in a voice that made even my frayed nerves settle a notch.
I suppose that’s what makes him good at his job.
Roberto is at the end of the table near the window, a conservative navy jacket over a white shirt, no tie. His little notebook is already open. He looks like someone’s cheerful uncle and not at all like what he is: mob attorney.
Luca pulls a chair out for me and waits until I take the seat before taking one himself.
“Good morning,” Levin says, and it isn’t a pleasantry. It’s a starting pistol.
“Morning.” I put the notebook on the table, and smooth a corner that isn’t wrinkled. “I—This came together very quickly.”
“Urgency is important in this case,” Levin replies. Her glance flicks, once, toward Luca, then back to me.
I understand the unspoken words. It’s not just money that brought this together so quickly. I’m reminded again of just who Luca is and how far his reach.
Levin sets her pen down parallel to the legal pad. “Before we talk facts, we set the ground rules. Privilege, scope, and who represents whom.” She nods to the man beside her. “Evan?”
