11. Luca
Luca
“Three families have withdrawn their support from Lombardi,” Mattia says. “Two more stopped answering his people. None have approached us directly.”
Dante sits behind his desk while Mattia stands beside the map spread across the conference table.
Dario occupies the chair nearest the door.
I have the financial summary open in front of me and my phone facedown beside it.
The silver tardigrade pin Giada gave me rests on the lapel of my tailored charcoal three-piece suit.
Giuseppe Lombardi remains free. Antonio Rafinelli vanished during the church raid. Cold espresso leaves a bitter film on my tongue while every hour gives both men another chance to rebuild what we broke.
My wife is at home.
The meeting starts the morning after Giada lay beneath me and told me what she wanted with the same honesty she uses when discussing microscopic animals. No games. No performance. Later, while I lay beside her, she told me what she wants next.
I have spent the entire meeting calculating how soon I can return to her.
“Why are they wavering?” Dante asks.
Mattia taps three names on the map. “Giuseppe promised them a public alliance between the Lombardis and Rafinellis. We destroyed it at the altar. He ran while his intended bride married Luca. Men who care about appearances don’t enjoy backing a man who looked weak in front of the loyalists he meant to impress. ”
“Fear helps,” Dario says.
“It usually does,” I answer. “It won’t keep them neutral if Giuseppe’s brother, Tommaso, offers enough money.”
Mattia places a list beside my file. “Security around the gala venue changed yesterday. Two guards added at the service entrance. One moved from the garage to the private rooms upstairs.”
Dante looks at me. “A meeting.”
“Probably.” I compare the names on Mattia’s list with the transactions Giada examined in my office.
“The recipient account belongs to the host family. The three transport companies answer to Antonio. Giada identified the thirteen-day interval and the repeating cents pattern. We confirmed the ownership.”
Mattia points to the second page. “Your wife caught that?”
“She identified the pattern. We confirmed the accounts.”
Giada had examined the columns for less than five minutes before explaining why the dates belonged together. She hadn’t called herself brilliant or waited for praise. She had treated the answer as available to anyone willing to look.
The people who raised her never bothered.
Dario reaches across the table and taps the tiny silver tardigrade fixed to my lapel. “What is that?”
“A tardigrade.”
His fingers retreat. “Why?”
“My wife gave it to me.”
Dario settles into his chair. Mattia studies the map with unusual dedication. Dante’s mouth moves at one corner before he returns to the papers.
No one laughs.
“Surveillance caught one of Antonio’s drivers outside the gala venue last night,” Dario says. “He entered through the garage and stayed seventeen minutes. He left with an invitation packet.”
“Antonio won’t attend a crowded event while we’re hunting him,” Dante says.
“He doesn’t need to attend,” I answer. “He needs to make contact. The gala gives him staff, deliveries, private rooms, and dozens of guests moving between floors.”
Dario takes a photograph from inside his jacket and puts it on the table. Antonio’s driver stands beside a black sedan, one hand wrapped around a cream envelope.
“We follow the driver,” Dario says. “If Antonio sends him to the gala, he leads us to the contact. If Antonio attends, I take him there.”
“Not inside the ballroom,” Dante says.
Dario gives one nod. “Garage or service hall.”
“Alive,” I add.
His stare meets mine. “If he cooperates.”
“Alive,” Dante repeats.
Dario nods again.
We spend another twenty minutes assigning men, entrances, and vehicles. Mattia will coordinate our men and monitor the venue feeds from the security office. Dario will lead the capture team. I will remain with Dante in the ballroom and identify which families meet with the hosts.
The plan is sound. I want the meeting over.
Mattia gathers his files. His attention lands on my lapel once more, but self-preservation wins. Dario follows him into the corridor and shuts the door.
Dante waits until their footsteps fade.
“You’re different,” he says.
“I’m wearing a pin.”
Dante points at my lapel. “You’re wearing a bug on a three-piece suit.”
“It’s an animal with its own phylum.”
He picks up his coffee. “What the fuck is a tardigrade?”
“A microscopic creature that can survive extreme conditions. Giada says people exaggerate what they can endure, since exposure time and temperature matter.”
Dante leans against his desk. “You remembered all that.”
“She explains things well.”
“She reads financial records, lectures you about tiny creatures, and buys you jewelry shaped like one. Does she grasp what those records mean? The risk they create for her?”
“Yes.” My palm strikes the table. “She grasps the information, the risk, and the business. She chose to look at those records. She chose to help. And she’s brilliant.”
My palm remains flat against the table. Dante’s eyebrows rise. No one speaks to my Don that way, least of all me. He looks far more entertained than offended.
Dante straightens. “I didn’t say she wasn’t.”
“Then choose the question better.”
He smiles. “I’ve never seen you like this.”
“Like what?”
“You’re wearing her pin. Defending her. Counting the minutes until you can go home.”
I close the financial summary. “We have a gala to plan.”
“That isn’t a denial.”
I slide the papers into my case. “It isn’t a discussion.”
Dante returns to his chair. “Of course.”
The gala means Giada comes with me. Leaving her home would insult her and tell every loyalist family that I’m ashamed of the wife I took from them.
Taking her puts her among the same people who laughed at her, dismissed her, and helped her family offer her to Giuseppe Lombardi.
I can protect her body in that ballroom.
Protecting her dignity will be harder.