"I hope you're right, amore."
"Me too."
Livia returned with water and crackers, settling beside Valentina with the easy comfort of family.
They started discussing nursery themes while I returned to painting, half-listening to their conversation, half-monitoring for threats that might not exist.
My phone buzzed. Text from Domenico:Still tracing blocked number. Complex routing. Will have an answer soon.
I slipped the phone back in my pocket, picked up my brush, and tried to ignore the cold certainty settling in my gut.
Something was wrong.
I just couldn't prove it yet.
That night, I couldn't sleep.
I lay beside Valentina listening to her breathe, watching moonlight paint shadows across the ceiling. The blocked calls nagged at me. Three calls. Brief. Hidden. Timed perfectly before Livia's appearance.
Too convenient.
Too coordinated.
My mind ran through scenarios: What if Livia was exactly who she claimed, but Marco had gotten to her? Threatened her? Offered her something she couldn't refuse? What if she'd made contact with his people not to betray us, but because she was being coerced?
Or worse: what if this was the long game? Establish trust, integrate completely, wait for the perfect moment to strike?
I looked at Valentina sleeping peacefully beside me, one hand protectively over her belly even in sleep.
If Livia were a threat and I waited too long to act, it could cost us everything.
But if I acted too soon based on paranoia alone, I'd destroy the first real family connection Valentina had found since discovering Marco's betrayal.
Impossible choice.
The kind I'd been making since the day I kicked in that motel room door.
My phone lit up on the nightstand. Text from Domenico:Blocked number traced. You need to see this. Calling in 5.
I slipped out of bed carefully, grabbed my phone, and stepped into the hallway.
Four minutes later, my phone vibrated with Domenico's call.
"Tell me," I said quietly.
"The blocked number?" His voice was grim. "It's registered to a shell company. Took serious digging, but I traced ownership back through three layers."
My jaw tightened. "And?"
"It's connected to Marco's organization. One of his money-laundering operations that's still running despite his conviction." He paused. "Alessio, Livia called a number directly connected to Valentina's father three times in the week before she appeared at your door. Each call was short—probably receiving instructions or confirming details. Or—"
"Or what?"
"Or she was being contacted by them. Receiving threats. Coerced into doing something she didn't want to do." He exhaled. "I can't tell from the records which direction the pressure was flowing. But either way, Marco's people were involved."
Everything stopped.
The peaceful domesticity. The sisterly bonding. The hope that maybe, finally, something good could come from Marco's world.
