Chapter 13
Alessio
In the morning, we returned to Sofia's. She ushered us into the kitchen, serving us coffee.
"There's something else you need to know," she said, settling across from us.
"W-what?" Valentina stammered.
Sofia looked at me before answering, "I didn't just survive these eighteen years.
I've been building relationships with federal prosecutors and investigators across three agencies.
They've been waiting for the right moment to move against Marco—waiting for evidence strong enough that he can't buy or intimidate his way out. "
She pulled out a thick folder and set it on the table between us.
Sofia locked eyes with her daughter. "I've been coordinating with the FBI for six months.
Since you ran from Richard, since Marco's operation started unraveling.
They want to offer you full immunity in exchange for your testimony.
Witness protection. Safety for you, Alessio, and anyone connected to your case. "
"They can guarantee our safety?" Valentina asked. I could see hope and relief flare in her eyes.
"They can guarantee Marco goes to prison for the rest of his life if you testify about what you saw in Caldwell's office." Sofia's voice was quiet but certain.
"How can you be sure?" I interrupted.
"Combined with my eighteen years of evidence, Valentina's photographic memory puts the final nail in his coffin.
" Sofia turned back toward Valentina. "But I need to know if you're willing to do this. To face him in court. To relive everything. Will you help me finish what I started eighteen years ago?"
Valentina looked at me, but I kept my expression neutral. This was her choice.
Valentina squeezed her mother's hand. "Yes," she said. "Let's destroy him."
Sofia's relief was palpable. "I'll call the FBI. They can be here this afternoon to take your statement—"
"Yes," Valentina said, squeezing Sofia's hand. "Let's destroy him."
Pride surged through me. Most people would've needed time, counseling, and endless deliberation. She made the decision in seconds.
Sofia exhaled. "Thank you. I've been building toward this for eighteen years."
"How quickly can you arrange it?" I asked.
"This afternoon. They're ready." She stood. "I'll make the call."
She disappeared into another room. Valentina turned to me, green eyes fierce.
"You think I'm ready for this?"
"I think you're the strongest person I know." I cupped her face, thumb stroking her cheekbone in that automatic way I'd developed—needing to touch her, ground her, ground myself. "But it's going to be brutal. They'll make you relive everything. Every detail."
"I know." She leaned into my palm, and something in my chest cracked open.
Tell her. Domenico said to tell her. She's about to face the worst hours of her life, and she deserves to know—
The words were right there, burning on my tongue. I love you. I'm in love with you. Have been since that motel room, maybe before.
But this moment—right before she walked into testimony that would destroy her father, right before hours of reliving trauma—this wasn't the time. She needed my strength, not my feelings complicating everything.
She needed to know I believed in her. Not that I loved her.
There'd be time for that after. When she was safe. When Marco was in prison.
When she could hear the words without the weight of everything else crushing down.
"But I can do it," she said, pulling me from my spiral.
I swallowed the confession, tucked it away for later. "I know you can."
Soon, I promised silently. When this is over, when you're safe, I'll tell you everything. I'll give you all the words I'm holding back.
But for now, I just held her face in my hands and let my touch say what my voice couldn't.
The FBI arrived at 2:47 p.m.
Three agents, two prosecutors, and a Marshal. They set up in Sofia's living room like they'd done it a thousand times. Probably had.
I watched every movement. Assessed every agent. Questioned their security protocols.
Special Agent Jill Morris led the team—mid-forties, sharp eyes, no-nonsense demeanor. She shook my hand with a grip meant to establish dominance.
"Mr. Valestri. Ms. DeLuca's testimony is critical. We need her focused and cooperative."
"She'll cooperate. After you explain exactly how you plan to keep her alive."
Morris's jaw tightened. "We've been protecting Sofia for eighteen years. Seventeen assassination attempts, zero successful. We know what we're doing."
"Marco didn't know Sofia had Valentina then. Now he does." I held her gaze. "Everything changes."
She conceded with a nod. "Fair point. We're implementing enhanced protocols. Armed detail, rotating safe houses, restricted information access."
"Not enough."
"It's what we can provide."
I stepped closer. "Then I'm providing the rest. My people will supplement yours. You'll coordinate with my head of security, Domenico Ricci."
"That's irregular—"
"That's the deal. You want her testimony, you accept my terms."
