"Traditore," the one on the left says. Traitor. Low. Like a verdict.
Enzo's composure doesn't crack. It never cracks — that's the thing about him. He has performed so long there's nothing left to crack.
"That recording is out of context," he says. "You're making assumptions?—"
I pass the phone to the soldier nearest me. "Cross-reference the date of Caruso's first assignment against the payment records. The hit that brought him into our organization — trace the payment chain." I hold the soldier's gaze. "Thirty seconds."
Twenty seconds.
He looks at Enzo.
"Traditore," he says again. This time it's not an accusation. It's a door closing.
He steps back from Enzo's line.
Then the man beside him.
Then the next.
It takes four minutes.
Four minutes for six men to look at forty years of evidence and make the only decision the evidence allows. The guns are still out. They're just not aimed at me anymore.
"This changes nothing," Enzo says. Still even. Still warm. "The family structure?—"
"Is changing," I say. "Right now. Tonight."
I pull up the asset transfer document — the one Matteo and I drafted when I started to understand what this would require. My signature already on it. Space for Enzo's.
"Sign it. Or Alessandro plays the recording in front of the full council tomorrow morning." I hold his gaze. "Make it fast. The sirens are close."
He looks at the soldiers who are no longer his soldiers.
He signs.
The federal call takes ninety seconds.
"The file transfers in ten minutes," I tell the prosecutor. "Encrypted. Everything — the payment chain, the recordings, the shell company structure, the names." A pause. "I need one thing."
"Mr. Moretti?—"
"Giovanni Virelli. He's complicit but peripheral. The war benefited him but he didn't build it. I need that distinction to matter."
A pause. "Send the file. We'll see what it says."
I end the call. Niko sends the file. Somewhere across the city a case that should have been made a long time ago gets everything it needs.
The sirens begin.
I findSerafina in the corridor, sitting on the floor against the wall.
She looks up when I lower myself beside her — her eyes going immediately to my side, the blood, the bandage that needed changing long ago.
"Hospital," she says.
"In a minute."
"Luca—"
