Page 74 of The Kingpin’s Bride

“Make it ten,” I bit out.

He made it in fifteen.

I was in the study with two phones going and a map of the northern industrial routes spread across the desk when he walked in. Black shirt. No tie. The same sharp, restless energy he always carried when something threatened family. He took one look at my face and shut the door behind him. “Jesus, Matteo. You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

He dropped into the chair across from me. “Tell me everything.”

I did. Santino listened without interrupting, elbows on his knees, eyes dark. When I finished he let out a long breath. He studied me for a moment. “You’re not dragging her back.”

It wasn’t a question.

“Not yet,” I said. “If I pull her in before I have Camilla, I lose her. She made that clear.”

Santino nodded slowly. “Smart. Painful. But smart.”

He pulled out his own phone. “I’ll lean on the After Dark girls. A few of them owe me favors. If Dario used any of the old routes, someone will talk.”

“Do it.”

He made three calls right there in front of me. Short. Sharp. The kind of conversations that ended with people moving fast because the alternative was worse. When he hung up the last one he looked at me again. “You’re not thinking clean. That’s dangerous.”

“I’m thinking clear enough.”

“No. You’re thinking like a man who just watched his wife put a blade to her throat because he lied to her.” He sat back down. “There’s a difference.”

We worked in silence for a while. Calls. Updates. Names. One of Santino’s contacts from the club came through first. A former dancer who moved in the lower circles. She had seen Morena near an air strip after midnight. Alone.

Santino relayed it without softening it. “She’s moving. Asking quiet questions. Looking for the same ghost you are.”

I stared at the map. “Keep eyes on her. Soft. No approach.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

He watched me for a long second. “You’re giving her space while you burn the city down for a little kid. That’s either growth or suicide. I can’t tell which yet.”

“Find me Dario and we’ll decide later.”

By late morning we had the first real break. Santino’s phone lit up. He answered, listened, then put it on speaker.

A low male voice. One of the After Dark drivers who used to run side jobs. “Rizzo used the north airstrip two nights ago. Private. Kid was with him. Little girl. He had help scrubbing the cameras. Not his usual people. Cleaner work.”

I leaned forward. “Who helped him?”

“Don’t know. But the scrub job was professional. Family-level professional. Someone with access.”

Santino’s eyes met mine. The same thought moved between us. Someone inside.

I ended the call myself. “I want names. Every operator who can darken a camera grid that clean. Pull them in.”

Santino was texting. “On it.”

We spent the next hours burning through the list. Two men in a warehouse on the east side. One of them broke faster than I expected. The other needed more convincing.

By the time we left, I had a partial confirmation: the help had come from someone connected to one of the other families. Close enough to smell like a test.

Santino wiped blood off his knuckles with a handkerchief and glanced at me as we got back in the car. “You’re colder than usual.”