I pulled up the metadata on the folder. The interception date was March 10th, 2008. The confirmation date was March 15th. Four days to authorize a murder. The handler was listed as "L.R."—Lorenzo Altieri.
My father.
The word felt like poison in my mouth.
I sat down on the edge of the desk, the file trembling in my hands. The surveillance log continued beneath the initial entry.
Location: A private clinic in Prague.
Method: Cardiac injection, staged as heart failure.
Witnesses: Cleaned.
Evidence: Destroyed.
The operation was surgical. Professional. The kind of clean hit that only the most powerful organizations could execute.
The kind of hit that left no room for mercy.
Or hesitation.
I thought of Lorenzo's hand on my shoulder the day he'd told me about the arranged marriage with Miguel.You'll make me proud, Julietta. You were born for this.I thought of his smile when I'd arrived at his compound, the way he'd called me his beautiful daughter with such perfect warmth it had almost felt real.Finally come home,he'd said, like I was something he'd been waiting for. Like I mattered..
Lies. All of it lies wrapped in silk and blood.
The file slipped from my fingers and scattered across the marble floor.
I found Dante in his office at midnight, reviewing contracts with the kind of focused intensity that meant he hadn't noticed the time slipping away. He looked up when I entered, and I watched his expression shift from distraction to immediate alert.
He knew something was wrong.
"Julietta—"
"Did you know?"
My voice came out steady, which was remarkable because inside I was breaking into pieces. My hands were still trembling, so I shoved them into my pockets.
Dante set down his pen with deliberate care. "Know what?"
"About my mother. About Elena Marchetti. About The Rose." I watched his face, waiting for the denial. The confusion. The liethat would make this easier. "Did you know that Lorenzo had her murdered?"
His silence was the answer.
It was a silence so complete, so heavy with acknowledgment, that it might as well have been a confession. Dante stood slowly, moving toward me with the careful deliberation of a man approaching something fragile and dangerous.
"I didn’t suspect," he said quietly. "I knew. I've known since before I took you." His voice was barely above a whisper. "I found the proof while researching your family. Before Miguel's assassination. Before I ever touched you."
The words hit like a physical blow. "Since the beginning?" My voice cracked. "You've known from the very beginning that Lorenzo murdered my mother, and you just... watched me? Manipulated me? Let me think—"
"I was trying to protect you—"
"Bylying?" I was shouting now, didn't care who heard. "You gave me access to the file room. Told me 'You're my wife. You should know everything.' Every time I asked you for honesty, for partnership, for trust—you were sitting on the fact that Lorenzo murdered my mother. That she didn't just die. That she was killed. And you knew."
"Julietta, listen to me—"
"No." I held up my hand, backing toward the door. "I need to think. I need—" My voice broke. "I need to be alone."
"Julietta—"
