Domenico's expression sharpened. "Is that what I think it is?"
"Backup drive. Should have the real files—banking records, communications, everything. Not the fabricated shit he planted on the USB." Alessio passed it through the window. "Verify it. Fast."
Domenico took the drive and disappeared into the darkness. A car door opened and closed somewhere behind us. The glow of a laptop screen reflected briefly off the rear windshield, then nothing.
Silence settled around us. Just the ticking of the cooling engine and my own ragged breathing.
Alessio cupped my face. His thumb brushed away tears, gentle despite the violence still humming through him.
"Listen to me," he said. "What happened back there—what you learned about your mother, what Marco tried to do—it's going to hurt. For a long time. But you survived. You're here, alive, fighting. That matters."
"He's my father."
"No." His voice turned hard. "He's the man who helped create you. But he stopped being your father the moment he chose power over you. Real fathers protect their children. They die for them. They don't—"
His jaw clenched. He couldn't finish either.
I nodded, tried to pull myself together. Failed. The shaking wouldn't stop.
The sobs had burned themselves out, leaving something hollow in their wake. I pressed my forehead to Alessio's chest and concentrated on the steady beat beneath his ribs. Alive. We were alive. That had to be enough for now.
"How did you know?" I asked, voice raw. "To grab the drive. When did you even—"
"When he was focused on you. The countdown." Alessio's hand moved through my hair, slow and steady. "Marco wanted an audience for his power play. That meant his attention was onyour face, not my hands. I had maybe ten seconds near the desk before his men swarmed me."
Ten seconds. He'd gambled everything on ten seconds.
"What if it had been empty? What if there was nothing on it?"
"Then we'd figure out another way." His voice was quiet. Certain. "But men like your father—they keep insurance. They always keep insurance."
Footsteps crunched on gravel. Domenico appeared at the window again, and this time something had changed in his expression. The grim urgency was still there, but underneath it—satisfaction.
"It's real," he said. "All of it. Banking records, wire transfers, communications with Caldwell's people, shipment manifests going back years. There's enough on that drive to bury him ten times over."
The shaking eased. Not gone—I didn't think it would be gone for a long time—but quieter. Manageable. We had a weapon. Not just evidence—ammunition. The kind that could destroy Marco DeLuca completely.
"Then let's use it," I said. "Let's end this."
Domenico pocketed the drive. "We need to move. Now."
Alessio kissed me. Hard, desperate, alive. When he pulled back, something fierce burned in his eyes.
"We will. But first, we disappear. Let Marco think he won, think we're scattered and afraid. Then, when he's comfortable—"
"We strike."
"Exactly."
Domenico knocked on the window again, more urgently this time. Alessio helped me back into my seat, then slid behind the wheel. The Aston Martin purred to life.
As we pulled back onto the service road, I thought about what Domenico had verified. The backup drive—such a small thing. But it held the power to topple an empire.
My father's empire.
The thought should have hurt more. It should have torn me apart. But as we drove into the darkness with Alessio beside me and freedom ahead, I felt something else instead.
Purpose.
