Page 28 of Beautiful Evidence

VINCENZO

Emilio doesn’t flinch when I say the words. He leans back in his chair without hesitation and exhales a long string of cigar smoke like he expected this all along.

"So it’s Gordo." He leans forward slightly, folding his hands, cigar pinched between two fingers. His slightly balding head shines with sweat and he stares at me in anger.

"It’s a ninety-nine point nine percent match. Blood from under Matteo’s fingernails. Alessia reran it herself against her own blood." I watch his expression for a flicker of surprise, but there’s none.

He taps his knuckles on the table once and sits back, scrubbing his face with a hand. "Goddammit, Gordo, what were you thinking?"

"It’s enough to file charges. Enough to trigger the rest of the case." I know what he will say. He's going to tell me to off Bernardi, but it won't make a difference at this point. I don't think it ever would've. The push for the investigation came from higher up all along.

His gaze sharpens. "And she hasn’t turned it in?" The way his eyes narrow in skepticism doesn't surprise me, either. He thinks Alessia is just going to roll on him because she cut ties, but he can't see that even to her, blood means something. Or maybe my warning about other crime families coming after her is what's holding her back.

"Not yet. She’s rattled, but I think she's shaking in the right direction." I keep my tone even, though I can already feel where this conversation is heading.

Emilio nods slowly, then sits forward again. "Then it’s time to tighten our hold. You keep her contained. And I want Luca Bernardi under pressure. Maybe we can squeeze him so he'll back off now." He pushes back from the table and levels his gaze at me like he’s already handed down an order I can’t question.

I want to protest this move, but I know when to question him and when to leave it alone. So I get up and walk out with plans to go find Bernardi and lean on him a little. I'm not foolish enough to think it will work, but I can try.

The minute I’m in the car, I start making calls. I know Luca. He’s slippery, the kind of man who never parks in the same place twice unless he feels protected. It takes a few hours, but I trace him to a secure hotel on the edge of Trastevere. The place is discreet, shielded from outside view, and fully outfitted with deep surveillance wiring throughout the property that they call a security system, but I know how to avoid the cameras.

I park two blocks away and kill the engine and the lights. The hotel is tall and tucked into a narrow street, its entrance partially obscured by a row of hedges and a discreet security kiosk. Just before ten p.m., movement flickers in the lobby. Luca appears wearing a pressed suit. His posture is relaxed and self-satisfied.The smirk he wears hasn’t changed since the day I met him, and every time I see it, I imagine how it would feel to drive my fist into it.

I step out of the car and begin my approach. My plan is to get him to a quiet location where I can lay some heavy threats on his shoulders. If he's running scared, he'll make mistakes, and maybe he will be intimidated enough to turn Greco away.

Except, as I approach the front entrance, I notice movement from the corner of my eye.

Elena Greco enters the lobby from the side corridor, walking with purpose. Her shoulders are squared and her chin held high. She doesn’t flash a badge or speak to the desk clerk. She walks directly toward Bernardi who stands and extends a hand to shake hers.

I freeze mid-step and duck behind a pillar, shifting to keep the reflection of the glass entryway in view. Luca greets her near the elevators. They speak without looking around, without checking the exits, and without the kind of stiffness that comes from official oversight. Their body language is calm, coordinated. They're smiling and laughing like old friends, like this a hookup or a date. They know each other well, which means if I push on Bernardi, he won't hesitate to tell Greco.

I narrow my eyes and step back into the shadows, feeling anger clamp down on my chest. The statepoliziaaren’t circling. They've already had the full goddamn plan laid out. I'm shocked charges haven't been filed already.

I don’t make the mistake of getting closer. I move quickly but carefully, keeping to the edges of the lot until I slip through a side door back into the parking garage. The overhead lightsflicker, and my footsteps echo over the concrete. I force myself to breathe evenly even though my pulse is racing in anger.

Once I reach my car, I duck into the driver’s seat and pull the door closed without slamming it. The lock clicks into place. I wait until the door locks behind me before pulling out my burner and dialing Emilio. I get straight to the point.

"They’ve already got to Bernardi," I say as I stare through the windshield, watching shadows crawl across the hotel’s concrete face. "An agent, Greco, is meeting him directly right now."

I can hear the pressure building in my chest as I adjust myself in my seat and start the car with the phone pressed tight to my ear. Bernardi thinks Alessia is going to produce, and that means a massive investigation—bigger than what they've already got going. And if he’s with Greco in a federal safe zone, it means they’re not just building the case—they’re close to launching it. Every second I stood outside that hotel, I felt the window closing.

They're about to move.

"We need to shut this down," Emilio snaps. I can hear movement on his end, the rustle of papers or maybe something heavier. "Kill him."

"Boss, it's too late for that. Greco won't care if Bernardi goes missing. All she is waiting on is the report Alessia serves up." My voice drops as I look over my shoulder, making sure I wasn’t followed.

It’s no longer hearsay. The evidence is solid and admissible. They have evidence if Alessia hands it over. They have solid backing—documentation from the lab, authenticated files, and a verifiable chain of custody that connects every piece of evidence.And they are executing a coordinated strategy, drawing the net tighter with every move.

Emilio swears loudly on the other end, a string of curses so sharp I pull the phone away from my ear. "Handle it, Enzo. I don’t care how. Just make it go away," he barks, and then the line goes dead.

I sit in silence, gripping the wheel with both hands as I stare through the windshield. Every thought collides at once—Bernardi digging, Greco closing in, Emilio barking orders like blood can patch holes. I blink hard and exhale slowly, trying to settle the chaos pressing behind my eyes. But the silence doesn’t calm me—it sharpens things. The moment has shifted. I shift into gear and pull away from the curb. I don’t know what I’ll say when I see Alessia, but I know where I need to be.

I pull up near her building to check the perimeter before I head up. It’s habit now after what happened to Leo.

A dark sedan sits across the street with its engine off and lights dimmed, parked in a position that offers an unobstructed view of the building’s entrance. It doesn’t belong to us and I study it from a distance for a moment. But I notice the state polizia plate on the back, and my gut twists. I walk past it slowly, then double back behind a row of scooters and stare at it in anger.

I can't just leave it alone. I cross the street, step up to the driver’s side window, and knock hard. The tinted glass doesn’t roll down right away, so I knock again, harder this time. When it does lower, the man inside looks at me like he’s annoyed. Mid-forties, clean-shaven, trying too hard to look unremarkable.

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