Twenty-eight
Ciro
Jasmine doesn’t knock. She leans into the doorway, one hand braced against the frame, eyes already on me.
“There’s a woman downstairs asking for you by name.” She taps her tablet with her thumb. “Alyssa Visconti. No appointment. She won’t leave.”
I set my pen down beside the file and turn my chair toward her. “How long has she been there?”
She glances at the time. “Ten minutes. Security’s tried to move her. She asked for you again. Is she some kind of stalker or jilted ex? They’re ready to have the police escort her out.”
I push back from the desk and stand, sliding my jacket straight across my shoulders. “Don’t do that. Send her up. I know who she is.”
She lifts her brows, shifting her weight against the frame. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” I reach for my phone. “Let’s see what she wants.”
She nods once and steps out, already speaking into her headset as she walks. I watch her clear the doorway and then dial Jim without moving from behind my desk.
He doesn’t pick up and it goes to voicemail. I hang up. I’ll follow up with him later. I call Victor instead.
“Can you please come up to my office,” I say when he answers. “Stay outside the door.”
“On my way,” he says, the line clicking dead.
I set the phone down and clear the surface in front of me, closing the file and turning the screen dark. No reason to give her anything she can use.
The knock comes controlled, two sharp taps.
“Come in.” I step back to the desk, and rest my hand against the edge.
Victor opens the door first, one hand on the handle as he scans the room, and then steps aside to let her through. He doesn’t close it fully, holding it just short of the frame.
Alyssa Visconti walks in like she belongs here. Dark coat, tailored, expensive. The cut is clean, the fabric heavier than it needs to be for the weather. Her heels land soft against the floor, measured, controlled. She doesn’t look at Victor when she passes him. She looks at me.
“Ciro,” she says, stopping two steps in and slipping her sunglasses off, folding them in one smooth motion. “Thank you for seeing me.”
I don’t offer my hand. I gesture to the chair across from my desk instead. “You insisted.” I watch her set her glasses down on the table between us. “That usually means it’s not optional.”
She sits without waiting, crossing one leg over the other and smoothing her sleeve at the wrist. “It’s not. This is about Chiara.”
I don’t sit right away. I stay standing, one hand still braced on the desk, holding the height. “I know who you are.” I pull the chair out and lower into it. “You don’t get to make demands casually here.”
She leans forward just enough to rest her forearms on her knees. “I’m not here for casual. I’m here because you’re the only person she’ll listen to.”
“That’s an assumption. You don’t know what she listens to.”
Her mouth tightens, and she taps her nail once against her thumb before stilling it. “I know she’s not answering anyone else. And I know you’ve been protecting that.”
I shift my gaze past her for a second, checking Victor through the glass, and then bring it back. “You’re here without an appointment. You got what you asked for—me. Start with why I shouldn’t have you escorted out of my office and my building.”
She exhales through her nose and leans back, letting her shoulders settle against the chair. “Because if you do that, she will never forgive you.”
“The clock is ticking. You lost all credibility with me when you put a tracker on a picture you knew she would open when you sent it to her.”
Her gaze drops to my hand and then back to my face. “I did it. So what? I want my best friend back, and I’m here to make that happen.”
“Nothing’s changed. I’m not stopping her from talking to you. She’s made that decision.” Her facade doesn’t crack with that. “Where’s Palo? He was on a flight right after us. Where did Massimo go?”
“Palo’s here. I came with him. And Massimo is in Los Angeles. That’s the problem.”
“Why is that a problem? Because right now all you’ve done is confirm you crossed a line, and you’re not getting what you came for.”
Her jaw sets, and she reaches for the glasses on the table, turning them once between her fingers before setting them back down.
“Her family has stopped looking for her.” She lifts her eyes to mine again.
I don’t move. “That sounds like a good thing to me.”
“It’s not,” she says, cutting in. “They’ve changed strategy.”
I lean back in the chair, resting my arm along the side, giving her just enough room to keep talking. “Meaning?”
“They’re not trying to find Chiara anymore.” She presses her fingers together as if to steady them. “They’re building a reason for her to come back.”
I watch her for a second, tracking the shift in her posture, the control she’s forcing into her voice. “That’s vague. You came all the way up here just to imply something?”
“It’s not vague and I’m not implying.” She leans forward again, her hands braced on her knees. “It’s deliberate. They’re moving the pressure outward.”
“Outward? How?”
Her mouth opens, and then closes, and she shakes her head once like she’s cutting off the wrong answer. When she looks back at me, there’s no hesitation left.
“They don’t need you or your security. They’re going after the person she loves most in this world.”
“And you think that’s you?”
The corners of her mouth curl. “No. It’s not me.”
I let the silence stretch a fraction longer than necessary and then tap my finger once against the desk.
“You’re going to need to spell it out for me then. Because right now, all I see is someone who already compromised her once, asking me to trust her again.”
Her shoulders square, and she pushes back from the chair and then leans forward again, closing the distance she just created.
“I’m not asking you to trust me. I’m telling you this doesn’t stop if she stays hidden.”
“You don’t get to walk in here and dictate what she does.”
She doesn’t back off. “That’s exactly why I’m here. Because you’re the one person who can.”
“Because they don’t need her any longer.” She presses her fingers together. “They were already moving past that.”
I tilt my head slightly, watching her hold the line. “Moving where?”
“Off her,” she says, lifting her chin. “The search is done.”
I lean back, resting my arm along the chair. “That’s not a problem. That’s a resolution.”
