"No." Elio cut me off. Voice hard. "This is Winston's fault. Not yours. You're not responsible for what he did before you even got here."
"But if I hadn't come here—"
"Then you'd still be trapped in Chicago about to marry a man who hurt you. And we'd still have these moles, we just wouldn't know about them." He pulled me up from the chair. Held my face between his hands. "You found them, Julian. You're the reason we know. That's what matters."
I leaned into his touch. Let myself take comfort from his certainty.
"We need to tell Sandro," I said.
"We do. Come on."
Sandro's expression went cold when we showed him the evidence.
"Three of them," he said. Flat. Dangerous. "For seven months. What have they accessed?"
"Schedules mostly," I explained. "Shift rotations. Delivery times. Meeting calendars. Nothing classified but enough to establish patterns. Enough to tell the FBI when high-value targets might be on premises."
"Enough to build a harassment case," Luca said. "They can't get us on RICO anymore but they can make our lives difficult. Constant raids. Warrant everything. Turn Inferno into a liability instead of an asset."
Matteo cracked his knuckles. "We need to handle this. Now. Before they can report anything else."
"Agreed," Sandro said. "Matteo, Elio—bring them in. One at a time. Get confirmation they've been feeding information to the FBI. Find out what they've reported. Then eliminate the problem."
"I'm coming," I said.
Everyone looked at me.
"Julian—" Elio started.
"No. This is my fault. My father did this. I should be there when you confront them."
"It's not safe—"
"I don't care. I need to see this." I met Sandro's eyes. "Please. Let me be part of this."
Sandro studied me for a long moment. Then nodded. "You watch. You don't participate. Understood?"
"Understood."
***
We brought in Max Morrison first. The junior security guard. Weekend shifts. Twenty-four years old. Unremarkable in every way except the deposits in his bank account.
Matteo and Elio sat him down in an interrogation room I hadn't known existed. Basement level. Soundproofed. No cameras except the one Elio controlled.
I watched from the observation room through one-way glass.
Max looked nervous. Scared. He knew this wasn't good.
"Mr. Morrison," Elio said. Voice cold. Professional. "We've noticed some irregularities in your financial records. Care to explain the deposits you've been receiving from shell companies connected to the Bianchi family?"
Max went pale. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't lie." Matteo's voice was gravel. Dangerous. "We have documentation. Bank records. Corporate filings. We know exactly where the money's coming from. We know how much. We know how long it's been happening. The only question is what you gave them in exchange."
Max's hands shook. "I—they said it was just consulting. Just providing information about general operations. Nothing illegal—"
"Who contacted you?" Elio asked.
