THE MAFIA BOSS DISCOVERED HIS FIANCÉE HAD SECRETLY INVITED ONE OF HIS MOST DANGEROUS ENEMIES TO THEIR ENGAGEMENT DINNER, BUT THE REASON WAS FAR MORE SHOCKING THAN HE EXPECTED.

Serena appeared in court the following morning without makeup.

I wasn't inside the courtroom, but the television in Claire Bennett's office showed her walking between reporters, her blonde hair tied back and her shoulders bowed beneath a plain gray coat. People shouted about the engagement, the assault, and the photograph of Matteo. She kept her head down. It was the posture she'd once ordered me to adopt.

The irony wasn't satisfying. It was only sad.

Shaw later explained that Serena had made a recorded statement with her attorney present, admitting she altered the mansion's guest list, authorized false entries, and assaulted me in the guest room. She disputed knowing that the tampered catering equipment might have endangered guests. Whether investigators accepted that claim would depend on other evidence.

“Will she go to prison?” I asked.

“That's not something I can promise,” Shaw said. “There are charges, evidence, negotiations, and a court. But you're entitled to know what's happening with your case.”

I'd spent years thinking justice was a man in a suit deciding whether to be kind. Hearing Shaw describe a process that didn't depend entirely on Enzo's approval made me feel steadier.

Claire gave me another piece of information. The recovered notebook from my father's shop contained a reference to North Star, the phrase Matteo had mentioned to Serena. It appeared beside a wire transfer to an audio archive company.

“An archive company?” I asked. “Why would somebody involved in this keep recordings?”

“Leverage,” Claire answered. “Sometimes people document crimes because they expect their partners to betray them.”

There was an old saying my father liked: Never trust a man who insists on keeping every receipt but cannot explain the bill. Dominic, it appeared, had kept an extraordinary number of receipts.

By lunchtime, detectives had located a former bookkeeper from BridgeLine Holdings. Her name was Gloria Park. She had once worked for Dominic and resigned after noticing irregular transactions. With legal assistance, she had preserved copies of correspondence concerning North Star. The messages referred to a storage account used for conversations with the Bellomo organization.

The actual files were encrypted, and investigators were working through lawful channels to access them. I wasn't told how. I was simply told there was a recording whose title included Matteo's initials and the date of the bombing.

Enzo arrived halfway through the discussion. He carried an untouched coffee and a photograph of Matteo folded carefully into his wallet. His first question was about the warehouse.

“Do they have enough to enter?”

“They're working with the appropriate agencies,” Claire said. “You'll be told when there is an update.”

“And if Dominic moves him again?”

“Then we keep following the evidence. Going in alone would put your brother in danger.”

Enzo paced to the window. Below us, buses stopped beside a line of people holding umbrellas. He pressed his palm against the glass.

“I used to think controlling everything meant keeping people safe,” he said quietly. “Now all I can do is wait.”

“It's not all you can do,” I told him. “You can be here when he comes back.”

He turned. “You make it sound simple.”

“It's not. That's why it matters.”

At two, Shaw received a call and stepped into the hall. When she returned, her face had tightened.

“Peter Bellomo left his attorney's office an hour ago. We have reason to believe he's heading toward the warehouse district.”

Enzo straightened.

“We're notifying the team there,” she continued. “Nobody in this room is going anywhere near that property.”

I watched Enzo struggle with the instruction. Then he sat down. His fingers shook against the paper coffee cup.

A second call arrived less than twenty minutes later. This one came from Serena's lawyer. Serena wanted to provide information immediately; she'd remembered something she feared might become dangerous that afternoon. Shaw set up a secure interview. Claire and Enzo listened from a separate room with permission, while I stayed beside the office television screen where the interview appeared.

Serena looked directly at the camera.

“I need to tell you what I know about the toast,” she said.

Shaw waited.

“Costa told me there would be an interruption. Something loud enough to create panic. He said Enzo would sign the contracts while security was confused and then we'd leave. I didn't ask what he meant.”

“Did you know someone had tampered with the catering equipment?”

“No. I swear I didn't know that.”

“Who arranged the catering employee's false identification?”

