22. Aria #2
A headline runs across the top in French. "Local Politician Survives Assassination Attempt. Gotti Name Resurfaces in Aftermath."
I frown as I read ahead. The Gottis are old world, and I know of them because I have heard my father speak of the family.
Older than the Salvatores.
Their history is bloodier, quieter, less celebrated, but more feared.
My father once spoke of them with a kind of reverence no child should hear in a man's voice.
He said they ran Monaco and parts of southern France before the old alliances fractured. That they disappeared after a series of political deals went bad, when the European families turned on each other. But here they are again.
And here Giovanni is, keeping their name tucked like a charm in his drawer.
I dig deeper.
Another clipping. This one from a business journal, dated three years ago.
A write-up on an "anonymous investor" buying up old shipping routes in the Tyrrhenian corridor—routes that used to belong to Salvatore allies.
I flip the page, and a small photo catches my eye.
A face I almost miss. Giovanni, not in a suit, not in the tailored elegance of his curated identity, but in jeans and a plain jacket, shaking hands with a man whose face I do not know but whose posture screams influence.
Beneath the image, a single caption: "Private Equity Deal Sealed in Corsica." No names. No credits. Just location.
And then I find the final drawer.
The one with the false bottom.
It doesn't open easily. I have to feel for the ridge with my nails, pry it loose millimeter by millimeter. The panel lifts.
Inside, more papers. Not printed. Not formal. Handwritten notes, folded in half, their edges worn. I spread them carefully across the desk and begin to read.
Most are innocuous at first. Mentions of shipments. Mentions of names I don't recognize.
But then I see the name of Cesare Gotti, the head of the Gotti family.
Thirty years ago, Cesare Gotti tried to forge an alliance with Luca Salvatore, seeing the Salvatores as a natural southern stronghold to expand Gotti influence into mainland Italy.
The offer came in the form of a marriage proposal between Gotti's eldest niece and one of Luca's younger brothers, along with a proposal to share weapons routes and intelligence networks.
But Luca Salvatore refused.
He didn't trust Cesare's quiet power.
Rumors had reached him that the Gottis had betrayed two other allies before—selling secrets to foreign governments and laundering funds through military ports.
Luca saw the alliance for what it was: a slow invasion.
So, he struck first.
Luca orchestrated a brutal takedown.
Over the course of a single winter, the Salvatore network wiped out every visible Gotti foothold across Valleria and the eastern coasts.
Ports were seized.
Gotti men disappeared.
Ships were sunk.
It was methodical, and it was final.
The Gottis vanished.
Some said they were dead.
Others whispered they had gone underground.
But for years, nothing stirred.
Until now, when the contents of what appears to be a letter stares me in the face.
Gio,
Progress is as expected on this end. Cesare is very pleased with your last delivery. The Lombardi girl's return was a stroke of fortune. If she keeps the lion preoccupied, let her. Use her. Just keep his eyes off the fractures in the walls.
It's time we move to the next tier of access. I need intel delivered by week's end. Start logging what the lion does when he's alone. Where he sleeps. When he eats. Who walks him from room to room. I want every Salvatore habit noted, down to the hour. No guesswork.
You mentioned a new maid near the study. Use her. And the east corridor—the Wolf still favors it? Make sure someone is waiting when it matters. We only need one hour of darkness inside that house to change everything.
Don't wait for the cracks to widen. Push. The dynasty is hollow. A soft tap in the right place and the whole facade will fall.
I blink at the page, and then it slowly dawns on me.
Giovanni is not trying to undermine Luca from outside.
He is doing it from within.
Slowly.
Surgically.
He is not acting alone.
He is writing to Cesare Gotti.
The same Gotti whose name was meant to be buried under a sea of closed files and cold graves.
But Cesare is alive.
And he wants Nuova Speranza.
He is using Giovanni to get it.
A whisper of dread coils up my spine.
I look again at the notes.
They are careful.
Nothing overt this time.
I analyze them carefully.
The more I read, the better I understand.
Giovanni has been passing information to Cesare.
Shipping access, political ties, financial irregularities, all fed slowly from inside Salvatore walls.
And Cesare Gotti, whose empire was supposed to have burned out years ago, is rebuilding himself on the bones of the Salvatore name.
Giovanni does not want to take power.
He wants to hollow it.
He wants the Salvatore name to rot from the inside while Cesare Gotti claims the spoils from afar.
This is why Luca's strength has been questioned in whispers.
This is why Matteo mentioned it to Enzo.
This is why the gossip spreads through the city like wildfire.
Giovanni is feeding it.
Carefully.
Quietly.
A man of the house, Alessandra's brother, close enough to trust.
Far enough to betray.
And that final piece falls into place as I rummage through more notebooks, and a photograph falls out.
Grainy, poorly lit, but enough. Giovanni, again.
This time, seated across from a man in a dark wool coat, shaking his hand.
For once, he looks starstruck.
The jawline of the other man is unmistakable, as is the scar just beneath the eye.
I flip back to the newspaper. This is Cesare Gotti.
Giovanni wasn't drawn to the Salvatores.
He was placed here.
The door clicks behind me.
And then I hear a quick footstep, just behind me.
Before I can turn, something slams into the back of my head.
White light bursts across my vision.
Darkness takes me so fast, I don't even know I'm going to hit the floor.
There's just a jolt of pain and the sound of paper crumpling where it shouldn't.
The last thing I hear is the door behind me being shut.
Then silence.
Total and complete.