Page 6 of The Assassin's Captive
When she finishes lunch and returns to the courthouse, I make a decision. I follow Tessari instead of Serena, staying three cars behind as he drives through the afternoon traffic. He doesn't go far—just to a parking garage in EUR where he meets with a thin man in an expensive suit.
They talk for five minutes, the thin man gesturing emphatically while Tessari nods and takes notes. Then the thin man hands him an envelope and walks away—probably his payment or instructions.
I memorize the thin man's face and license plate, then follow Tessari back toward the city center. He parks outside Serena's apartment building and settles in for what looks like a long surveillance session, and I get out my tablet and do my own research. After an hour, I begin connecting the dots and connecting Tessari back to a family that rivals the Costas in every way.
The pieces click into place. Someone connected to the Bianchi trial is having Serena surveilled, probably trying to determine how much evidence she's gathered, who her witnesses are, what her strategy might be.
This isn't about information anymore. This is about intimidation, about finding leverage that can be used to derail her prosecution. And I have to get to her first before they follow through, because I know that envelope holds orders to either abduct her and extract information—much like my orders—or Tessari is supposed to kill her.
I stare at Tessari's sedan. Two hours until dark—plenty of time to make my own plans.
4
SERENA
The courtroom holds its breath as I deliver my final words to the jury. Three weeks of testimony, evidence, and legal maneuvering have led to this moment—the last chance to convince twelve strangers that Marco Antonelli murdered his business partner in cold blood.
"The defense wants you to believe this was a crime of passion," I say, my voice carrying across the packed courtroom. "That Marco Antonelli acted in a moment of rage, that his actions were somehow understandable given the circumstances. But the evidence tells a different story."
I move closer to the jury box, letting my gaze sweep across their faces. Some lean forward, engaged. Others look tired, ready for this to be over. The elderly woman in the front row—Mrs. Rossi, according to my notes—has been the most attentive throughout the trial. She'll be key to reaching a unanimous verdict.
"The evidence shows premeditation. Planning. A deliberate decision to end Roberto Calvani's life because he threatened to expose the money laundering operation that had made both menrich." I pause, letting the words sink in. "This wasn't passion. This was business."
The defense attorney, a silver-haired man named Giuseppe Torretti, sits motionless at his table. He knows he's lost. The evidence is overwhelming—financial records, witness testimony, even security footage from the restaurant where Antonelli and Calvani had their final meeting. But he's done his job, planted enough doubt to make the jury think twice.
"Marco Antonelli made a choice," I continue. "He chose money over morality. He chose murder over justice. And now you must choose whether he faces the consequences of that decision."
I return to my table, gathering my notes with steady hands. The exhaustion I've carried for weeks threatens to overwhelm me, but I push it down. The jury needs to see confidence, not weakness.
Judge Marchetti dismisses the jury for deliberation, and his voice echoes through the marble-walled courtroom. I pack my briefcase methodically, each document returned to its proper place. Organization is control, and control is what keeps me functioning when cases like this consume every waking moment.
"Excellent closing," says Maria Conti, the lead prosecutor on the case. She's ten years older than me, with the kind of weathered confidence that comes from sending dozens of criminals to prison. "The jury was hanging on every word."
"We'll see," I reply, though I share her optimism. The evidence is solid, and Antonelli's arrogance during cross-examination didn't help his cause. Still, juries are unpredictable, and I've learned not to celebrate until the verdict is read.
The courtroom doors open, and I brace myself for what awaits outside. High-profile cases always draw media attention, and this one has had reporters camped outside the courthousefor days. The combination of murder, money laundering, and Rome's business elite makes for irresistible headlines.
The hallway buzzes with activity—lawyers heading to other courtrooms, clerks carrying stacks of files, security guards maintaining order. I spot the familiar faces of the press corps gathered near the main entrance, cameras and microphones ready.
"Ms. Barone!" A young woman with a press badge waves me over. "Alessandra Ricci fromCorriere della Sera. Can you comment on the trial?"
I stop, knowing that ignoring the media entirely would only fuel speculation. Better to give them something brief and professional.
"The prosecution presented a thorough case," I say, keeping my voice neutral. "We're confident the jury will reach the right verdict based on the evidence."
"Are you concerned about the defense's claims of prosecutorial misconduct?" asks another reporter, a man I recognize from previous trials.
"The defense made their arguments, and the jury heard them," I reply. "Our case stands on its merits. I won't comment further while deliberations are ongoing."
More questions follow, but I deflect them with practiced ease. The key is to appear accessible without revealing anything substantive. After five minutes, I excuse myself and walk toward the courthouse steps.
The afternoon sun feels harsh against my skin after hours under fluorescent lights. I fish my sunglasses from my purse and slip them on, creating a barrier between myself and the world. The steps are crowded with people—lawyers, defendants, family members waiting for their own cases to conclude.
"Serena!"
I turn to find Antonio Ricci jogging toward me, his tie loosened and his hair slightly mussed. He's one of the junior prosecutors who worked the Antonelli case, bright and eager but still learning the finer points of courtroom strategy.
"Great work in there," he says, slightly out of breath. "The way you handled the cross-examination of the accountant was masterful."
