I reach for it, turning it over in my fingers. The weight of it feels heavier than it should, like it contains more than just data. Behind me, the city lights blur through the window, Chicago sleeping while people like us stay awake.
"What the hell are we going to do, Lorenzo?" Dante moves closer, his voice dropping to that gravelly tone he uses when we're walking a tightrope. "Francesco's going to tear this city apart looking for her."
"What was I supposed to do?" I set the flash drive down, the click against my desk too loud in the silence. "Leave her standing outside in the middle of the night? She's a child, Dante."
"She's definitely not a child Lorenzo. Not with a body like?—"
"Cut it."
The words come out sharp enough to draw blood. Dante holds up his hands, but there's no apology in his expression. Just that calculating look he gets when he's reading the angles.
"I'm just saying what you're thinking." He drops into the chair. "Francesco's niece shows up at three in the morning, offering you everything you need to destroy him. You don't find that convenient?"
I pour myself another whiskey, then grab a second glass for him. The burn down my throat helps clear some of the fog, but not enough. Never enough when Torrino women are involved.
"Of course it's convenient. That's what worries me."
"Luna was convenient too." Dante takes the glass I offer, our fingers brushing for a moment. His hands are steady where mine want to shake. "Different kind of convenient, but still."
The comparison sits between us like a loaded gun. Luna had been older, confident, walking into my world like she belonged there. Sophia had been shaking on my doorstep, looking like she'd rather be anywhere else.
But appearances mean nothing in our world. The best liars are the ones who believe their own stories.
"I need to brief Pietro." Dante swirls the whiskey in his glass, watching the amber liquid catch the light. "He's going to lose his mind when he finds out you've got Francesco's niece upstairs."
"No."
Dante's eyebrows rise. "No?"
"I need time first. Need to figure out what's real and what's not." I move to the window, staring out at the city that's about to explode. "Give me until morning."
"Lorenzo—"
"A few hours, Dante. That's all I'm asking." I press my palm against the cold glass, feeling the chill seep into my skin. "Letme listen to what's on that drive. Let me think without Pietro breathing down my neck about territory and revenge."
Dante stands, setting his empty glass on my desk with deliberate care. "Pietro's not going to wait much longer to hit back for that shipment. And when he finds out you kept this from him..."
"I'll handle Pietro."
Dante moves toward the door, then stops. His hand rests on the handle, but he doesn't turn it. The tension in his shoulders tells me he's wrestling with something.
"Lorenzo." His voice drops to that low rumble that means serious business. "You know I've always got your back. Since we were kids running these streets, through all the blood and bullets. Through Luna. But you need to be careful here." He turns to face me, and for once, there's no calculation in his dark eyes. Just concern. "Francesco's not going to let this slide. And if she's playing you..."
"I know."
"Do you?" He crosses his arms, the movement making his shoulder holster visible beneath his jacket. "Because you've got a Torrino woman upstairs, and you haven't even checked if she's wired."
The words hit like ice water. Christ. He's right. I let her walk into my office, let her sit across from me, let Aldo take her upstairs—all without the most basic security check. The kind of amateur mistake that gets people killed in our world.
"Fuck."
Dante's mouth twitches, not quite a smile. "Yeah. That's what I thought." He opens the door but pauses in the doorway. "Check her, Lorenzo. Check everything. And if you find something that doesn't add up..."
"I'll handle it."
He nods once and disappears into the hallway, leaving me alone with my whiskey and my mistakes.
I drain the glass, letting the burn steady my nerves. I open the drawer and take out a phone to give her. Then I head for the stairs, taking them two at a time. The top floor is quiet, just the hum of the building's heating system and the distant sound of traffic from the street below.
