"You couldn't have stopped it," I tell him, my voice firm. I am the spine now. I'm the outsider. I'm the one who didn't grow up with Turi's hand on my shoulder. I'm the one who knows how to look at a horror and see the mechanics of it. "He made his choice before you knew there was a choice to look for. This isn't on you."
"It's on all of us," he says, his jaw locking so tight the bone looks ready to snap. "We let the knife sit at the table, and then wondered why the house kept bleeding."
"Not all of them," I say, pulling his head down so his forehead rests against mine. "We're still here. And we're going to finish this."
He takes a jagged breath, hands coming up to grip my waist. He holds me so tightly it hurts, fingers digging into my skin through my tactical jacket. It's the grip of a man trying not to fall apart in front of everyone. I let him take what he needs. I have plenty to give. My brother's death was a transaction too, and I've spent ten years learning how to balance that ledger.
"Let's go," I say. "They're waiting."
We walk into the war room together. The room is massive, anchored by the mahogany table, the air still carrying smoke, coffee, and gun oil. Usually, this room feels like a sanctuary. Tonight, it feels like a courtroom.
The ten Costa men scatter around the room. Some pace like caged tigers. Some sit with their heads in their hands. The women are there too, not hiding—Natalia already working, Sienna watching the windows, the others braced for whatever comes next. Natalia is already on her laptop, fingers flying across the keys as she searches for the legal chain that will bury Turi before the brothers do it physically. Sienna stands by the window, eyes fixed on the horizon, looking for more enemies.
Turi sits in a chair in the center of the room. He looks small. He looks like a stiff breeze could knock him over. But the air in here is heavy, thick with the kind of rage that precedes a massacre.
Dominic stands at the head of the mahogany tactical table, hands flat on the wood. He looks at me as we enter. He doesn't look at me like an intruder anymore. He looks at me like a weapon that finally hit its target.
"Amara," Dominic says. "For the record. Connect the dots we all saw on those screens. No theories. No feelings. Just the proof."
I step forward, leaving the safety of Alessio's side. This is what I do. I take the chaos and I turn it into a narrative. I take the pain and I turn it into proof.
"Ten years ago, my brother Curtis was murdered after he found a money trail at Halloran Freight," I start, my voice ringing out in the silent hall. I don't look at Turi. I look at the brothers. "He found a money trail that led to Alvarado Vane. He was killed for forty thousand dollars. I spent a decade hunting the man who signed that check. I thought Vane was the beginning and the end of it."
I pause, letting the weight of the grief settle in the room. I'm not the only one who lost someone. These men lost their parents. They lost their childhoods.
"The Guardian wasn't an outsider. He was inside the library, using the family's own access points to drip-feed warnings while keeping attention off the library terminal. The same hand that sent the warnings was the hand that gave Lorenzo Bellanti the routes twenty years ago."
A collective hiss of breath goes around the room.
"The routes were the price of a debt," I say, my voice cold and clinical. It's the only way to get through this without screaming. "A gambling debt held by a South Side bookie who worked for the Bellantis. Turi didn't just give them the routes. He gave them the schedule. He gave them the security codes. He gave them the night Carlo and Igor's family would be exposed."
Matteo lets out a choked sob. Dominic doesn't move. He's a statue of retribution.
"And the warnings?" Vincenzo asks, his voice tight. He's the one who had been receiving the anonymous messages for years. "The tips that saved our lives? Why?"
I finally turn my gaze to Turi. He's looking at me now, eyes watery and ancient. There's no malice in them. Only a profound, rotting sadness.
"Penance," I say the word like it's a dirty thing. "He realized too late that the Bellantis weren't just going to take the routes. They were going to take the lives. He's been trying to buy back the lives he put in the Bellantis' path for twenty years. He used his access to the network to leak information to you. He stayed close to both sides, feeding the Costas warnings while hiding from the monster his first betrayal empowered."
"You sold the routes that brought the war to my mother," Alessio's voice comes from behind me, quiet and terrifying. He walks past me, stopping just inches from Turi's chair. "You loved her. You told me stories about how she used to sing in the garden. Years later, when I was grieving her too, you looked me in the eye and told me she was in a better place."
Turi's lip trembles, but he says nothing. He can't meet Alessio's eyes.
"You weren't a fool," Dominic says, his voice rising in volume, filling the silence Turi refuses to. "A fool makes a mistake. You made a career out of it. You watched us grow up. You watched us bleed. You watched us become killers to defend a legacy you already sold."
"You didn't give your life," Alessio says, his hand moving to the hilt of the knife at his belt. "You stole ours. You lived in our house. You ate our bread. You let us call you father."
The word 'father' hangs in the air like a noose.
I step forward, putting a hand on Alessio's shoulder. I can feel the heat radiating off him. He's ready to end it right here. He's ready to carve the truth out of Turi's chest. But we need more than blood. We need the full story. We need to know where Lorenzo Bellanti is hiding. We need to know how to end the war so no more brothers have to die.
"He's not only a father," I say, my voice cutting through the tension. "He's the secret that rotted under the floor. And secrets don't get to stay in the house."
Dominic looks at me, eyes searching mine. He sees the strength I'm lending his brother. He sees that I'm not just an accountant or a victim. I'm with the Costas now. I chose that. I'm the one holding the line when the family is falling apart.
"He stays in the sub-level holding room," Dominic orders. "Under guard. Nobody touches him until dawn. We do this right. We do this as a family."
"A tribunal," Enzo says, nodding. "The old way."
