Gerald's answer came in pieces.

"A sit-down," he said.

"Scheduled for tonight.

Ten o'clock.

The Ferraro side requested it through back channels two weeks ago.

Seven families were invited."

"Invited to what."

"To review the evidence.

To vote on whether the Carbone seat should be held in review pending an investigation."

Valentina didn't move.

"A vote."

"Renata framed it as a financial audit.

A procedural matter.

Nothing hostile." Gerald looked at the table.

"But the drives were supposed to be there.

As proof."

"Proof of transfers I didn't make."

"We don't know what's actually on them," Evelyn said.

"We were told—"

"You were used," Valentina said.

"Both of you.

Renata handed you a story, pointed you at my daughter, and walked out of my garden twenty minutes before any of it landed." She looked at the drives.

"The documents on these drives are fabricated.

I know every transfer the Carbone accounts have made in the last four years because I authorized every one of them personally." She looked up.

"Which means Renata didn't need real records.

She needed drives that would be presented as real records, in a room full of men who were already primed to believe them."

The silence that followed was the kind that meant both people in front of her were recalculating how badly they had misjudged the situation.

"Where is the sit-down being held?" Valentina said.

Gerald gave her the address.

She recognized it.

A private dining room above a restaurant in the old quarter, owned by a man named Savio who had served both the Carbone and Ferraro families for twenty years without visible allegiance to either.

Neutral ground, technically.

Except that Renata had chosen it, which meant it wasn't neutral at all.

"Who is chairing the meeting?" Valentina said.

"Renata."

"And the seven families — do they know the evidence hasn't arrived yet?"

"The collection was supposed to happen quietly.

If no one flagged it, they wouldn't know until Renata presented the drives at the table."

Valentina picked up one of the drives.

"So right now, Renata is waiting for a delivery that isn't coming.

And in—" she checked the time— "four hours and forty minutes, she is going to walk into a room with seven families and no evidence."

Gerald nodded slowly.

"Good," Valentina said.

She turned to the door and called for Marco.

He appeared within seconds.

"Boss."

"Gerald and Evelyn stay in this room.

Comfortable.

Fed.

No phones." She looked back at them.

"You cooperated.

I won't forget that.

But I need the next five hours without either of you making contact with anyone."

Evelyn opened her mouth.

"It's not a request," Valentina said.

She walked out.

In the corridor, she found Dante waiting with a tablet.

He turned it toward her without speaking.

A map.

A moving marker.

Renata's car, tracked from the moment it left the estate.

"She went home first," Dante said.

"Stayed forty minutes.

Then drove to the restaurant.

She's been there for the last hour."

"Alone?"

"Two men with her.

And Savio let her in through the back."

Valentina handed the drives to Dante.

"Get these to your man.

I need to know what's actually on them before eight o'clock."

"And if it's fabricated?"

"Then I need to know exactly how good the fabrication is.

Because I'm going to that meeting tonight." She straightened her jacket.

"And I'm bringing the originals."

Dante's expression didn't change, but something behind his eyes did.

"You're going to walk into a room where seven families have been told you're a thief," he said.

"Yes."

"With the drives Renata sent to destroy you."

"Yes."

He looked at her for a moment.

"I'll have the analysis by seven-thirty."

"Six-thirty," she said, and walked toward the stairs.

Behind her, the garden was being quietly cleared.

The broken lattice.

The overturned cabinet.

The white roses, still untouched, still standing in their vase at the center of the table.

Lily was upstairs now, napping, unaware that her thirst had just handed her mother the only weapon that mattered — the drives themselves, still sealed, still undelivered, and now pointing in exactly the wrong direction for Renata Ferraro.