The irony was almost beautiful.
"Wait," I said, pieces clicking together. "We've had these documents for weeks. Since the raid on Viktor's penthouse. Why are we only seeing the Matteo connection now?"
Rocco looked uncomfortable. "Boss, we had hundreds of pages from Giovanni's files. We prioritized based on threat level—personal blackmail material on you, on Paola, business vulnerabilities. These financial transaction records were flagged as lower priority. I only cross-referenced them against Piero's timeline tonight because we were trying to prove his innocence."
So we'd been sitting on evidence of Matteo's betrayal for weeks, buried in paperwork we hadn't fully analyzed.
"Which means Matteo doesn't know we have this," Paola said. "He thinks he's safe because we haven't moved against him."
"Yet," I corrected.
"We need proof before we move," Paola said. "We can't accuse Matteo without being certain."
She was right. I'd already almost condemned my brother. I wouldn't make that mistake with another of my men.
"Pull his communications," I ordered Rocco. "Everything from the past six months. Cross-reference with the Shadowking timeline."
Rocco's fingers flew across the keyboard. "Boss... there's a pattern. Every time Shadowking communicated with Viktor, Matteo had logged into our secure servers within the previous hour. He was pulling Piero's schedule, copying his access codes, gathering information to make the communications authentic."
The evidence was damning. Conclusive.
"Does he know we're looking at him?" Paola asked.
Rocco went pale. "Boss... I accessed his file records three minutes ago. The system logs everything. If Matteo has alerts set up—"
"He knows." My blood ran cold. "Rocco, where is he right now?"
Rocco pulled up phone GPS tracking. "He's... boss, he's at JFK. Terminal Four. International departures."
He was running. Because we'd just tipped our hand by accessing his files.
"When did he arrive at the airport?"
"GPS shows movement starting twelve minutes ago. Right after I pulled his records."
Fuck. He'd been monitoring for exactly this—waiting to see if we discovered the connection. The moment we accessed his files, he ran.
"Get Giulio's team to the airport. Now. I want Matteo detained before he boards any plane."
Rocco was already on it, making calls, coordinating.
I turned to Paola. "We're going to JFK. I want to look that bastard in the eye when we take him down."
We were back in the car, me driving fast through Manhattan traffic, weaving between lanes with practiced precision.
Giulio's team was already mobilizing—four cars heading to JFK from different locations across the city.
"I'm coming with you," Paola said, anticipating my objection.
"Paola, this could get dangerous—"
"I just survived breaking into Viktor's penthouse five weeks ago. I think I can handle an airport confrontation."
I wanted to argue. Wanted to keep her safe, protected, away from this darkness.
But she was right. We were partners now.
"Fine. But you stay with me. No heroics."
