I cross the kitchen in four steps.
I take him by the collar, walk him back into the wall, hold him there with one hand while I lean in close enough that no one else can hear. My other hand is fisted at my side. I am thinking about Serafina in that room — alone, unaware, the lens pointed at wherever she slept — and about what was on that footage and what could have been done with it.
Every thought lands like something I have to physically hold back from this man's throat.
I hold it back.
"Your family," I say, very softly, "is going to be fine. Because I'm not you. I don't use civilians." I wait. "But you are going to tell me everything — every contact, every drop point, every communication you had with Falco — within the next ten minutes. And then you are going to disappear from my organization so completely that it will be as if you never existed."
He nods. Fast.
"And Bruni." I lean closer. "If I find out you left anything out — anything — the guarantee Falco made to your family becomes my problem to solve. Are we clear?"
He nods again.
I let go.
Step back.
Straighten my shirt.
"Caruso. Get him talking. I want everything transcribed." I look around the room — five men, none of whom are breathing loudly. "The rest of you are on double rotation until I've satisfied myself about the rest of this building. Any complaints? You know where the door is."
No complaints.
I leave the kitchen.
Serafina opensmy bedroom door before I can knock.
She's in her T-shirt and bare feet, hair loose, arms crossed — the posture of a woman who's frightened and refusing to show it. Her eyes flick over me. Checking for damage. The surgeon never fully clocks off.
"You found him."
"Yes."
"Is he dead?"
"No."
Relief flashes across her face — quick and unguarded. "What happens to him?"
"He talks. Then he's removed from my organization." I pause. "His family was threatened. He made a poor call for reasons I understand, even if I can't condone them."
She studies me. "That's surprisingly measured of you."
"You were in the building." I hold her gaze. "I made a choice about what you needed to see."
The arms loosen slightly. Not uncrossed. Just less armor.
"You made a choice for me. Again."
"A different kind." I lean against the doorframe. "Not about your safety. About your peace of mind." A pause. "Tell me if that's still the wrong call, and I'll adjust."
She's quiet for a moment. The distinction lands — I can see it.
"It's not the wrong call. This time."
I nod.
