“Who are you talking to?”
She spins around so fast she nearly stumbles, her eyes wide with something that looks like panic before her expression smooths into practiced neutrality.
“What do you mean?” Her voice is perfectly controlled, but I catch the slight elevation in pitch that suggests she’s rattled.
“Just now. You were having a conversation with someone.” I close my laptop and give her my full attention. “Who?”
She lets out a small laugh that sounds forced. “I stubbed my toe on the chair leg. I was just muttering at myself for being clumsy.”
The lie comes easily.
But I notice she doesn’t look directly at me when she says it, and her hands are clasped tightly in front of her—defensive body language that contradicts her casual tone.
I stand up, not liking that she’s lying to me. “Really? Because from here it looked like you were responding to someone. Having an actual conversation.”
Her expression hardens, and I can see walls going up behind her eyes. “It was nothing, Alessandro. Just…thinking out loud.”
Why won’t she talk to me? “Tell me what’s going?—”
“I said it wasnothing.” The words come out sharp, final. “Can we please focus on what actually matters? Like the fact that Dominic has designed a trial specifically to get me killed?”
The subject change is abrupt, clearly meant to deflect from my questions.
I want to push harder, to demand answers about what I’ve been observing, but the edge in her voice warns me off.
For now.
“Fine,” I say shortly as I sit back down, mentally filing this conversation away for later. “Let’s talk strategy.”
But even as we discuss tactical approaches and potential contingencies,
I can’t shake the feeling that Bianca is fighting battles I can’t see.
And if I can’t see them, I can’t help her win them.
The operational details arrive the next morning via encrypted email and reading them makes my stomach drop.
The witness is Dr. Jane Schuyler, a forensic accountant who’s been tracing money laundering operations for the FBI.
She’s scheduled to testify before a federal grand jury in two days, and her testimony could implicate multiple families in a complex web of financial crimes.
The transport route is a nightmare of variables: she’ll be moved from a safe house in downtown New York to the federal courthouse, a journey that requires traveling through three different jurisdictions with multiple potential ambush points.
The FBI has provided a basic security detail, but they’re clearly expecting us to supplement their efforts.
Which means we’ll be working alongside federal agents to protect a witness who’s testifying against our own people.
The political optics alone arestaggering.
“It’s worse than I thought,” I tell Bianca as we spread the details across the hotel room’s dining table, my heart pounding as I take it all in. “They’re not just asking you to protect someone. They’re asking you to actively cooperate with a federal investigation.”
“I know.” Her voice is calm, matter-of-fact, as she studies the floor plans and security protocols and it aggravates me. Why isn’t she freaking out? “But refusing isn’t an option.”
“Succeeding isn’t much better,” I point out, running my fingers through my hair. “Half the families will see you as a traitor for helping the FBI.”
“Then I’ll have to make sure the other half see me as someone who can handle impossible situations,” Bianca shoots back. She looks up from the documents, her blue eyes determined. “They’ll see me as someone who can navigate complex political waters without losing sight of the ultimate goal.”
Before I can respond, there’s a knock at the door. It’s Matteo.
