Chapter 19 #2
The anniversary celebration: Marco there from the start, Luca arrived late (suspicious?), Sofia was the one who arranged the venue (had all the details).
Piero's kidnapping: Marco was at the docks that morning (legitimate business), Luca was unreachable for two hours (red flag), Sofia knew Piero's schedule (she coordinated family calendars).
"They all have an opportunity," I said slowly. "All three of them could have done it."
Cesare studied the data, his expression unreadable. "But motive matters. Marco's gambling debts, Luca's dead brother, Sofia's lost daughter—those are all strong motives."
"So how do we narrow it down?" I asked.
Cesare's mind worked through the problem—I could see the calculations happening behind his eyes. "We need more than circumstantial evidence. We need proof. Communications, money trails, something concrete."
"What about Sofia?" I said suddenly. "Everyone's focusing on Marco and Luca because they're men. Because they fit the stereotype. But Sofia has the most access. She coordinates everything. Schedules, events, family movements."
Cesare considered this. "You think it's her?"
"I think we shouldn't dismiss her just because she's a woman. Viktor speaks messy Italian, he could easily say the wrong word without realizing. And the custody battle—losing her daughter—that's the kind of pain that makes people do terrible things."
I would know.
"You're right. We focus on all three equally."
"When will you confront them?"
"Not yet. Not until we have proof. If we accuse the wrong person, we tip off the real spy."
"And if we can't find proof before Monday?"
Cesare's jaw set. "Then we make a calculated risk. We feed false information and see who bites."
Around noon, the nausea returned. I excused myself to the bathroom, threw up quietly whilst gripping the cold porcelain.
When I emerged, Cesare was watching me with concern etched into every line of his face. "You're sick again."
"Just morning sickness. It's normal."
"This is the third time today. That's not normal."
I wanted to brush it off, but he was right. The stress, the lack of sleep, the constant fear—it was taking a toll.
"I need to see a doctor," I admitted. "Make sure the baby's okay."
Cesare immediately hit the call button. "We're getting you checked out. Now."
"Cesare, you're the one who just had surgery—"
"And you're carrying our child. That takes priority."
Dr. Reeves arranged for an OB consult. Within an hour, Dr. Patricia Lin arrived—middle-aged, warm, professional competence in a white coat.
"Mrs Monti. I understand you're about six weeks pregnant and experiencing concerning symptoms?"
Dr. Lin did a quick examination, asked questions about symptoms, medical history, the events of the past week.
"The nausea is normal for the first trimester. But combined with the stress you're under..." She looked concerned. "I'd like to do an ultrasound. Make sure everything's developing properly."
My heart pounded. "Is something wrong?"
"I just want to be thorough. Especially given what you've been through recently."
They brought in a portable ultrasound machine. I lay back, lifted my shirt. Cesare held my hand, both of us staring at the screen. Dr. Lin applied gel, moved the wand across my still-flat belly.
Silence. Searching. Then—
"There." Dr. Lin pointed to a tiny flutter on the screen. "That's the heartbeat."
My breath caught. A heartbeat. Our baby's heartbeat.
"Everything looks good," Dr. Lin confirmed. "Measuring right on track for six weeks. Heartbeat is strong—about 120 beats per minute, which is perfect."
Relief flooded through both of us like a dam breaking.
"However," Dr. Lin continued, "you need to reduce stress. I know that's difficult given your circumstances, but chronic stress can affect fetal development."
"I'll try," I promised.
After Dr. Lin left, Cesare was still staring at the ultrasound printout she'd left behind. The tiny blur that was our child.
"We made that," he said, voice full of wonder.
"We did."
"I'm going to protect you both. Whatever it takes."
That afternoon, Cesare made a decision.
"We're going to test them. All three cousins. See who takes the bait."
"How?"
"We feed each of them different false information. Specific details that only they would know. Then we wait to see which piece of information gets to Viktor."
Risky but clever. Three different traps, three different suspects.
Giulio arrived to coordinate. "What information are we using?"
Cesare thought. "Marco gets told that Piero is being transferred to a rehabilitation facility upstate tomorrow—specific location, specific time. If he's the spy and reports it, Viktor will try to intercept the transport and finish what he started at the pier."
"Luca?"
"Luca gets told I'm moving Paola to a safe house upstate—specific address, specific date. If he reports it, Viktor sends people there."
"And Sofia?"
"Sofia gets told we found evidence against Viktor—specific documents hidden in a specific location. If she reports it, Viktor sends people to retrieve or destroy them."
Three traps. Three suspects. One spy.
"When do we do this?" I asked.
"Today. Now. We don't have time to wait."
Over the next few hours, Cesare carefully planted the false information.
Marco was called to the hospital for a "private conversation" about financial strategy.
Luca was told via encrypted message about the safe house plans.
Sofia was brought in to discuss "security concerns" and told about the evidence location.
Each conversation was carefully staged. Each piece of information unique and traceable. I watched it unfold, impressed by Cesare's strategic mind despite everything.
"You've done this before," I observed. "Set traps like this."
"Many times. It's how you survive in this world. Trust, but verify. And when trust breaks, you need proof before you act."
After all three cousins had been told their respective false information, we waited.
Giulio had surveillance teams positioned at all three locations: the route to the upstate rehab facility, the safe house, the document location.
"Now we watch," Cesare said. "Someone will move. They always do."