“It’s not,” she says, cutting in. “It’s a shift.”
“Just stop. If you can’t be direct, then you need to go. You’re wasting my time.”
“They found her mother.”
I don’t move. I let the words hang between us and watch her face instead.
“That’s not possible,” I say, adjusting my cuff slowly. “Her mother is dead.”
“That’s what Chiara believes,” she says, leaning in, her voice lower. “It’s not true.”
“You’re going to need more than that.” I hold her gaze. “Because right now this sounds like leverage, not fact.”
“It is leverage,” she says, nodding once. “That’s why I’m here.”
I sit back again, letting the chair take my weight. “You expect me to accept that from the same person who embedded tracking software in something she sent her?”
She flinches and then steadies, pressing her palm flat against her thigh. “I’m not asking you to accept me. I’m telling you what they’re doing.”
“And I’m telling you, you don’t get to walk in here and drop something like that without proof.”
“Patrizia left, went into hiding, and now, they’ve found her. And now, they’re focusing on her.” She pushes up from the chair, her hands braced on the desk again.
I hold her there, not reacting, letting the weight of the statement sit without giving it ground.
“If you’re lying, you walk out of here and don’t come back.”
“I’m not lying. They’ve already started looking for her.”
“You just said they know where she is.”
“They know she’s in Los Angeles. And when they find her, and they will, they’ll pull her out.” She shakes her head once. “That’s why Massimo is there.”
I stare at her unsure if she’s telling me the truth.
“She’s been there under a different name.”
I watch her hands as she stills them. “What name?”
She looks at me.
“You don’t know her name. In a city of over fourteen million people, you expect to find her now?” I lean back, folding one arm across the other. “After all this time, Chiara’s mother is alive under a false identity in Los Angeles, and no one found her until now.”
I let that sit, and then tap once against the desk. “You just happened to learn all of this and decided to come here.”
“I didn’t ‘happen’ to learn it. Her grandmother told me on her deathbed.”
“And you told her father?” I struggle to keep my voice even.
“I thought I was helping her,” she says, her hand tightening in her lap. “I thought if I got Chiara home, it would stop.”
“And when it didn’t,” I say, leaning forward to close the distance again, “you came to me.”
“I came because you’re the only one who can reach her,” she says, holding my gaze. “And if she doesn’t come back now, they don’t need her mother anymore.”
I tilt my head slightly, resting my hand against the desk. “Then they’ll have what they want.”
“Her mother isn’t just alive,” she says, her voice tightening. “She’s Gamblé.”
“Okay. Help me out here. Who is Palo then?”
“He was raised by Patrizia’s brother. It’s his stepson and his only child. And Palo will one day take over the Gamblé Family.”
I let that sit and then shift my weight against the chair. “That doesn’t give them Chiara.”
“It gives them a reason to pull her back in. And a way to do it without asking.”
She reaches into her bag without breaking eye contact, fingers moving with practiced precision instead of panic.
“Don’t,” I say, lifting my hand off the desk in a quiet stop. “You don’t pull anything out in my office without telling me what it is.”
“A photo,” she says, already slowing the motion as she sets it on the desk between us. “You’re going to want to see this.”
She pushes the photo toward me, her hand staying on the edge like she’s not letting it go completely.
“It’s a photo,” she says, tapping once. “Taken two days ago.”
I don’t pick it up right away. I look at her first and then down at the picture.
A woman stands outside a low, white building, sunlight cutting hard across the pavement. Hair pulled back, thinner than I expect, but it could be Chiara.
I slide the photo closer with my knuckle, angling it to the light. “That’s your proof,” I say, keeping my voice even. “A picture on a screen.”
“That’s her,” she says.
The face sharpens. Age lines, yes. Time, yes. But the structure holds. Same eyes. Older.
“You expect me to believe,” I say, sliding the photo back toward her, “that she’s been alive in California, and no one—no one—knew.”
“Her mother disappeared one day. Men lost their lives over it and they had a funeral for her.”
I lean back, watching her hold her ground. “And this just surfaced now? That’s awfully convenient.”
“Once they locate her, Massimo will move in, and it won’t be pretty for Patrizia or Chiara.”
I angle forward again. “Why show me this?” I tap the photo. “Why not go to the police if you’re so concerned?”
“Because we would never go through the police. You know that.”
“And the timeline?” I lift a brow. “You didn’t come here without one.”
She nods, her hand tightening. “They’ll move on Patrizia as soon as they find her. Once they have her, they’ll convince Chiara to come home.” She uses air quotes when says convince.
I stare at the photo. I have no reason to trust Alyssa.
“I’m betting on you not sitting on this,” she says, pressing her palm flat against the desk. “Because if you do, you’re the reason it goes bad.”
She stands, sliding a business card across the table. “Chiara can contact me for more details.”
Victor opens the door before she reaches it, his hand already braced against the frame.
“This way,” he says, stepping back to give her space, his eyes flicking once to me.
Alyssa doesn’t look back. She adjusts the strap of her bag on her shoulder and walks out, her heels steady against the floor.
I stay seated, one hand flat on the desk, and watch her reflection disappear in the glass.
“Keep eyes on her until she clears the building,” I say, lifting my chin slightly toward Victor.
“Already done,” he answers, one hand on the door. “Do you want a tail?”
“No. I want her gone.”
Victor nods once and pulls the door closed behind him, the click settling the room.
My phone is already in my hand before I turn back. I tap Jim’s contact and set the call to speaker.