Morris looked at Valentina, who stood beside her mother. "Ms. DeLuca?"
"He stays," Valentina said. "His people stay. Non-negotiable."
Morris sighed. "Fine. But they answer to me on-site."
"They answer to me," I corrected. "We coordinate with you."
We locked eyes. She broke first.
"I'll clear it with my superiors."
I called Domenico the moment they started setting up recording equipment.
"Get three of our best here within six hours," I said. "Armed, experienced, loyal. They supplement FBI security but report only to us."
"You don't trust the feds?"
"I trust Valentina's life to no one else." I watched agents position cameras. "FBI's competent, but Marco's desperate. I want our own backup layer they don't know about."
"On it. Sending Dario, Luca, and Teresa. They'll blend as civilians." A beat of silence. "One thing—the Accord. Pennsylvania plates in Scottsdale might as well be a billboard. I'll have someone swap them for local tags tonight."
I should have thought of it myself. We'd driven halfway across the country in a forgettable car with plates that screamed exactly where we'd come from. "Do it. And check whether any traffic cameras flagged us on the way in."
"Already running it
They started recording at four p.m.
I sat behind mirrored glass in Sofia's converted office, watching Valentina face three cameras and two prosecutors.
She wore simple clothes—a navy skirt, a white blouse. No makeup. Hair pulled back.
She looked younger. Vulnerable.
Then she started talking, and the vulnerability vanished.
"I arrived at Senator Richard Caldwell's office on Friday, March seventeenth, at approximately two-fifteen p.m.," she began, voice steady. "I was there to finalize wedding arrangements. Specifically, to review the seating chart for the reception at the Fairmont Copley Plaza."
Lead prosecutor James Rivera leaned forward. "What happened next?"
"Richard received a phone call. He stepped away from his desk but remained in the office. I was reviewing documents when I noticed his computer screen."
"What did you see?"
Valentina's photographic memory was devastating.
She recited email headers verbatim. Named senders and recipients. Provided exact dates, times, and subject lines.
"The email was from Miguel Cordero to Richard Caldwell, dated March sixteenth at eleven-forty-three p.m. Subject line: 'Tuesday delivery confirmation.
' The body contained shipping manifests for weapons transfers through DeLuca Properties and Development.
Specifically, two hundred AR-15 rifles, fifty thousand rounds of ammunition, and forty kilograms of Semtex plastic explosive. "
Rivera stopped writing. "You remember all this exactly?"
"I have eidetic memory. Perfect visual recall." She met his eyes. "I can recite the entire email if you'd like. Including the Cayman Islands account numbers for payment."
Behind the glass, I heard Agent Morris whisper, "Jesus Christ."
Valentina continued.
"Richard placed his phone call on speaker.
I heard my father's voice confirming the Tuesday delivery schedule.
He said, and I quote: 'Tell Miguel the shipment clears customs at six a.m. Our people will handle the transfer at the DeLuca warehouse on Northern Avenue. Payment hits the account by noon.'"
"Your father said this? Marco DeLuca?"
"Yes."
"How did you react?"
"I pretended not to understand my role in their arrangement. I smiled. Said something about the wedding. Richard relaxed." Her hands clenched. "Then I left and ran."
They questioned her for four hours straight.
She never faltered. Never contradicted herself. Provided detail after detail with machine precision.
Account numbers. Shipping routes. Names of cartel contacts. Dates spanning three years.
One prosecutor whispered to Morris: "She's going to bury him."
Pride swelled in my chest. But I saw the cost.
Her hands shook when she described the moment she realized her father was still a criminal. Her voice cracked as she explained the fabricated evidence framing her.
She was reliving trauma with every word.
By eight p.m., they finally called it for the day.
I was at the door before it fully opened, every muscle coiled tight from four hours of forced stillness. Four hours of watching the woman I loved answering for every moment of terror and betrayal while I sat behind glass, helpless.
Valentina emerged looking like a ghost of herself.
Face pale as parchment. Eyes red-rimmed and hollow. The navy skirt and white blouse she'd put on this morning with such careful dignity now wrinkled, the collar askew where she'd twisted it during the worst questions.
She saw me, and something in her expression cracked.
"Alessio—"
She collapsed into my arms before I could close the distance. Just folded, like every bone had dissolved, trusting me to catch her.
I did. Always would.