My phone keeps buzzing. More messages, more links, more people who suddenly want to talk to me now that my family’s business is front-page news with federal documentation.
I turn the notifications off and stare out the window, watching normal people go about their normal lives while mine potentially falls apart.
“Matteo will handle this,” Alessandro says quietly, but there’s something strained in his voice that makes me think he’s more worried than he’s letting on. “We need to get you home.”
As we pull into the long driveway leading to the compound, I catch sight of news vans already parked across the street from our gates. Reporters with cameras, trying to get shots of our property.
My stomach drops.
“Fuck, they’re fast,” I mutter.
“They’ve probably been monitoring federal databases for leaks like this,” Alessandro explains, his voice laced with frustration. “The moment those documents went public, they would have mobilized. Fucking vultures.”
The gates close behind us, but I can still see the media circus through the bars.
This is my life now—under scrutiny, under suspicion, every move analyzed and dissected by people who think they understand what we are based on decades-old FBI files.
As we pull up to the main house, I see several cars already parked outside.
Dad’s inner circle, called in for crisis management.
Whatever discussion is about to happen, it’s going to determine how we survive this.
Alessandro turns off the engine and looks at me.Reallylooks at me, those hazel eyes intense and worried in a way that makes my chest tight.
“Whatever you learn in there,” he says slowly, “whatever these documents contain—remember that it doesn’t change who you are.”
There’s something in his voice that makes me think he knows more than he’s saying.
Like he’s preparing me for something specific, something worse than just bad publicity.
“Alessandro,” I start, but he’s already getting out of the car.
I follow him toward the house, my mind racing with questions I’m not sure I want answered.
Behind us, I can hear the distant shouts of reporters still gathered at our gates, hungry for a story that could destroy everything my family has built.
When we reach the front door, I realize that whatever I learn in the next few minutes is going to change everything.
The careful world Dad has constructed around me, the identity I’ve built for myself, the future I thought I understood—all of it is about to shift.
I just don’t know how much yet.
2
ALESSANDRO
The call comes while I’m reviewing the weekly security reports in my office, three floors above the legitimate investment firm that serves as my public face.
Matteo’s name flashes on the secure line—the one we use only for business that can’t wait.
“Alessandro,” I answer on the second ring, already reaching for my jacket. Matteo doesn’t call during business hours unless something’s wrong.
“Get to Columbia now.” His voice carries an edge I haven’t heard since the Calabrese situation two years ago. “Bring Bianca home immediately.”
I’m already walking toward the door, car keys in hand. “What’s the situation?”
“The Giuseppe files are about to leak. Federal documents from the eighties and nineties—someone’s shopping them to major news outlets.” His voice is tight with controlled fury. “My contact at the Times says they’re running the story within the hour.”
