Chapter 21
Paola
Today marked almost seven weeks since the wedding that changed everything.
And everything came down to today.
"Come in," Cesare called.
Giulio entered with coffee and grim determination etched into every line of his face. "Boss. We need to prep."
Cesare sat up carefully, wincing as the movement pulled at his chest. "Status?"
"Isabella is safe with her mother in a secure location. Sofia is ready to feed Viktor the false information about you not attending." Giulio paused. "And we have a problem."
Of course. There was always a problem.
"Show me," Cesare said.
Giulio pulled out his phone and played a voicemail on speaker. Agent Munoz's voice filled the room, recorded at 11 p.m. last night.
"Mr. Monti. I wanted to give you advance warning. Viktor Kozlov's bail hearing is at 9 a.m. as scheduled. There's been a complication."
My stomach dropped. Complications were never good.
"Viktor's legal team filed an emergency motion last night. They're bringing in a surprise witness. Someone who claims to have evidence of FBI misconduct in Viktor's arrest."
Cesare's jaw clenched. Every muscle in his body went rigid.
The recording continued: "They wouldn't disclose that information. But Mr. Monti—if this witness is credible, if they can prove misconduct, Viktor walks. No bail, no conditions. Complete release."
The message ended.
Silence settled over the hospital room, heavy and foreboding.
"A surprise witness," I said slowly, processing the implications. "Someone claiming FBI misconduct. That's—"
"Viktor's insurance policy," Cesare finished. "The corrupted FBI agent Bianca warned us about. He's going to expose the corruption publicly, force the FBI to drop charges rather than face the scandal."
Giulio pulled up files on his tablet. "I've been digging into Agent Munoz's team. Looking for anyone with connections to Viktor."
I hesitated, then decided to voice what had been bothering me since Pier 76. "There's something else. Rosa Vasquez."
Giulio looked up sharply. "Piero's assistant?"
"At the pier, during the rescue—Cesare saw her. She was with the FBI tactical team. Wearing their gear. Moving with them like she belonged."
"You think she's the corrupted agent?"
"I don't know what to think. She's been with the family for so long. But why would she be at a federal raid dressed like FBI unless she IS FBI?" I ran a hand through my hair. "It doesn't make sense. But neither does her being there."
Giulio's expression darkened. "Do you want me to take care of her? Before the hearing?"
The offer hung in the air. Simple. Clean. Permanent.
I considered it. If Rosa was the corrupted agent, if she was Viktor's surprise witness, eliminating her would solve the problem.
But—
"No," I decided. "I'm not one hundred percent sure it's her. And if I'm wrong, if we move against Piero's assistant based on a hunch—" I shook my head. "We can't risk it. Not without proof."
"So what do we do?"
"We watch her. If she shows up at that courthouse, we'll know. But until then, we don't act." I met Giulio's eyes. "And we don't tell Piero. Not yet. He's still recovering. This would destroy him."
"Understood." Giulio made notes on his tablet. "I'll have someone keep eyes on Rosa this morning. See where she goes, who she contacts."
"Do it. But be discreet. If she is working with Viktor, she'll be watching for surveillance."
"Understood."
The pieces were moving into place. Viktor's surprise witness. Rosa's suspicious presence at Pier 76. The corrupted FBI agent.
It all pointed to one conclusion. But without proof, I couldn't act.
Not yet.
"And?" Cesare asked.
"Three agents on the case have financial irregularities. Unexplained income, offshore accounts. But nothing directly linking them to Viktor yet."
"If Viktor exposes FBI corruption at the hearing, it doesn't just get him released. It destroys the entire case. All evidence becomes questionable."
"Fruit of the poisonous tree," Cesare agreed. "One corrupted agent taints everything."
"So how do we stop it?"
Cesare and Giulio exchanged glances. The unspoken answer hung between them: we might not be able to.
"We prepare for the worst," Cesare said finally. "Viktor walks, we're ready to move immediately. Protection for you, for Piero, for anyone Viktor might target."
"I'm not hiding."
"I know. But you're also six weeks pregnant. We take precautions."
The word pregnant still felt surreal. A life growing inside me whilst everything around us threatened to collapse.
Twenty minutes later, Piero arrived in a wheelchair, looking marginally better than yesterday but still pale and drawn.
A nurse pushed him in, muttering about stubborn patients who wouldn't stay in bed.
"Brother," Piero greeted. "Big day."
"You should be resting," Cesare said.
"So should you. Yet here we are." Piero looked at me. "How are you holding up, cognata?"
