"He was free for eighteen days while we built the case. But once we had Rosa's confession and the evidence of their conspiracy, Viktor's lawyers advised him to take a deal. Guilty on all twenty-three federal counts—the original eighteen plus five new ones. In exchange, the prosecution recommended life without parole instead of pursuing the death penalty. The judge accepted. Viktor was sentenced an hour ago."
Life without parole. No appeal. No escape.
"Where's he going?"
"ADX Florence. Colorado. Supermax facility. Twenty-three hours a day in solitary confinement. He'll never see daylight again. Never communicate with the outside world. It's as close to erased as a person can get whilst still breathing."
The relief was so powerful I had to sit. "It's really over."
"It's really over. He's already been transferred. By tonight, he'll be in his cell. And Mr. Monti? He'll die there. No possibility of parole means exactly that. Life means life."
After hanging up, I sat in my office, processing.
Viktor Kozlov. The man who'd orchestrated the wedding switch, who'd kidnapped Piero and nearly killed him, who'd used my pregnant wife as leverage and threatened our unborn child—Gone. Forever.
I found Paola in the bedroom, just waking from her nap, hand resting on the small curve of her belly. Nine weeks now. Our son or daughter, growing stronger every day.
"Hey," she murmured, still drowsy. "Everything okay?"
"Viktor accepted a plea deal. Life without parole. ADX Florence."
She sat up immediately, sleep vanishing. "He's really gone? For good?"
"For good. He'll spend the rest of his life in a concrete box. Alone. Until he dies."
Her eyes filled with tears. "It's over. It's really over."
I crossed to the bed, pulled her into my arms. "It's over. We're safe. We can finally start living."
She clung to me, crying into my shoulder. Relief. Joy. The weight of months of fear finally lifting.
"Our baby won't grow up afraid," she whispered. "Won't grow up hiding."
"No. They’ll grow up safe. Loved. Free."
We held each other whilst Manhattan stretched below us—the city we'd fought for, survived in, made our own.
Finally, truly ours.
The fallout from Rosa's betrayal took weeks to manage.
Every operation she'd touched had to be reviewed. Every safehouse relocated. Every security protocol rebuilt from scratch. The woman had been with us for twenty years—her knowledge ran deep.
But she was gone now. Disappeared into FBI witness protection after her testimony, vanishing as thoroughly as Viktor had into supermax.
Piero took it the hardest. She'd been his assistant for years, his right hand. He'd trusted her completely.
He stopped by the penthouse a few days after Viktor's sentencing, looking more exhausted than I'd seen him since the pier.
"How are you holding up?" I asked, pouring us both scotch.
"I keep replaying every interaction with Rosa. Looking for signs I missed. Red flags I should have caught." He took the glass, downed half of it in one swallow. "Twenty years, Cesare. She was with our family for twenty years. Through every major decision. And I never suspected."
"None of us did. She was a professional. Trained by the FBI to blend in, to earn trust."
"That doesn't make it easier." He stared into his glass. "She knew everything about my life. My schedule. My weaknesses. And she was reporting it all."
Paola appeared in the doorway, hand on her small belly. "Piero. I didn't know you were here."
