The car pulled up and I got in. Watched Luca through the window as we pulled away, seeing the fear written across his face even as he tried to hide it.
The drive to 26 Federal Plaza took twenty minutes. I spent them breathing deeply and going over Emilio's instructions in my head. Stay calm. Answer only what's asked. Don't volunteer information. Keep it professional.
The FBI building was exactly as intimidating as expected. All concrete and glass and federal authority. I checked in at security, showed my ID, and was directed to the elevators.
Agent Reeves's office was on the seventh floor. A receptionist directed me to a conference room where Reeves was waiting.
He stood when I entered. Early thirties, dark hair, professional suit, the kind of ambitious energy that suggested he was trying to make his career on this case.
"Mr. Russo. Thank you for coming in." He gestured to a chair. "Please, have a seat."
I sat, trying to project confidence I didn't feel. "Happy to help however I can."
"I appreciate your cooperation. This is just an informal conversation. You're not under investigation or being charged with anything."
Yet. The word hung unspoken between us.
"I wanted to ask you about your recent work," Reeves continued. "You've published several high-profile exposés in the past few months. The Bianchi story. The Rodriguez piece. Very thorough investigations."
"Thank you."
"Can you tell me about your sources for these stories?"
"I don't reveal sources. That's standard journalistic practice."
"Of course. I'm not asking for names. I'm asking about methodology. How you obtained the information."
Careful. This was the trap Emilio had warned me about. "Through standard investigative techniques. Document review, interviews, public records requests."
"And these sources came to you? Or did you cultivate them?"
"Bit of both. Some reached out. Some I developed relationships with over time."
"Including sources within the Vitale organization?"
There it was. The connection he was building. "I have sources across various organizations. That's how journalism works."
"Specifically, do you have a professional relationship with Luca Romano?"
My heart rate spiked but I kept my face neutral. "I know Mr. Romano professionally, yes."
"In what capacity?"
"He's a source. Someone I've spoken with for background on various stories."
"Just professional?"
"My personal life isn't relevant to my journalism."
Reeves smiled. It wasn't friendly. "Mr. Russo, I have photographs of you entering Mr. Romano's residence. Multiple times. At odd hours. That suggests more than a professional relationship."
Fuck. He'd been surveilling me. Us. For weeks probably.
"What I do in my personal time—"
"Is relevant when you're potentially compromised as a journalist. When you're sleeping with a subject of a federal investigation."
"I'm not—" I stopped. Collected myself. "Agent Reeves, unless you're charging me with something, I think this conversation is over."