“Dominic. He gave me the name and said to make sure the man got through.”

“Why agree to any of this?”

Serena wiped her eyes. “I wanted to marry Enzo. I wanted his position, his name, the life I imagined. My father was borrowing money he couldn't repay, and Dominic said an agreement would save us. Then I found Matteo at the clinic.”

“How?”

“Dominic asked me to deliver an envelope. I walked into a room and saw someone who looked like Enzo. Matteo told me who he was. He begged me to call his brother.”

“Did you?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because Dominic said if Matteo came home, the entire agreement would collapse. He said Enzo would learn what I'd signed. I told myself I'd get Matteo out later.”

“Did you ever try?”

“Once. I asked Costa to let me arrange a transfer. He laughed. Matteo heard us arguing. That's why he stopped trusting me.”

Shaw leaned forward. “You have described several moments when you could have asked for help. Why didn't you?”

Serena stared at the table. “Because I was afraid of losing everything. And because I thought I deserved the things I was protecting.”

The answer landed without an excuse attached. For the first time, I understood her motives without feeling any softer toward her decisions.

“Where is the recording called North Star?” Shaw asked.

Serena shook her head. “Dominic copied it to something he kept on his person. He called it his insurance policy.”

“What kind of device?”

“A small silver case, shaped like a pillbox. He kept it in his coat.”

I touched the scar on my cheek. Another silver case. Another object I'd seen but hadn't understood.

“Can you describe it?” Shaw asked.

“There's a compass engraved inside the lid.”

Enzo lifted his head sharply. I knew why. A compass was stamped on Matteo's old notebook. Their mother had given the boys matching compasses when they were children.

“Dominic used Matteo's symbol,” he said. “He knew I'd recognize it if I ever found the files.”

A cold thought occurred to me.

“What if the recording isn't only insurance against Costa?” I asked. “What if Matteo made part of it?”

Claire considered the idea. “It's possible. The file name suggests a connection, but we need the contents.”

Shaw ended Serena's interview by asking about the warehouse. Serena described a side room where Matteo had been kept during a prior transfer, and the medical equipment that traveled with him. She said Dr. Rourke had warned her Matteo could suffer severe complications without regular treatment. That made his safety even more urgent.

The afternoon stretched into evening. Enzo walked around the office, sat down, stood again, and finally called his aunt in Milwaukee to tell her there was hope Matteo was alive. I heard him say, “No, don't come yet. I'll call when I know he's safe.” He sounded like a son asking permission to be scared.

At six, Shaw's phone rang. She listened, nodding once. Then she looked at Enzo.

“Investigators have made contact with someone inside the warehouse,” she said. “They believe there's a patient matching Matteo's description.”

Enzo stood so fast his chair tipped backward.

“Is he safe?”

“They're working to bring him out. I need you to let them do their jobs.”

He clenched his hands. “Tell them to be careful with his right arm. He has nerve damage.”

Shaw relayed the information immediately.

Then her phone buzzed again. She read a message, and I saw the concern move across her face.

“Dominic has arrived at the property,” she said.

Enzo's expression went blank.

“They're trying to prevent anyone from leaving,” Shaw added. “We're waiting on a status report.”

For the next several minutes, nobody spoke. Rain streaked the windows, blurring the city lights into pale lines. I stood beside Enzo, close enough to offer company without pretending I could protect him from what might come.

He whispered, “If Dominic has hurt him—”

“Then the people responsible need to answer for it,” I said. “But Matteo needs you thinking clearly.”

Enzo nodded once. It was all he could manage.

At 6:43, the phone rang again.

Shaw answered, listened, and closed her eyes in unmistakable relief.

“They've located Matteo,” she said.

Enzo gripped the edge of the desk.

“He's alive. Medical personnel are with him.”

The next sentence changed the shape of our relief.

“He's asking for you.”

I looked at Enzo, expecting him to race for the door. Instead, he stood completely still. Later he told me that the words had frightened him almost as much as the photographs. Wanting his brother back had filled every waking moment; actually being allowed to see him meant he would have to face the damage done during the years they were apart.

“Go,” I said softly. “You can be frightened on the way.”