"I need to tell you something," she said, voice low. "About those calls. The blocked number."
I'd tensed, hand moving instinctively toward my weapon.
"Domenico already traced it. Marco's network."
"I know. But I need you to understand what happened." She met my eyes steadily. "They found me three weeks before I came to you. Showed up at my apartment in Brooklyn. Said I had a choice—report on Valentina's location, her security, everything—or they'd kill my mother."
"And you came to us instead."
"I came to warn you. I knew if I played along, fed them information, you'd all end up dead." Her voice shook slightly. "I chose my sister over my own safety. Over my mother's safety. I've been terrified every day that they'd find out and kill us both."
I studied her face—the fear she'd been hiding, the weight of a choice that could have cost her everything.
"Your mother?"
"FBI relocated her the day I arrived here. She's safe." Livia's eyes filled with tears. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. I was afraid you'd think I was compromised. That you'd send me away before I could help."
She'd risked everything—her mother's life, her own—to choose us. To choose Valentina.
"You should have told us," I said quietly. "But I understand why you didn't."
"Do you trust me now?"
I thought about the past weeks. The way she'd cared for Valentina, supported her through the trial, held her during the worst moments. The way she'd become family, not through blood but through choice.
"Yeah," I said. "I trust you."
She exhaled, tension draining from her shoulders. "Thank you."
"DeLuca sisters stick together. That's what you told Valentina, right?"
"Right." She smiled through tears. "We protect each other. We survive."
My sister-in-law. For better or worse, part of this family now.
I found I was glad of it.
CHAPTER 26
Valentina
The waiting was unbearable.
Days since Marco's escape. Days locked in an FBI facility while our newborns fought for every breath in a hospital twenty miles away. Days of updates that said the same thing:Marco DeLuca is still at large.
The trap we'd set at the hospital was ready—tactical teams in position, sharpshooters on the rooftops, every entrance covered. But Marco hadn't taken the bait yet, and every hour of waiting felt like a year.
I stood at the reinforced window, staring at the darkness, one hand on my healing C-section incision.
Behind me, Alessio paced—checking his weapon, coordinating with Domenico. We were both going quietly insane.
"Nothing yet," he said, hanging up. "FBI's tracking leads, but Marco's staying ghost."
"He's planning something," I said. "He didn't escape just to hide."
"I know."
The babies. Every thought circled back to Eva and Ezio—three days old, alone in isolettes, and we'd barely held them.
