Page 84

“No, he should hear it.” Mark lowers the binoculars. “If my sister goes down in history as a villain—if that first story wins—I will end you, Sartorre. Because I will lose everything too.”

I sigh. It’s less painful than moving the binoculars, but it still tugs at the stitches. “The defense contracts. I know.”

“If my sister is convicted in an international drug trafficking case, it ends my clearances, my company, all of it, and that will end at your doorstep.”

“Mark, I know.” I am tired of hearing about it. His concern is understandable, but aside from worrying about Veda, it’s all he talks about.

“So I’m not here to trust you, Sartorre. I’m here to watch with my own eyes, because you already fucked her over once, and I will not let it happen twice.”

I have no argument against that, and even if I did, I wouldn’t use it. “You’re right to be here. Watch all of it. That’s why I brought you up instead of leaving you behind.”

“How generous of you.”

“You see it live, or it doesn’t count. That’s the deal. So, watch.” He’s a man who trusts what he can verify, and I’m handing him something to verify. Simple as that.

“Nothing’s happening yet.”

“It will. And for what it’s worth,” I add, “I didn’t ask her to save me on that road.”

He ignores it. “You released a file that convicts you along with them. That’s not confidence, that’s a suicide pact. I can’t say I trust you on much of anything.”

“Not a suicide pact. That takes some level of agreement between the parties, and Matteo and I stopped agreeing on things a long time ago.” I lift the binoculars because looking through them is better than meeting his angry glare. The two of them look very different from one another, but their glares are identical. Neat trick.

“Right. I’m sure you disagreed with Matteo about making millions of dollars.”

Ignoring that, I add, “Besides, the Italian government and half the European press have wanted a Sartorre or a Brancati forever and never had the paper. Now they have it, delivered gift-wrapped, and they get to look like heroes prosecuting or publishing it.”

“Something’s happening at the gate,” Veda says without lowering her binoculars.

“Right on time.”

Cars. Unmarked, then some that are very marked, then finally, the unmistakable choreography of a raid coordinated across three agencies and eager to be seen doing it.

The dossier was sent to both the Ministry and the newsrooms at the same time, carefully scheduled so no one could hide it. Now, that precise timing has caused a ripple effect, leading up the Brancati drive in a growing column.

We watch. Agents at the door. A pause, the villa absorbing what’s arriving.

“Well done,” Mark breathes, despite himself, the involuntary respect one careful professional pays another’s clean execution.

Matteo Brancati is brought out of his own front door in handcuffs, no coat, dyed-black hair uncombed, shouting things I can’t hear and don’t need to. Years of alliance and betrayal end with him blinking in his own driveway while a federal agent reads from a page with my documents behind it.

“That’s him, Mark,” Veda says quietly. “That’s the man whose records I found in Lupo’s drawer.”

He snarls under his breath, “I hope the handcuffs are tight.”

I correct her, “That’s not him. That’s the end of him.”

She says the words like a pronouncement. “The man who replaced medicine with chalk and shipped it under another man’s name ends in handcuffs. It’s too gentle an ending for him.”

“The man who wept in my mother’s kitchen the month Sarah was diagnosed and had a man burned alive in my warehouse… No punishment would be enough to balance Matteo Brancati’s sins. The handcuffs and the prison time will have to be enough.”

Mark says nothing at first. But his shoulders come down a degree, because he’s watching the story play out exactly as I promised.

Then Mark asks, “And the front page tomorrow—the one clearing her?”

His focus is admirable.

“Same documents, same source. They can’t take the conviction and reject the exoneration. Convicting Matteo requires the paper that clears your sister. They come as a set, or not at all, and I built it that way on purpose.”