Page 32 of Beautiful Evidence

"Greco reopened an old Palermo file. She’s got Gordo linked to three confirmed syndicate murders and possibly a fourth. Alessia is named as a material witness because she processed the evidence on one of those cases. That’s all they need to start squeezing her." Red flags wave right in front of Emilio's face as his eyes grow darker.

"So you’re confirming that she’s a liability," Emilio says.

"No. I’m confirming that she’s key. The case isn’t solid until she testifies. Right now, she’s still on the fence. You press her too hard, you force her hand."

He straightens, voice dropping an octave. "And you think the solution is what? Romance her into silence? Make her fall in line?" The dark laughter that erupts from his chest enrages me.

I grit my teeth. "I think the solution is giving her the truth and letting her see what’s at stake. She knows the system and she knows how to erase the evidence. She's not a liability. She's an asset."

Emilio steps forward and the men back away. "We don’t make decisions based on who you’re fucking. You had your chance to put her in check, and now we do it my way."

"She’s not a pawn," I growl.

"She’s not special."

That’s the end of it. I look at him—really look—and see the line drawn clear. Alessia’s life on one side, the family on the other. He thinks this is the only solution and I'll never get through to him.

I turn and leave. The hallway blurs at the edges as I storm past Arturo, who moves to say something but thinks better of it. My pulse is a hammer in my throat.

Because now I know exactly what I’m up against. And I have to choose—follow my orders or protect her and take whatever comes next on my own.

19

ALESSIA

Morning light hits the countertop and glints off the subpoena beside my coffee mug. I read it yesterday and this morning, it’s still there staring at me. The gold seal reflects a thin line of glare from the window. My name is printed in bold letters. The wording is plain and direct. I’ve been ordered to testify. My stomach tightens as I think through what that means, and I sip the coffee even though it’s cold.

Chiara drops a spoon into the sink with a sharp clatter. She turns around, arms crossed, and leans on the counter behind her. In her scrubs she looks far more professional than her usual self, but the concern on her face is the same. She watches me with the kind of patience that has limits.

"You going to tell me what’s going on now, or do I have to guess?" she asks as she taps her foot on the tile. The tip of her sneaker bobs and I return my gaze to the subpoena.

I set the mug down and lean into the counter. "It’s work-related. A case I handled a few weeks back. Something’s come up." My hand floats upward to rest on my neck, and I rub it unconsciously until I realize it makes me look nervous.

"Clearly," she says. "You look like you’ve seen a ghost."

I let out a slow breath. "It’s tied to a 416-bis investigation involving organized crime. The review team flagged one of my reports, and now they think I either made a serious error or missed something important." The lies stream out of my mouth without restraint. It's not like I can outright tell her I'm hiding evidence or delaying a case because if I do, she's complicit and she could be forced to testify against me.

Chiara straightens. "Are they saying it’s your fault?" The heels of her hands push against the counter behind her as her eyes flick to the notice and back to meet my gaze.

"No one’s said that directly," I say, "but that's the implication. They’re reviewing everything. I’ve been subpoenaed to testify. They want to know what I saw, what I missed, how I handled the report."

"But you didn’t do anything wrong, right?" she asks. Her eyebrows dip in the middle as she shows how much she doubts my ability to be ethical. It sours my mood, but she has every right to doubt me and be suspicious. I'm doing exactly what they think I'm doing.

I hesitate. "I did my job. I followed procedure. But this is politics now. And if they think I’m covering for anyone, it could spiral." A knot forms in my throat and I start to feel a chill rising in my body.

Chiara drops into a chair. "So, what are you going to do?" She leans, adjusting the laces on her sneaker before reaching for her messenger bag. I know she has to get to work soon, and so should I. But the company this morning was a welcome change.

"I don’t know yet," I say. "I can’t ignore it. That would make it worse. It doesn't even matter if I quit, at this point. I still have to go testify. I'm sure it will be fine."

"You sure? Because it sounds like you’re standing in quicksand." Chiara rises and slings her bag over her shoulder with a look of compassion. I'm sure if she could rescue me from this, she would.

"I am," I admit. "But if I run, I make their case for them. I have to face it."

She runs a hand through her hair, her expression tightening. "This sounds serious, Lessi. Like… life-changing serious."

"It could be," I say. "But I’ll figure something out. I always do." My nonchalant shrug doesn't convince her and she narrows her eyes at me.

Chiara doesn’t look convinced, but she nods. "You should get a lawyer. One with experience in this kind of mess."

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