"Why?" I asked flatly. "Why did you do it?"
"Viktor threatened my sister. Her family in Russia. He had proof that her husband Dmitri owed money to dangerous people. Said he could make it all disappear if I helped him."
"You could have come to me."
"I know. I should have. But I was scared. And greedy. Viktor offered money on top of protection. Enough to retire. Enough to disappear." He looked down at his cuffed hands. "I convincedmyself you'd never find out. That I could play both sides and come out ahead."
"You almost got my brother killed."
"I know."
"You endangered my pregnant wife."
"I know."
"And now you want—what? Absolution? A pat on the head for admitting it?"
"No. I want you to know that I'm working on being better. Therapy. Education classes. Trying to understand why I made those choices so I never make them again."
I studied him. Four years he'd worked for me. Four years of loyalty I'd believed in.
"Are you asking for leniency? A character witness at trial?"
"No. I deserve whatever sentence I get. Ten years, twenty, life—I deserve it." He met my eyes. "But someday, when I get out—if I get out—I'd like a chance to prove I'm not that person anymore. Not to work for you. Just... to exist without being your enemy."
The request was so small. So humble.
"I have a daughter coming," I said. "In four and a half months. Lucia."
"Congratulations."
"She's going to grow up knowing about family. About trust. About the consequences of betrayal." I leaned forward. "I'm not going to lie to her about you. About what you did. But I'm also not going to teach her that people can't change. Can't earn second chances."
Hope flickered in Matteo's eyes.
"So here's the deal," I continued. "You do your time. You work on yourself. You become someone worthy of a second chance. And when you get out—if you get out—we'll talk. Maybe you can meet my daughter. Maybe you can be part of this family again. Maybe."
"Thank you," Matteo said, voice breaking. "Thank you, Cesare."
"Don't thank me yet. You have years of work ahead of you. And if you waste this chance—if you fall back into old patterns—there won't be a third one."
"I understand."
I stood. "Good luck, Matteo. I mean that."
"How's Piero?" he asked as I reached the door. "Is he—is he okay?"
"He's healing. It's hard for him. You were his friend."
"Tell him—" Matteo's voice caught. "Tell him I'm sorry. That I'll spend the rest of my life being sorry."
"I'll tell him."
Outside the prison, Manhattan's noise and light felt overwhelming after the gray stillness inside.
Giulio waited by the car. "How did it go?"
"Better than expected. He seems genuine."
