“Yes.”
Evie’s breathing catches behind me.
Dante barks out a short laugh. “For her. For the Irish girl.”
“For Evie,” I say. “For my children. For Seane Brennan, too late. For Isabelle, too late. For every correction delayed because I mistook blood for obligation.”
His face changes at Isabelle’s name. Good. Let it. Some ghosts deserve the room.
“You don’t get to use my mother,” he says.
“I already did.”
Silence. The truth is uglier when fully stripped.
“I used her absence to excuse your damage,” I say. “I used grief to explain what discipline should have corrected. I used fatherhood as a reason to delay judgment. That ends.”
Dante stares at me. For once, I don’t know what he feels. For once, it doesn’t matter.
Marco returns, handing me a phone. “Giulio’s man has named the source,” he says. “And the route. Two guards compromised. One external courier. Giulio received an update from the south wing thirty minutes before the breach.”
Salvatore’s expression hardens.
Dante smiles faintly. “You see?” he says. “Your house isn’t yours.”
“No,” I say. “But tonight it becomes mine again.”
I take the phone. Call Giulio. He answers on the second ring.
“Alessandro.”
“Come to the north gallery.”
Pause. “I’m not sure?—”
“Now.” I end the call.
Dante watches me. “You’ll start a war.”
“No.”
“You remove me, accuse Giulio, expose the old vote?—”
“Yes.”
“The council fractures.”
“Possibly.”
“And you still choose this.”
I look at him. Finally, he understands the insult—he’s no longer weighted against the system. He’s not even equal to the cost.
“Yes,” I say.
His mouth opens, then closes.
Giulio arrives with two men and false concern. He stops at the corridor entrance when he sees Dante held by Luca, Evie behind me, Salvatore present, Marco with the phone, and the paperweight on the floor.