Hours passed, agonizing and slow. I tried to rest but couldn't. Kept thinking about the three cousins.
Marco with his gambling debts and desperate eyes.
Luca with his dead brother and carefully controlled rage.
Sofia with her lost daughter and quiet competence.
One of them was a traitor. But which one?
Evening came and still there was no movement at any of the three locations.
"Maybe they're being careful," I suggested. "Waiting until night."
"Maybe. Or maybe we're wrong about all of them."
The doubt crept in like fog. What if il falco meant something else entirely? What if we were chasing the wrong people?
That evening, Bianca returned one more time. "Can we talk?" she asked me. "Alone? Just for a minute?"
Cesare looked at me. I nodded. "It's fine."
Bianca and I stepped into the hallway, the guard staying close but out of earshot.
"I know you don't trust me," Bianca started. "I know I destroyed any right to your trust. But I need to tell you something."
"What?"
"I'm asking Cesare to let me leave. After Viktor's bail hearing, after everything is settled—if he allows it, I want to leave New York. Go somewhere far away. Europe maybe. Start over."
I felt a complicated mix of emotions. Relief? Sadness? "Has he agreed?"
"Not yet. But I'm hoping... I'm hoping if I cooperate fully, if I testify against Viktor, if I help in every way I can—he might let me go instead of..." She didn't finish the sentence.
Instead of killing me. The unspoken words hung between us.
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because you're my sister. And because I want you to know—I am sorry. For everything. The drugging, the wedding, all of it. I was selfish and cowardly and I destroyed your life."
"You didn't destroy my life," I said quietly. "You changed it. Violently. Horribly. But I'm not destroyed."
"You're stronger than I ever was."
"I had to be. You didn't give me a choice."
We stood in uncomfortable silence, two women who shared DNA and nothing else.
"Will you tell me when the baby is born?" Bianca asked. "Even if I'm gone? Even if we never see each other again?"
I considered. "Maybe. I don't know yet."
"That's fair." Bianca turned to leave, then stopped. "Paola? Be careful. Whoever the spy is—they're close to Cesare. Close enough to hurt you both."
"I know."
"Watch everyone. Trust no one."
Just before midnight, Giulio called. Urgent but controlled.
Cesare answered on speaker. "What?"
"We have movement. At the safe house location. Vehicle approached, two occupants, professional surveillance sweep."
My breath caught. The safe house was Luca's information.
"Luca?" Cesare asked, voice tight.
"Not confirmed yet. The vehicle was registered to a shell company. We're tracing ownership now. But boss—they knew to check for surveillance. This isn't amateur hour."
"Anyone else make a move? The bank? The document location?"
"Nothing. Just the safe house."
So either Luca was the spy, or someone Luca told, or—
"Could Luca have been compromised without knowing it?" I asked. "Someone monitoring his communications?"
Possible. In this world, anything was possible.
"Keep watching all three locations," Cesare ordered. "And Giulio—I want surveillance on Luca himself. Where he is right now, what he's doing, who he's talking to."
"On it."
Cesare ended the call, gray eyes far away as he calculated the possibilities.
"One test isn't enough," he said. "The safe house got attention, but that doesn't definitively prove Luca is the spy."
I agreed, but before I could respond, Cesare's phone buzzed again.
Another unknown number. Another text.
You're getting warm. Keep looking. But here's a hint: the spy isn't who you think it is. And by the time you figure it out, it'll be too late. Enjoy the weekend. Monday is going to be... eventful.
We stared at the message.
"How do they know?" I asked, a chill running down my spine. "We just set the traps hours ago. We're in a hospital room. How does whoever's sending these know we're investigating?"
Cesare's face went dark. "Either they're watching us directly—"
"Cameras? Bugs in the hospital room?"
"Possible. Or—" His jaw clenched. "—someone in our inner circle is reporting our every move. Someone who knows about the traps we set."
My stomach dropped. "Giulio knows. Rocco knows. The cousins themselves know their own information."
"And whoever the spy is, they're telling Viktor everything. Including that we're trying to flush them out." Cesare looked around the hospital room with new suspicion. "We need to assume every conversation is compromised. Every plan is known."
"Then how do we catch them?"
"We don't tell anyone the real plan. We feed false information even to people we think we trust. We operate on a need-to-know basis only."
The paranoia was complete now. We couldn't trust anyone. Not fully. Not when someone was watching our every move and reporting it back.
"’Not who we think it is," I read aloud. "What does that mean?"
Cesare's face was grim. "It means we're missing something. Something obvious."
"Or it's a bluff. Trying to make us second-guess ourselves."
"Maybe. But Viktor's been three steps ahead this entire time. I can't afford to assume he's bluffing."
I thought about the three cousins. The three traps. The one response.
"What if it's not about which cousin?" I said slowly. "What if it's about how the information is getting to Viktor? What if the spy isn't making direct contact—they're using an intermediary?"
"Someone passing information through a cutout. That would explain why we can't find direct evidence."
"And it would mean the cousin might not even know they're being used. Viktor could be monitoring their communications without their knowledge."
The possibility opened up new, darker avenues. If the spy didn't know they were a spy—
Before we could explore this further, the hospital room door opened.
Not a nurse. Not Giulio.
Sofia Monti stood in the doorway, tears streaming down her face.
"I need to tell you something," she said, voice breaking. "About Viktor. About what I've done."