26. Vincenzo
VINCENZO
T he time for talking is over. We’ve stalled the magistrate, rerouted the threats, and bought Alessia enough space to breathe.
But breathing is merely survival in this world—not really living.
If there’s any chance to clear her from the fallout and shield the Costa name from collapse, it starts here.
The lab is where it begins. Matteo’s body is the linchpin.
The DNA under his fingernails is the risk.
I don’t care how crude it looks or how close it cuts.
I’m going to make it impossible for anyone to prove what happened in that room.
“Van’s moving,” Diego says over comms, his voice steady in my ear. “Ten seconds.”
“Positions,” I say into the mic, my eyes scanning the dock. The van brakes quietly. Two fake orderlies in scrubs—ours—hop out and look around, one pulling out a clipboard while the other taps on his tablet. And we walk straight up to the van like we've done this a hundred times.
“You really got three of Emilio’s guys on the manifest?” Nico asks under his breath as we approach. It cost us a hefty sum, but I made it happen.
“Pulled them from his private crew,” I say. “Swapped two into the night shift rotation last week and bribed the route supervisor for the third. He thinks he’s doing a delivery to state storage. He has no idea who’s in the bag.”
Nico gives a low whistle. “You’re getting good at this, compare ."
“Too good,” I mutter, stepping up just behind the van as our fake orderlies open the back doors for us.
I climb into the van before anyone else, nostrils flaring at the sharp smell of bleach and disinfectant.
The dome light inside flickers overhead as I step up beside the stretcher.
Matteo’s corpse is zipped up in a sterile body bag, the tag hanging limply from the zipper pull.
His body looks worse in the dim light, slack and gray, like he's a floater who's done bloating. There’s no time to dwell on it.
I unzip the bag halfway and snap on latex gloves as Nico passes me the tools.
Vescari's fingernails are caked with dried blood and grime. Lab swabs won’t miss that.
So I take the brush and scrub the nail beds hard, foam and peroxide mixing into pink suds as I go over each finger.
I don’t take shortcuts. One missed spot could take us all down.
My gloves are soaked when I finish, but I don’t slow down.
“Syringe,” I mutter, reaching my hand out. I glance up the alley and see it empty. This time of day is a risk, but we weren't able to convince them to transfer the corpse at a different time.
Nico hands it over. I draw the pig’s blood and inject it into the soft tissue under each nail.
The trick isn’t volume—it’s contamination.
If the lab gets one good sample, we’re screwed.
But if every swab’s dirty, every result is garbage.
The blood seeps out slowly around the nail beds as I work. It’s crude, but it’s effective.
“Three minutes,” Diego says. “Driver’s ready to roll.”
I finish the last injection and wipe the fingertips dry.
Matteo’s hand flops back onto the stretcher, lifeless and ruined.
Before I zip the bag, I grab the blade from my pocket and lift the sheet just enough to see the carved symbol on his stomach.
It's deep—clearly deliberate—and anyone who recognizes it will know exactly who left it there.
I drive the tip of the knife into the mark and drag hard across it several times, turning the shape into a shredded mess of tissue.
It's not enough to hide what was there completely, but it will stop anyone from being sure.
Then I zip the body bag shut, tag it with the altered numbers, and nod at Diego before handing Nico the syringe and knife.
The driver climbs in. Our guy signs off with the forged timestamp and nods like nothing happened.
The van pulls away from where we stand watching, with Matteo’s body in the back and no one the wiser.
I stay where I am for a moment, watching the taillights vanish into the curve of the street.
It should feel like relief. But all I can think about is whether she’ll be able to do her part.
She’s not like us. She didn’t grow up inside this world.
She was on the periphery, and barely at that.
What I just did—what she’ll have to do next—isn’t something you come back from.
If she freezes, if she hesitates, it’ll all unravel.
“You think she’s ready?”
I turn to see Rory beside me, hands stuffed in his jacket, watching the van disappear. He doesn’t sound skeptical. Just curious.
“She doesn’t get to be ready,” I say, eyes still on the curve where the van disappeared. “None of us do.”
Rory pulls a pack of gum from his coat pocket and offers me one. I shake my head, and he pops a piece in his mouth, chewing slowly as he watches Nico and Diego stroll off toward the side alley, jackets loose and hands deep in their pockets. No urgency now. The job’s done.
“Those two make it look easy,” Rory says, nodding toward them.
“They’ve done worse,” I answer. “This? This was clean.”
“Yeah, well,” he says, rocking back on his heels, “clean jobs usually mean dirty follow-ups.”
He looks over at me, jaw working. “You really trust her to do this?”
I take a breath through my nose and finally glance away from the street. “She’s not stupid. She knows what’s at stake. I’m not worried about her skills. I’m worried about her conscience.”
Rory lifts an eyebrow. “You think she’ll crack?”
“No,” I say. “I think she’ll carry it. Even if no one else knows what she’s done, she will. And that’s a different kind of damage.”
He gives a low whistle, then nods like that settles it. “Guess we’ll find out.”
I slide into my car across the street and dump the gloves in a burn bag under the seat. My hands are still shaking from pure adrenaline. It's a rush to do what we do, but I have a feeling Alessia is going to be shaking too, for an entirely different reason.
If she pulls it off, we’re through the worst of it.
I keep thinking about what that might mean—what kind of life we could build in Rome once this is buried.
She could go back to medicine, if not in the public eye, then behind the scenes.
I could step out of the shadows without stepping away from the family.
Start running things cleaner. Cut out the rot before it spreads.
There’d still be danger, still be blood, but we’d be building something that lasts.
A future inside the world we were born into—but on our own terms. But none of it happens unless she gets through tonight.
Vincenzo: 2:59 PM: My part’s finished. You’re up.
I stare at the screen for a second before locking it and sliding the phone into the center console.
There’s nothing else to say. If she can hold the line like I did—if she can get the paperwork filed and the sample suppressed—then we might actually survive this.
She’s smart enough to rewrite the rules.
I just have to hold the door open long enough for her to walk through.