Z

Her name was Sofia Moretti.

Not his wife.

Not his girlfriend.

His sister.

That should have made the message less threatening.

It didn’t.

Because Luca had never mentioned having one.

We stood in my kitchen after midnight.

The city glittered beyond the windows.

I held Grant’s message.

“Who is Sofia?”

Luca didn’t answer quickly enough.

“Your sister?”

“Yes.”

“Alive?”

“No.”

The anger in me softened, but didn’t disappear.

“What happened?”

“She was nineteen.”

He sat down.

I had never seen Luca look young.

Not physically.

Emotionally.

For a second, he looked like someone who had spent decades carrying one night.

“She was studying at Northwestern.”

“How did she die?”

“Overdose.”

“I’m sorry.”

He nodded.

“Why would Grant tell me to ask?”

“Because it wasn’t accidental.”

I waited.

“Sofia started dating a man named Eric Mason.”

“Who was he?”

“A low-level dealer working for one of Raymond’s clubs.”

My stomach tightened.

“She knew?”

“Not at first.”

“And?”

“She discovered he was laundering money through student organizations.”

“What did she do?”

“Threatened to go to police.”

I closed my eyes.

The Moretti family had its own Caroline.

“What happened?”

“Eric gave her pills at a party. Stronger than she knew.”

“Did Raymond order it?”

“We believed so.”

“But?”

“Grant contacted me after.”

“As David Shaw.”

“Yes.”

“What did he say?”

“That my sister’s death was an accident and Raymond had nothing to do with it.”

“Did you believe him?”

“No.”

“Then why hide Sofia from me?”

Luca stood.

“Because everything in my life becomes ammunition eventually.”

“That isn’t an answer.”

“Yes, it is.”

“No.”

My voice sharpened.

“You’ve spent a year telling me you understand what honesty means.”

“I do.”

“Then why do I keep finding rooms in your life you’ve locked?”

His jaw tightened.

“I never lied about having a sister.”

“You never mentioned her.”

“I don’t talk about her.”

“To anyone?”

“No.”

“That’s not the same as lying.”

“No.”

He was right.

Technically.

I hated technical truth when feelings were involved.

“What does Grant know that I don’t?”

“Probably a lot.”

“That’s exactly the problem.”

Luca looked at me.

“What are you asking?”

I almost said everything.

Tell me everything.

Every crime.

Every secret.

Every woman.

Every body.

Then I realized how impossible that was.

People weren’t evidence files.

“I’m asking whether there is anything about Grant that directly affects me and you haven’t told me.”

Luca thought.

“Yes.”

My heart dropped.

“What?”

“Seven years ago, Grant offered to make the investigation into Marco’s death disappear.”

“I know he tried to manipulate you.”

“No. Later.”

“What did he want?”

Luca’s face went cold.

“He wanted me to kill Damian.”

I stared at him.

“Did you?”

“Obviously not.”

“Did you try?”

Silence.

“Luca.”

“Yes.”

My stomach twisted.

“How close?”

“I had a rifle aimed at Damian for eleven minutes.”

“And?”

“I didn’t shoot.”

“Why?”

“Sofia.”

I frowned.

“She had been dead years.”

“Yes.”

He looked down.

“She hated what our family was.”

That surprised me.

“She wanted out?”

“She wanted all of us out.”

Luca smiled faintly.

“She used to tell me I was arrogant enough to believe violence solved problems just because I was good at violence.”

“I like her.”

“So did I.”

“What stopped you?”

“I heard her voice in my head.”

That silence between us was different now.

Not romantic.

Not easy.

Real.

“I’m meeting Grant,” I said.

“No.”

He immediately closed his eyes.

“Recommendation?”

“Strong recommendation.”

“I have to.”

“He’s baiting you.”

“I know.”

“He’ll use your mother.”

“I know.”

“He may kill you.”

“I know.”

“Then why?”

“Because everyone keeps trying to protect me from information.”

“That’s not what I’m doing.”

“Isn’t it?”

He flinched.

I continued.

