"Access. Once he knows your general location through visitation logistics, he can position his people." She paused. "He's not trying to see you. He's trying to find you."
The babies kicked hard against my ribs.
Rodriguez was on her phone. "I'm calling this in. If Marco's manipulating prosecutors, we shut it down."
"There's more," Livia said. "His network is still operational. The money-laundering operations, the shell companies—someone's keeping them running from the outside. Which means he still has people who can act on whatever information he gets."
Alessio's expression went deadly cold. "Then nowhere is safe until we know who's running his operations."
The weight settled over us.
"What do we do?" I asked.
"Get ahead of it," Alessio said. "Domenico's already tracking the network. We find who's running it, we cut Marco off."
"Working on it," Domenico said, fingers flying.
I stood —too quickly. The room spun.
The ache in my back sharpened. The tightness I'd been ignoring all morning clenched harder, longer.
Alessio was beside me immediately. "You okay?"
"Just dizzy—"
Then pain—sharp, cramping, low in my abdomen.
Not Braxton-Hicks.
Something wrong.
"Alessio—" I gasped, doubling over.
Wetness between my legs. I looked down, saw fluid soaking through my pants.
My water had broken.
"Oh God," Sofia breathed. "The babies—"
Another contraction seized me, so intense I couldn't breathe.
"Hospital," Alessio said, already moving, supporting my weight. "Now."
"She's only thirty-four weeks," Sofia said, voice tight. "It's too early—"
Rodriguez was on her radio. "Medical emergency. Premature labor. Immediate escort to Bozeman Memorial—"
Another contraction. Stronger. Closer.
This was happening.
Six weeks early.
Alessio half-carried me to the FBI vehicle.
Sofia grabbed the hospital bag with her good arm. Livia appeared beside us.
"I'm coming with you."
