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Senator Nathaniel Grant had spent twenty-three years building a reputation as the man who cleaned up corruption.

That was the cruelest part.

His biography sounded heroic.

Former federal prosecutor.

Organized crime task force.

Anti-corruption crusader.

Three terms in the Senate.

Rumored candidate for Attorney General.

His real name had never been Charles Mercer.

That identity had been used only during a six-year period when he supposedly handled confidential informants in Chicago.

According to Matteo, Grant had done something else.

Protected Raymond Vale.

“He buried investigations,” Matteo said.

We were sitting in the old shelter basement surrounded by my mother’s files.

“Why?”

“Raymond gave him information about competitors.”

“So Grant prosecuted whichever criminals Raymond wanted removed.”

“Yes.”

“And ignored Raymond’s crimes.”

“When convenient.”

Luca stared at the photograph.

“My father knew?”

“Yes.”

“That’s why he was meeting Caroline.”

Matteo nodded.

“Antonio realized Grant was protecting the Vale organization.”

I felt cold.

“My mother was going to expose a senator.”

“He wasn’t a senator then.”

“No. But he became one because she died.”

Nobody said anything.

The next morning, federal prosecutor Rachel Kim came to my apartment.

She listened.

Then listened again.

Then told me something I already expected.

A photograph wasn’t enough.

Old notebooks weren’t enough.

Matteo’s testimony would help, but defense attorneys could destroy him as a lifelong member of an organized crime family.

“We need records,” Rachel said.

“Mom kept records.”

“Then find them.”

“We found six tapes.”

“What’s on them?”

“Mostly conversations.”

“With Grant?”

“Possibly.”

Rachel leaned forward.

“Do not play them yourselves.”

Luca looked offended.

She pointed at him.

“Especially you.”

He leaned back.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Your reputation said enough.”

I almost laughed.

Then Rachel’s phone rang.

She stepped into the hallway.

Luca looked at me.

“You like her.”

“I do.”

“She insulted me.”

“That’s part of why.”

Rachel returned looking grim.

“Damian’s moving for release.”

“What?”

“His attorneys claim Samuel Pierce’s murder proves another criminal group is responsible for the conspiracy he’s charged with.”

“That makes no sense.”

“It doesn’t have to make sense. It has to create doubt.”

“Will he get out?”

“Probably not.”

Probably.

A word I had learned to hate.

Two hours later, Luca received his own problem.

A Moretti warehouse had been raided.

Then a restaurant.

Then his corporate offices.

Federal warrants.

Different task force.

Different prosecutor.

“Grant,” I said.

Luca stared at the warrant.

“Maybe.”

“No. Definitely.”

He looked at me.

“You don’t know that.”

“He survived thirty years by making other people look guilty.”

“That’s not proof.”

I hated that he was right.

Which was inconvenient.

“What happens now?”

“I cooperate.”

That surprised me.

“You’re serious?”

“Yes.”

“You have illegal businesses.”

“Less than I used to.”

“Comforting.”

He shrugged.

“Growth.”

The raids lasted all day.

By evening, cable news had connected the Moretti searches to Damian’s trial.

Exactly what Grant wanted.

Two criminal families.

One runaway bride.

A dead witness.

Competing accusations.

Chaos.

Truth became harder to see when enough people were shouting.

At nine, I received another envelope.

This one had been slipped beneath my apartment door.

My security team had seen no courier.

Inside was a single photograph.

Me and Luca leaving the foundation clinic.

Taken from across the street.

On the back:

ASK YOUR BOYFRIEND WHERE HE WAS ON MAY 14, 2013.

I stared at it.

Luca stood behind me.

“You’re not going to like my answer.”

I turned.

“You know the date.”

“Yes.”

“Where were you?”

“Meeting Nathaniel Grant.”

Everything inside me stopped.

“You knew him?”

“Not by that name.”

“Charles Mercer?”

“No.”

“Then what name?”

“David Shaw.”

Of course.

Another identity.

“What did he want?”

“He claimed to be a private intermediary.”

“For?”

“Damian.”

My anger began rising.

“You never told me.”

“I didn’t know Shaw was Grant until ten minutes ago.”

“But you met him.”

“Yes.”

“What happened?”

“He offered me a deal.”

“What deal?”

Luca looked toward the windows.

“Damian would surrender control of two casinos if I stopped investigating my brother’s murder.”

“And?”

“I refused.”

“That’s it?”

“No.”

Of course not.

“What else?”

“Shaw told me my father had authorized the bombing.”

I stared at him.

“You believed him?”

“For six years.”

Before Matteo gave him other evidence.

Before my mother’s files.

“So Grant spent years making you blame your own father.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“To keep me away from Raymond.”

The architecture of it was horrifying.

Grant didn’t simply bury evidence.

He manufactured stories.

He directed rage.

Luca toward Antonio.

Damian toward Moretti.

Victor toward anyone who threatened him.

Everyone fighting everyone except the man above them.

“This is what my mother meant,” I whispered.

“The fourth man owns them all.”

My phone rang.

Unknown number.

Luca’s eyes met mine.

I answered.

“Isabella Bennett?”

“Yes.”

The voice was cultured.

Older.

Calm.

“I believe you have something that belongs to me.”

I already knew.

“Senator Grant.”

A pause.

Then soft laughter.

“Your mother had the same instinct.”

Luca took out his phone to trace the call.

Grant continued.

“I would advise you not to involve federal prosecutors.”

“Bit late.”

“Rachel Kim is ambitious.”

“I like her more already.”

“You’re very much Caroline’s daughter.”

“Is that supposed to frighten me?”

“It should.”

Luca’s face hardened.

“Where are you?”

Grant laughed again.

“Mr. Moretti. I wondered how long before you joined us.”

I stared at the phone.

He knew Luca was there.

Which meant someone was watching.

Again.

I walked toward the curtains.

Luca caught my wrist.

I looked at his hand.

He immediately released me.

Grant continued.

“I’d like the tapes.”

“No.”

“In exchange, I can make Damian’s case disappear.”

“I want him prosecuted.”

“I can make Victor’s charges disappear.”

“My father can answer for himself.”

“I can make Moretti’s investigation disappear.”

I looked at Luca.

“No.”

This time Grant’s voice changed slightly.

“You think loyalty is admirable.”

“No.”

“What do you think is admirable?”

“Choice.”

A long pause.

Then:

“Your mother said something similar.”

“Before you helped Raymond kill her?”

Silence.

Good.

I pushed.

“Did you?”

Grant’s response was quiet.

“I didn’t order Caroline’s death.”

“Did you know?”

Nothing.

“Did you know, Senator?”

He ended the call.

Luca looked at me.

“You got to him.”

“Not enough.”

My phone buzzed.

A text.

One address.

One time.

Tomorrow.

MIDNIGHT.

COME ALONE IF YOU WANT THE ORIGINAL RECORDING OF YOUR MOTHER’S FINAL MEETING.

Below it:

ASK LUCA WHY HE NEVER TOLD YOU ABOUT SOFIA.