“My father protected me from his crimes. Matteo protected you from the truth. Grant protected everyone from evidence. Damian protected me from ‘unpleasant things.’”

“That isn’t fair.”

“No.”

I stepped closer.

“But I’m going anyway.”

Luca looked furious.

Then afraid.

I had seen Luca angry dozens of times.

Fear was rarer.

“What do you need from me?” he asked.

That was why I still trusted him.

Not completely.

But enough.

“A tracker.”

“Yes.”

“Security outside the building.”

“Yes.”

“No one enters unless I call.”

His jaw clenched.

“How long?”

“Twenty minutes.”

“Ten.”

“Fifteen.”

“Twelve.”

I stared.

“Are you negotiating hostage protocol?”

“I’m trying not to lock you in your apartment.”

Despite myself, I smiled.

“Fifteen.”

He exhaled.

“Fine.”

The address Grant sent belonged to an abandoned television studio on the South Side.

At 11:58 p.m., I entered alone.

Cameras hung from the ceiling.

One light illuminated a chair.

A television monitor flickered on.

Nathaniel Grant appeared.

Not physically.

Live video.

Coward.

“Ms. Bennett.”

“You said come alone.”

“You did.”

“You didn’t.”

He smiled.

“Age teaches efficiency.”

“Where’s my mother’s recording?”

“First, conversation.”

“No.”

I turned.

“Wait.”

I stopped.

The screen changed.

My mother appeared.

Older footage.

She stood inside a parking garage.

Date stamp.

The night she died.

My heart stopped.

A man entered frame.

Nathaniel Grant.

Young.

Thirty-something.

He approached her.

No audio.

Then another figure appeared.

Antonio Moretti.

Luca’s father.

The three argued.

Grant reached toward my mother.

Antonio stepped between them.

Then the video ended.

I stared.

“What happened next?”

Grant returned to the screen.

“Caroline became emotional.”

I laughed bitterly.

“Men always say women become emotional right before men do something terrible.”

His smile faded.

“She accused me of protecting Raymond.”

“Were you?”

“Yes.”

The admission surprised me.

“Why?”

“Because Raymond gave me murderers.”

“He was one.”

“He gave me worse men.”

“You’re describing corruption as strategy.”

“I’m describing Chicago.”

“No. You’re describing yourself.”

Grant leaned closer to the camera.

“Your mother didn’t understand compromise.”

“My mother understood it. She just knew there were lines.”

“Lines are luxuries.”

“That’s what cowards say when they want to cross them.”

For the first time, anger flashed across his face.

Good.

“Caroline threatened to expose me.”

“And you let Raymond kill her.”

“I did not.”

“Then who?”

“Victor.”

I shook my head.

“My father gave the route. Raymond ordered the sabotage.”

“Victor did more.”

“What?”

Grant smiled without warmth.

“He changed Caroline’s meeting time.”

I froze.

“What?”

“She was supposed to meet Antonio at eight.”

My mother crashed at 7:42.

“He moved it to seven-thirty.”

“Why?”

“So Raymond would know exactly when she’d arrive.”

My knees weakened.

“Why would he do that if he thought they were only frightening her?”

Grant’s silence told me everything.

Victor lied.

Again.

“He knew,” I whispered.

Grant nodded.

“He knew.”

I wanted to vomit.

“Where’s the proof?”

“On the recording.”

“What recording?”

Grant’s face became almost kind.

“The one Damian has.”

I stared at him.

“Damian?”

“Your almost-husband kept certain insurance policies from his father.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“Damian never trusted Raymond.”

“Where is the recording?”

Grant smiled.

“That’s why you’re going to help me get Damian released.”

I laughed.

“No.”

“You will.”

“No.”

The studio lights suddenly shut off.

Complete darkness.

My phone buzzed.

One message from Luca.

GET DOWN.

I dropped.

Gunfire ripped through the wall.

Glass shattered.

Then Luca’s voice thundered from somewhere in the darkness.

“ISABELLA!”

So much for fifteen minutes.