“What happened next?”
“You and Antonio fought. He had a gun. You had a gun too. It was bloody and you eventually shot him three times. You came toward me and I thought you were going to kill me too.”
“But I didn’t.”
“No. You told me to run. To disappear. So I did.”
I lean back slightly. “Can you remember anything else? Before Antonio died. Any information you may be missing out. Anything.”
She’s quiet, her brow furrowed in thought. “Well I do remember that he was yelling at you. Said you’d never find it. That it would die with him.”
“The ledger.”
“I didn’t know what he meant then. I was too scared to process anything.”
“What else? Think, Scarlett. This is important.”
She closes her eyes, and I watch her face as she goes back to that night in her mind.
“He said something about the families. That they’d all fall without him. That you were making a mistake.”
“That’s all?”
“I—” She stops, then goes very still. “Wait.”
Every muscle in my body tenses, as I lean forward in anticipation. “What?”
“There was something else. Between shots.” Her eyes are still closed, her breathing shallow. “He whispered something.”
“What did he whisper?”
“I couldn’t hear it clearly. The gunshots had made my ears ring and I was panicking. But it sounded like…like he said something about a saint. A saint watching.”
My body instantly goes rigid.
“A saint watching,” I repeat slowly.
“That’s what it sounded like. ‘The saint is watching’ or ‘a saint watches.’ Something like that. I didn’t understand it then and I blocked it out afterward. But now that you’re asking…” She opens her eyes and looks at me. “Does that mean something to you?”
I stand up and pace to the window, my mind racing. This information changes everything.
A saint watching.
“Fuck,” I breathe.
“What? What is it?”
I turn back to her. “You’re not just a witness. You might be the only person alive who knows where Antonio hid the ledger.”
Her face goes pale. “What are you talking about?”
“That memory you just recovered, It’s not random. Antonio was telling you where to find it. Or at least giving you a clue.” I move back to her chair and crouch down so we’re eye level. “We need to work on recovering more of that memory, Scarlett. Every detail you can remember about his bedroom, about what he said, about where he was looking when he died.”
“I can’t—I’ve spent years trying to forget?—”
“I know.” I reach out and grip her shoulders, keeping my touch firm but not painful. “And I’ll help you through it. I’ll be patient. We’ll take it slow. But you need to try, Scarlett. You need to tell me immediately if you remember anything else. Any detail, no matter how small. Because both our lives depend on it. Luca’s life depends on it.”
She stares at me with those green eyes wide and terrified, and I can see her processing everything I’ve just told her. See her realizing that she’s not just running from killers anymore—she’s sitting on information that could change the entire balance of power in this city.
