If anything, it hardened.
He shrugged my hand off with a sharp, deliberate motion.
“As long as you still think Elena planted it in her own bra,” he said coldly, “we have nothing to discuss.”
My eyes narrowed.
The room seemed to tighten around us.
“Why are you so certain it wasn’t her?” I asked.
Before Renzo could answer—
Ciro moved.
Smooth. Effortless.
Positioning himself slightly closer to me, voice dripping with concern.
“Boss,” he said cautiously, “should I lock him up again? I don’t like how he speaks to you, and the other soldiers shouldn’t see such open defiance.”
Renzo’s eyes flicked to him—sharp.
Ciro continued, undeterred.
“Ever since you ranked us and made me second-in-command—and him third—Renzo has always been bitter. He’s hated taking orders from me and may well have been scheming against you in secret.”
A small pause.
“He hates you, boss. A man like that... deserves death.”
Renzo didn’t react.
Didn’t defend himself.
Just stood there.
Silent. Unmoving.
Watching.
Before I could speak—
A nurse approached.
The same one Renzo had spoken to earlier.
She held a crisp sheet of paper in her hands.
“Here you go, Mr. Renzo,” she said, offering it to him.
He took it without a word.
Looked at it.
Then extended it toward me.
“Have a look.”
