"Get some sleep." I stood.
I left before I could say anything else. Went back to my office and tried not to think about Julian Bianchi's hollow eyes when he talked about staying pure for a man he'd been promised to at fourteen.
Failed completely.
***
The next morning I ran a background check on Julian Bianchi and didn't like what I found.
The kid was smart. Graduated early from Columbia with degrees in journalism and political science. Dual major, completed in three years instead of four. GPA of 3.9. Dean's list every semester.
He'd also done an internship over a summer at a forensic accounting firm. Klein & Associates. Small operation but respected. They specialized in tracking financial crimes and corporate fraud.
That was interesting. And concerning.
Julian had been writing under a pseudonym for small publications. Articles about corruption and organized crime. Nothing that named names, but everything showed he understood how our world worked. He wrote about money laundering, shell companies, political influence. The kind of details that came from real knowledge, not research.
Smart. Educated. Understanding of finance and operations.
Exactly what he'd told Matteo when he'd asked for sanctuary.
Then I found the sealed juvenile record.
It took some effort to access. Strings pulled with contacts in Chicago. Favors called in. But I got it.
Assault charges when Julian was sixteen. He'd put Dante Caruso in the hospital with a broken jaw, three cracked ribs, and a concussion severe enough to require overnight observation.
The details were sparse—juvenile records always were—but I could read between the lines. The charges had been filed, then dropped within forty-eight hours. Julian's father had paid everyone off. The record was sealed. The incident disappeared like it never happened.
Except it had happened. And Julian carried it with him.
This information changed things.
Julian wasn't just some pampered prince running from responsibility. He was someone who'd fought back against abuse and gotten punished for it.
I knew what that was like. I had my own sealed records from when I was young and angry. When I'd put my stepfather in thehospital after finding out what he'd been doing to my younger sister.
My family had covered that up too. Paid everyone off. Made it disappear. Then sent me away to military school where I'd learned control. Discipline. How to channel rage into something useful.
I understood Julian Bianchi better than I wanted to.
I brought the information to Sandro.
He listened without interrupting while I laid out what I'd found. The education. The internship. The writing. The sealed record.
"Is he trustworthy?" Sandro asked when I finished.
"He's more complicated than we thought."
"Is that a problem?"
"Depends on what we're planning to do with him."
Sandro leaned back in his chair. Studied me with those calculating eyes that saw too much.
"What do you think we should do with him?"
"Keep him for now. His father has FBI connections. That makes Julian valuable as a source of information. But we need to be careful. He's smart enough to be dangerous if he decides to turn on us."
