Page 7 of The Cost of Silence

The city hasn’t wokenup yet, but my phone has been ringing since six. By eight, there’s a stack of newspapers on my desk, and the same headline splashed across every screen in the building.

THE MANCINI MACHINE: HOW CLEAN IS CLEAN?By Isabella Romano, Investigative Correspondent, The Metropolitan Ledger

Once heirs to one of New York’s most notorious crime families, the Mancinis have spent the past decade building an empire of legitimacy. Or so it seems. Publicly, ISM Holdings is the face of modern reinvention, luxury real estate, urban renewal, and philanthropy. Privately, whispers persist. Quiet contracts. Shuttered shell companies. Board members who disappear when the light hits too close. The Mancini legacy may have traded bullets for business deals, but the question remains: how clean can a family built in blood ever truly be?

The words bleed off the page like a slow cut. Precise. Beautifully written. Infuriating.

The office smells like strong espresso and old cigars, the ghosts of late nights still clinging to the air. Sunlight hasn’t reached this side of the city yet, so everything feels filtered, muted gray through glass, skyscrapers standing like silent judges.

I scroll through the article on my phone again. Every sentence is deliberate, sharp where it should sting, vague where it needs to wound.

She’s careful. She’s smart. She didn’t lie. But she built a world where I look guilty anyway.

The door opens without a knock. Matteo breezes in first, his tie half undone, espresso in one hand, the Ledger in the other.

“Morning, headline act,” he says, tossing the paper onto my desk. “You’ve gone viral. Didn’t even have to kill anyone for it.”

I don’t look up. “You’ve read it.”

“Oh, I’ve devoured it.” He drops into the chair opposite me, grin lazy, eyes sharp. “She’s good. Has that rhythm that makes people believe her. If this journalism thing doesn’t work out, she could write obituaries; she just buried our PR department alive.”

Adi follows, clean-cut as ever, calm wrapped in starch. He sets his briefcase on the table and pulls out a copy already marked with notes. “I’ve read it too,” he says evenly. “And I’ve already called legal. They’re preparing a statement.”

Matteo chuckles. “Legal, meaning you.”

Adi doesn’t rise to the bait. “Yes. And I’ll make sure it’s watertight. She didn’t cross into defamation, unfortunately. She’s too smart for that, but some of her sources could be vulnerable if we push.”

“Good,” I say, voice quiet. Controlled. “Handle it.”

Adi’s gaze flicks up. “You mean you’ll handle it through me.”

“Exactly.”

Matteo leans back, swirling his coffee. “You sure this isn’t personal? You look like someone stole your dog.”

“Of course it feels personal,” I admit. “She didn’t just target ISM. She targeted our family. Us.” I tap the paper, the headline blurring under my finger. “The tone. The language. She wrote this like she already knew where to hit.”

“Maybe she’s just good at her job,” Matteo offers, though there’s caution under the humor.

“Maybe,” I say, eyes still on her byline. “Or maybe someone told her where to look.”

Adi exhales through his nose. “If she has sources that deep, they’re close. Someone inside. I’ll start narrowing down access to the project files she referenced.”

“Do that.” I pause, the faint hum of the city vibrating through the glass. “But it’s more than data. This feels like a message.”

Matteo raises an eyebrow. “From her?”

“From whoever’s using her,” I say. “You don’t come at the Mancinis unless you’ve got a death wish or protection.”

Adi meets my gaze. “You think she knows who she’s messing with?”

I shake my head slowly. “No. She has no idea. Not just about me, but about them. The people who’d love to see our name dragged through mud again are dangerous. We know that, but does this woman?”

Matteo’s grin fades. “The old guard.”

“Exactly. The ones who never forgave our father for cleaning up what they built.”

Silence stretches. The air buzzes faintly with the hum of the building, a low, constant reminder of power flowing behind walls.