"What are we going to do?" she asked quietly.
"Find out what Bianca has. Before Viktor uses it to destroy us completely."
Her hand found mine. Squeezed once.
The penthouse transformed into a war room within fifteen minutes. My dining table—where Paola and I had shared exactly one meal—became a strategy center. Maps. Laptops. Phones. The architecture of modern warfare.
Piero arrived first, laptop already open, exhaustion and urgency carved into his face. Then the capos: Giulio, my head of security, built like a wall and twice as impenetrable. Matteo, who handled financial operations with surgical precision. Rocco, who ran my information network—eyes and ears throughout the city.
They gathered around the table, professional soldiers awaiting orders.
I poured myself scotch. It was going to be a long night.
"Talk," I commanded.
Rocco spoke first, pulling up files on his tablet. "Bianca Lombardo arrived at JFK at 11 p.m. tonight. Private charter from Prague. Went directly to Viktor's building in Tribeca."
"How long in Prague?"
"Based on hotel records, she's been there for the past week—since right after the wedding. Before that, she was in Milan for two days, Vienna before that. She only flew home for one day." Rocco glanced at Paola. “The day before the wedding, when you met.”
"She's been moving around Europe since the wedding, gathering information. Now she's back with whatever she found."
"Looks that way," Rocco confirmed.
Paola went perfectly still. “What is it?” I asked, a hand going to her lower back, thumb rubbing reassuringly. Her eyes were wide. Scared.
“I just… I just remembered. That day. She said Viktor’s name…” Her brows knit, frustrated tears forming. “I can’t remember exactly why.”
“The drugs,” Giulio said, looking between the two of us. “They have a way of blocking memories. They’ll surface days, weeks, sometimes years later.”
Paola’s face went pale. My stomach knotted with nausea, imagining why Giulio knew that, why he looked so grim. I may have been a mafia Don and a monster in the eyes of some, but one thing I wouldn’t touch was the kind of drugs that would ruin people’s–women’s–lives.
"So Viktor's been planning this since before the wedding," Piero added. "He knew about the switch. Probably arranged Bianca's escape himself. I wonder if the whole thing was his idea."
Rocco continued: "Our source in Viktor's building—a doorman on our payroll—said she arrived with a briefcase. Metal, locked. She was nervous. Viktor was expecting her."
The documents. Whatever leverage Bianca thought warranted selling out her own family.
"What kind of documents?" I asked.
"Unknown. But Viktor cleared his entire schedule. Sent his security away. Whatever she has, he wanted privacy to examine it."
That sent ice through my veins. Viktor valued privacy only when something was explosive enough to reshape the board.
I paced, mind racing through possibilities. Paola sat at the table's edge, watching, listening. Still playing the role even here—the Don's wife learning the business of blood and power.
"What could Bianca have that Viktor wants?" I asked the room. "She's been gone for weeks. What leverage does she possess?"
Giulio offered: "Financial records? Proof of your operations?"
"Bianca didn't have access to my operations. She was supposed to marry me, not audit me."
Matteo chimed in,"Could be Lombardo family records. Giovanni's businesses. Proof of money laundering, tax evasion, illegal dealings."
"Possible. But why give that to Viktor? How does destroying her own father benefit her?"
Paola's quiet voice cut through the speculation. "Unless she's not trying to destroy our father. Unless she's trying to destroyme."
