Lorenzo chose an abandoned restaurant near the docks.
I entered alone.
At least, that was what he was supposed to believe.
The transmitter was hidden beneath my necklace.
Federal agents were positioned two blocks away.
Vittorio and Gabriel were closer.
Much closer than the agents wanted.
Lorenzo sat at a table beneath a dead chandelier.
He was older than Vittorio, silver-haired, expensive coat, calm smile.
“You look like your mother.”
I stopped.
“You knew her?”
“I know many things about the Moretti family.”
“Where is Marco?”
Lorenzo smiled.
“You’ve been spending too much time with Vittorio.”
“Where is he?”
“Phone first.”
I put a cheap burner phone on the table.
Lorenzo did not touch it.
“That isn’t Matteo’s.”
“You’ve never seen Matteo’s.”
His smile disappeared.
“You're braver than your brother.”
“My brother is alive.”
There.
His eyes changed.
He had not known.
That was why we had kept Matteo hidden.
“You’re lying.”
“No.”
“Vittorio found him?”
I said nothing.
Lorenzo leaned back.
“Do you know what Vittorio Marquetti is?”
“Yes.”
“No. You know what newspapers and frightened old men whisper. You don’t know what it costs to stand where he stands.”
“I don’t care.”
“You should.”
He leaned forward.
“Because Vittorio is using you.”
“Funny. He said you’d tell me that.”
For the first time, Lorenzo looked annoyed.
“He always did enjoy appearing honorable.”
“You had my brother beaten.”
“Your brother interfered with business.”
“You had Dominic attack me.”
“Dominic lacked discipline.”
“And then you had him killed.”
Silence.
That was enough.
The transmitter had captured it.
But we still needed Marco.
I pushed.
“You were going to kill Vittorio too.”
Lorenzo smiled.
“Eventually.”
A floorboard creaked behind me.
Marco Santini stepped from the darkness.
He was younger than Lorenzo.
And the pain on Vittorio’s face when he saw Marco later would tell me exactly how close they had once been.
Marco held a gun.
“Take off the necklace.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
“The necklace.”
He knew.
I reached up.
“Slowly.”
I removed it.
Marco crushed the transmitter beneath his shoe.
Outside, our connection went dead.
Lorenzo stood.
“Now we can speak honestly.”
He searched my bag.
“Where’s the phone?”
“Safe.”
“Where?”
“Matteo has it.”
Marco smiled.
“Then you’re useless.”
He raised the gun.
I said the only word that mattered.
“November.”
Marco laughed.
“Your microphone is broken.”
“I know.”
Then the restaurant’s front windows exploded inward.
Vittorio came through the side entrance while federal agents stormed the front.
Chaos followed.
Lorenzo ran.
Marco fired.
Vittorio tackled me behind the bar.
A bullet tore through his shoulder.
He grunted.
“You’re hit.”
“I noticed.”
“Vittorio!”
“Stay down.”
Agents flooded the room.
Marco tried reaching the rear exit.
Gabriel stopped him.
Lorenzo made it outside.
But Matteo had anticipated that.
The master server was not in the restaurant.
It was inside a truck Lorenzo had parked behind the building.
Federal agents seized it before he reached the driver's door.
Lorenzo Bellini was arrested in the rain.
Marco Santini surrendered minutes later.
And Vittorio Marquetti sat against an overturned bar with blood soaking his black suit.
I pressed both hands against his shoulder.
“You promised to bring us home.”
He looked pale.
“I’m working on it.”
“That is not funny.”
“A little.”
“No.”
His mouth moved into the faintest smile.
Then his eyes closed.
“Vittorio?”
Nothing.
“Vittorio!”
The ambulance came quickly.
The next twelve hours passed beneath hospital lights.
Matteo sat beside me.
“He’ll live,” he said.
“You don’t know that.”
“The doctor said the bullet missed the artery.”
“I heard the doctor.”
“Then why are you pacing?”
“I’m not pacing.”
“You’ve crossed this hallway forty times.”
I sat.
Thirty seconds later, I stood again.
Matteo smiled.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Say it.”
“You care about him.”
“I care whether somebody dies because of me.”
“Elena.”
“Stop.”
Matteo raised his hands.
Hours later, Vittorio woke.
I was sitting beside his bed.
He looked at me.
“You’re still here.”
“You got shot.”
“I’ve been shot before.”
“That is not reassuring.”
He smiled weakly.
“Matteo?”
“Safe.”
“Lorenzo?”
“Arrested.”
“Marco?”
“Also arrested.”
He closed his eyes.
“Good.”
I studied him.
“You knew my transmitter was gone?”
“No.”
“Then how did you know to come in?”
“I didn’t.”
“What?”
“I saw Marco through the rear window.”
“So you ignored the operation.”
“Yes.”
“You could have ruined everything.”
“Yes.”
“You got shot.”
“Yes.”
I stared at him.
“You are unbelievably irritating.”
“I’ve been told.”
Then his expression became serious.
“Elena.”
“What?”
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“Dominic.”
“That wasn’t you.”
“He worked under my name.”
“You didn’t order it.”
“I created a structure where men like Lorenzo could hide behind loyalty and where people were too afraid to question orders.”
I had no answer.
He looked toward the hospital window.
“I spent years believing control was the same thing as responsibility.”
“And now?”
“Now I know control can hide responsibility.”
That stayed with me.
The investigation lasted months.
Lorenzo’s operation unraveled piece by piece.
The master ledger connected shell companies, corrupt supervisors, warehouses, and transportation routes across three states.
Dozens of trafficking victims were identified and rescued.
Several Marquetti employees were arrested.
So were customs officials and contractors.
Vittorio kept his promise.
He cooperated.
Fully.
That meant exposing himself too.
His attorneys negotiated for months.
Some of the businesses survived.
Others were seized.
Vittorio accepted responsibility for financial and regulatory offenses tied to operations he had controlled, while prosecutors distinguished those crimes from Lorenzo’s trafficking network.
Matteo became a protected witness.
And for the first time since our parents died, my brother stopped looking over his shoulder.
But one question remained.
What would happen to Vittorio?
The answer came on a cold February morning.
He called me.
“Elena.”
“Hi.”
“I have court today.”
“I know.”
Silence.
“Are you afraid?” I asked.
Another silence.
“Yes.”
It was the first time I had heard him admit it.
“I’ll be there.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I know.”
“Elena—”
“I said I’ll be there.”
A quiet breath.
“You remain remarkably difficult.”
I smiled.
“See you at court.”