“Head of perimeter security. If the Bellantis wanted to hit us, he’s the one who would open the gates. He’s cold. No family, no friends. He lives for these walls. I’ve never trusted him, but I’ve never found a reason to doubt him either. He gives me nothing to hold.”
"And Leo."
"Dominic’s former driver. He was young back then. Ambitious. He saw things the rest of us didn't because he was always in the car. He disappeared for six months after the massacre, hiding in Florida. When he came back, Dominic let him back in. He runs the docks now. Snakes usually thrive in the damp."
Amara looks at the last name. The air in the room turns to lead. The name is written in darker, more permanent ink.
"Turi," she whispers.
My lungs seize. It’s a physical rejection of the data. I can feel the phantom sensation of a hand on my shoulder, the way Turi used to steady me when the world spun out of control. He found me in the alley after my father was murdered. He wiped the blood off my face. He raised us. He held Dominic together when the weight of the Don’s chair nearly crushed him. He is the heart of this family.
"No." I pick up a pen. My hand shakes with a fine tremor. I press the tip to the paper and draw a thick, black line through his name. I try to cross it out. The paper tears under the pressure.
"Alessio, look at the logs," Amara says, her voice firm. She never backs down. "The pings came from the library. Who spends the most time there? Who has the keys to every room? Who has been here since the beginning?"
"It’s not him." I step toward her, my shadow swallowing her. My control splinters into a thousand jagged pieces. "You don't understand. Turi is the only reason we survived. He taught us how to be Costas. He loved my mother. He told me she was the brightest light he’d ever seen. And that is why I can't make the math fit. You don't sell the woman you love into a war and call it protection.”
"People do terrible things for complicated reasons," she counters. She reaches out, her hand hovering near my arm. She doesn't touch me. She’s waiting for the storm to pass. “The data doesn't have feelings, Alessio. It doesn't remember who held you. It just records the truth. The transmissions originate from the library terminal assigned to his access key.”
“Then the data is showing us what someone wants us to see,” I growl, my chest heaving. “Someone is framing him. Someone is using his terminal because they know no one would suspect him. It’s the perfect cover. If I name Turi as the traitor, I destroy this family. We wouldn't just lose a war. We would cease to exist. Dominic would lose his mind. It would be a slaughter from the inside out."
I turn away, walking to the wall where maps are pinned. I need to move. Frantic energy buzzes under my skin.
"For eleven years, I’ve carried this. I’ve looked at my brothers across the dinner table and wondered which one was a liar. I’ve watched the table and wondered which familiar face was lying. I built this room so I wouldn't have to carry it in my head. I thought if I found the name, I could end it. I could cut out the cancer."
I stop in front of an old photo of my parents, taken years before the war turned visible. They’re smiling in front of the old house. They didn't know their old friend might have opened the first door.
“I’ve stayed awake until dawn for thousands of nights, Amara. I’ve analyzed every hit, every failed shipment. The anonymous tips didn’t start this month. They go back years. Someone has been feeding us intelligence. It doesn't make sense. Why would a traitor save the people he betrayed?"
"Guilt?" she suggests.
“Or guilt dressed up as strategy. Saving us one wound at a time without ever undoing the first one. If the Costas win, he tells himself he earned it. He’s been playing penance while we’re the pieces getting knocked off.”
She moves behind me. This time, she doesn't hesitate. She presses her body against my back, her arms wrapping around my waist. She leans her forehead against my shoulder blade. The tension in my spine snaps. I exhale, a ragged, broken sound.
"You’ve been alone in this for so long," she whispers.
"I had to be. If I told Dominic and I was wrong, he’d kill an innocent man. If I was right, he’d burn the world down before we were ready. I had to be the vault."
"You’re not alone now."
I turn in her arms, grabbing her face. I’m not gentle. My thumbs press into her cheekbones, forcing her to look at the wreckage in my eyes. “Do you understand what happens if I’m wrong? If I name him and I’m wrong, I become the knife that cuts this family open. I break the only father I have left.”
"Then don't name him yet," she says. "We don't go to Dominic with suspicions. We go with proof. Physical, undeniable proof. We find the hardware and see who is sitting in the chair. No more guessing."
I stare at her, my heart aching with desperate love. She is the first hand on the weight with mine.
"If it’s him..."
"If it’s him, we handle it. Together."
I pull her to me, crushing her against my chest. I bury my face in her hair, breathing her in. She is my partner. My spine. After eleven years, the weight feels lighter. Someone else is helping me carry it.
“I’ve spent so long looking for a monster,” I mutter, “that I forgot wanting anything else was allowed.”
"I’m not a saint, Alessio."
"Good. Saints don't survive here."
