“But they did die. My father was left in an alley. Years later, my mother was murdered too. Your first lie never stopped killing us. And you raised their children with blood on your hands.”
“I’ve spent years trying to make it right,” he says, gesturing to the screen. “Every tip, every warning—it was all I knew how to give back. Doesn't any of it count?”
"No." I step closer, the barrel of the gun inches from his forehead. "It counts for nothing."
He looks up at me. "Then do it," he says, closing his eyes. "End the secret. I’m tired of carrying it, Alessio."
My finger trembles on the trigger.
Behind me, a soft footstep.
"Alessio?"
It’s Amara.
I don't look back. "Go back to the room, Amara."
"No." She walks in, taking in the scene. She looks at Turi, then at me. She looks resolved. "The logs were right."
"He’s the one," I say.
Turi looks at her, a small, sad smile on his lips. "You must be the accountant. I should have known. Numbers don't have hearts to break."
“Then stop asking numbers to forgive you,” she says coldly.
I look at Turi and see the death of my childhood.
“I’m not calling the tribunal until the switch is dead,” I say. “I’m not handing Vane a house split open.”
"What are you going to do?" Turi asks.
"I’m going to keep you here," I say. "And tomorrow, we’re going to tell Dominic. But not until I’ve dismantled Vane’s switch. You’re going to give us everything. Every contact, every code."
"And then?"
"And then," I say, "you’re going to answer to my brothers."
I lower the gun, but the weight pulls at my arms. I turn to Amara. Her support is the only thing keeping me upright.
“He’s going to a locked holding room under Rico’s guard,” I tell her. “No terminal, no phone. Nobody talks to him but Dominic and me.”
"I’m not losing this, Amara. Not now. We have the traitor. The war ends this week."
I grab her hand. I need the reality of her to drown out the nightmare.
Rico takes the door as we step out, and only then do I lead Turi from the library to the holding room and turn the lock. The foundation of my life vanishes.
The house is falling. Her hand is the only thing keeping me standing.
As we walk back, the first gray of dawn is starting over the lake. In a few hours this house will wake. Matteo will bakebecause his hands need work. The table will set itself around an absence no one understands yet.
And I will stand inside all that warmth holding the coldest thing I have ever carried.
Amara’s hand tightens in mine, like she can hear me thinking.
One more hour. Long enough to lock the switch. Then the vault opens.
God forgive me for waiting.
