I say three names.
I say them in Italian, one by one, the way I say the things I have been holding a long time. Precisely, without inflection, with the full weight of two years behind each syllable.
Three of his operatives. Buried so deep in his network, they have never appeared in a federal file. I found them in 2022 in a piece of correspondence I was not supposed to have from a source I am never going to name.
Kostas's face changes.
I watch him understand. The face of a man who has built a network for forty years, realizing it has been more compromised than he knew. That the woman he placed inside the Moretti building twelve years ago has done the wrong work on his side and the right work on everyone else’s.
Federal custody had been a mercy.
Now it is the longest punishment.
"You have been busy, Ms. Ferraro."
"I have."
"Eleni would be proud."
I do not speak. He already knows what the silence is.
The agents wheel him out.
The small doorbehind the wheelchair opens.
A man steps through.
Charcoal suit. The same gray quiet as the man who just left in the wheelchair.
He has been in the next room for the entire breach.
Luca's weapon comes up.
"Petros," I say.
He inclines his head.
"Ms. Ferraro."
He does not approach me. He looks at Sean.
"Detective Donovan."
"Stavros."
"I have been in the next room since the breach started. I wanted to hear what my father would say when he thought I was not listening. He said more than I expected."
"Then we are even."
Petros studies him for a moment.
"One more thing, Detective."
"Yes."
"The men in the trees on the east drive. The man on the courtyard roof. Those were mine. My father wanted you broughtto him. I wanted to see how you arrived. My father has been dying for six months. I have been preparing for six years. I needed to see what kind of man you were under fire before I decided what to do with you."
"And?"
