Page 17 of Beautiful Evidence

My jaw tightens. "So someone moved him without permission, questioned him off-book, and now he’s dead." I let the words settle, watching his reaction more than listening for a reply.

He nods. "And you're asking the wrong questions if you’re only looking at the body." He backs away a step, already trying to disappear into the alley. "You gotta check all the Costa safehouses, man."

I toss more cigarette ash at him, crush it, then walk away, and he doesn’t follow. Smart. The last thing I need right now is to have to clean up my own crime scene. If he thinks checking Emilio's safehouses is the way to get more answers, he knows more than he's letting on—or the people who sent him with intel know more.

I slide into the car, kill the rest of the cigarette in the ashtray, and pull into traffic. The informant’s words echo as I head toward Emilio’s office, engine humming. I don’t know what I expect to hear when I tell him, but I know he won’t like knowing Gordo had the balls to interrogate Vescari and beat him, then move him and murder him. One cleanup location is bad enough, but two means more work. If we can even find it.

Emilio’s pacing. That’s how I know he’s not in the mood to hear anything I have to say, but I say it anyway because he pays me to get to the bottom of things. When I walk in, he stops and stares up at me. His white suit is crumpled from being worn all day, and his eyes have sleep circles under them.

"He was held somewhere else before he died. Drugged, maybe, but it wasn't his family." I speak evenly, watching Emilio’s every move as I deliver the news.

He stops pacing and turns. "Who did it?" He stops in his tracks and stares at me like I might pull a name out of my pocket like a fucking rabbit, but I don't have all the answers yet. He's on edge, and I understand why. He's trying to prove it was his brother to ease his mind as to why Gordo vanished, and he needs to protecthimself in the event that the authorities piece together enough evidence.

"The informant didn’t know, but he’s sure it wasn’t someone in our ranks fucking up. And it wasn’t the Bianchis." I cross my arms and lean against the wall, letting him stew on it. "It's Gordo, man. You have to let me work this the right way, Boss. If thepoliziaget their hands on a bad report, it'll lead to a 416-bis. You know if that happens, we all go under. No hired hand in the entire country will be able to dissolve that much evidence."

Emilio mutters something under his breath then grumbles, "Luca Bernardi. That little shit’s too close to this. We act now." Emilio slams his palm on the desk, rattling a half-empty glass of grappa.

"We can’t," I say, holding his gaze and refusing to flinch. "Not yet." I keep my tone calm, steady. Someone has to be. I'm shaking my head at him because he's too impulsive. This is why his son needs to take over already. Someone has to rein in his impulsivity.

"The 416-bis case is gaining ground. We don’t have time to wait." He starts pacing again, one hand gripping the back of his neck. I can see the way his eyes bulge and know he's angry and losing touch on reality.

"And if we kill him now, we hand Greco a martyr," I counter, stepping into his path to make him stop moving and listen. "We hold any more activity until we see the Bianchi response. I've got it under control, Boss. Let me deal with Alessia." I let the name hang there, watching the effect it has on him.

"You can't let this go to trial. I know she's my niece, but if killing her is the only way to keep things silent?—"

"No," I say firmly. "If we kill her, they will double down. They'll look into her death and see she's connected, and it gives them more proof. We wait and pressure her to do the right thing for us."

"And if she doesn't?" he asks, narrowing his eyes. I can see the fury behind them, but he is leaning into my logic at this point.

"She will."

After another twenty minutes of convincing him to trust me, I duck out. The heat has been turned up to roughly the temperature of the sun, and with Bernardi and Greco pushing to open their 416-bis investigation, I need to apply more of this pressure to Alessia, so that's where I go. Her lab this late is a long shot, but my guys outside her apartment say she's not come home yet.

Alessia looks up the moment I walk into the lab. Her eyes are dark with irritation—or maybe it’s nerves. She doesn’t ask why I’m here, but she doesn't act surprised to see me. She sets down her pen and looks up at me as I walk closer.

"Have you heard whether Bernardi is setting up a task force?" I keep my voice low, watching the twitch in her fingers. I wish it were as easy as explaining to her what it would mean if she doesn't falsify that report before it's too late, but just because someone is born to the family doesn't make them loyal. She works for enemy number one, and that makes her a liability.

"No," she says, her eyes flicking away from mine too quickly. Her response is flat and immediate, a little too fast to be convincing. She picks up the pen again and pretends to jot a note, which betrays her sense of anxiety. Rubbing the bridge of my nose, Ithink about how this will play out when she realizes she’ll either protect us or they will kill her.

I watch her for a moment. "They’ll open one soon, and things will move faster then. We can't afford noise, Alessia." Stepping closer to her, I notice her tension, the way her shoulders are tight. She's trapped in this mess by no fault of her own, and I know all she probably wants is for this to go away.

"Thanks for the update," she says, tossing her pen onto the desk. "I’ll alert the press." Her sarcasm barely covers the tension in her voice.

"Don’t do that," I say evenly, stepping closer so she can feel the warning in my tone. "Don't get hostile with me. I'm here to help you. I am trying to protect you." While that's only a partial truth, I mean it more today than I did over a week ago when I first told her. Fucking a woman changes the way you look at her, and there's nothing you can do to change that.

She stiffens but doesn’t look up. "If you’re here to intimidate me, try harder. I’m not scared of you." She turns her chair slightly, probably to avoid looking at me, but I notice how afraid she looks. I want to reach out and rub her shoulders, loosen some of that tension.

"I’m not here to scare you, Bella." I shake my head once, then take a step closer. "I’m here to tell you the only thing keeping you out of the crosshairs right now is your last name—and even that’s starting to wear thin." I cross the space between us to stand behind her. She smells like a strange mix of perfume and chemicals. I brush the hair over her shoulder and let my hand linger as my knuckles brush over her cheek.

That gets her attention. Her head turns slightly as if she is looking down at my shoes and back at me. "So this is about my father." Her voice is flat, but I can see more tension climbing into her shoulders.

"Emilio knows he killed Matteo. No one’s pretending otherwise." I don’t sugarcoat it, and I don’t blink.

She exhales through her nose, sharp and angry. "Then why am I still here? Why haven’t you dragged me into the street yet? I have the proof. I ran the test. I know how this goes." Her voice quavers, but she grits her teeth firmly.

"Because I told them not to." I watch her face as I say it, not knowing how it will affect her. I let the words land. "But I can’t protect you if you say the wrong thing to the wrong person. Greco wants a headline. You give it to her, and you’re done. Emilio… He doesn't want…" I keep my voice low, like I’m already mourning what comes next if she fucks this up.

"You’re trying to manipulate me." She pushes back from the desk, eyes locked on mine with sharp defiance as she finally turns to face me.

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