"I’m terrified, angry, and ready to end this," I admitted with an exhausted sigh. Though I’d slept the night before, the exhaustion felt bone-deep. It had to be the pregnancy.
"Good. Fear keeps you sharp. Anger keeps you moving. And being ready—that's what matters."
Piero, Cesare, and Giulio discussed strategy—what to expect at the hearing, how to respond if Viktor was released, contingency plans stacked on contingency plans.
"I want to be there," Piero said. "At the courthouse. Not inside, but nearby. In case things go sideways."
Cesare shook his head. "You're barely healed. If shooting starts—"
"Then I'll be in a wheelchair with a gun. Better than sitting here useless."
The Monti stubbornness ran deep in both brothers.
Eventually, Cesare conceded. "Fine. But you stay in the vehicle. Protected. No heroics."
"Same to you."
After Piero left, I said quietly: "He's scared. Really scared. I've never seen him like that."
"He almost died. We all did. And now Viktor might walk free in three hours." Cesare's voice was tight. "Fear is appropriate."
Whilst Cesare handled final preparations with Giulio, my mind drifted back to last night.
After our intimate interlude, after we'd both finally relaxed, Giulio had brought Sofia and Isabella to the hospital around 2 a.m.
I'd watched their reunion through the waiting room window—Sofia collapsing when she saw her daughter, both of them sobbing, holding each other like they'd never let go.
Isabella was sixteen, dark-haired, frightened but defiant. She had her mother's eyes.
"Am I really free?" Isabelle had asked, voice shaking. "He said he'd kill you if I tried to escape. Said he'd know."
"He lied," Sofia had whispered. "He lied about everything. You're safe now. We're both safe."
Afterwards, Sofia came to thank us again.
"I'll do whatever you need," she'd said, voice raw from crying. "Testify against Viktor, feed him false information, anything. You gave me my daughter back."
"Viktor knows we have Isabella," Cesare had said bluntly. "His guards at the Weehawken property reported the raid. So he knows you came to us, knows we rescued her."
Sofia's face had gone pale. "Then he'll—"
"He'll assume we forced you. That we discovered you were il falco and coerced your cooperation by threatening Isabella." Cesare's expression was calculating. "Let him think that. It keeps you valuable as a potential double agent in his eyes. He'll try to flip you back."
"And when he does?"
"You tell us everything he says. Every offer. Every threat. You become our window into what he's planning."
Sofia had nodded, understanding. "I can do that. For Isabella. For everything you've done."
Now, hours later, I wondered if Sofia could pull it off—lying to Viktor convincingly whilst her daughter was finally safe.
At 7 a.m., a nurse brought clothes that Giulio had arranged—proper clothes, not hospital gowns. For Cesare: a dark suit, crisp white shirt, tie. Armour for the courtroom. For me: a navy dress, elegant but not flashy. Professional. Put-together.
Getting Cesare dressed was a challenge—every movement hurt, the bandages bulking under his shirt.
"You don't have to do this," I said as I helped him with his tie. "You could stay here. Rest. Let Giulio handle the hearing."
"Viktor expects me broken and hiding. I need him to see I'm not."
"You are broken. You were shot four days ago."
"Then I'll be broken in a suit at the courthouse instead of broken in a hospital bed." His hands covered mine. "I need to be there, Paola. Need to look him in the eye."
I understood. This wasn't about strategy. It was about pride. Power. Refusing to show weakness.
"Okay. But I'm coming with you."
"I know. I wouldn't have it any other way."
We left the hospital at 7:45 a.m. in a convoy: two SUVs and heavily armed security. Cesare, Giulio, and I rode in the lead vehicle. Piero followed in the second with medical equipment and a backup team.
The drive through Manhattan was tense and quiet.
I watched the city wake up—people heading to work, grabbing coffee, living normal lives. I envied them. Once, I had been among them. Their biggest worry was traffic or a difficult boss. Not whether a dangerous man walked free.
"What happens if he's released?" I asked quietly.
Cesare didn't sugarcoat it. "He'll come after us. Immediately. He's patient but he's also vindictive, and he knows we’re up to something in the shadows. We’ve humiliated him, cost him money and power. More than once. He'll want revenge."
"So we go into hiding?"
"We fortify. The penthouse is secure. We increase security, limit exposure, and wait for him to make a move."
"That sounds like we’d be putting ourselves in a prison."
"It's survival. Until we can neutralize him permanently."
The words hung heavy. Neutralize. A polite word for kill.
My hand drifted to my stomach. Was this the world I was bringing a child into? Violence and fear and constant threat?
But looking at Cesare—strong despite his injuries, determined despite the odds—I knew the answer.