Page 44 of Beautiful Evidence

Back in my office, I shut the door and twist the lock, then cross to the desk and open the drawer with the encrypted USB. I plug it in and access the hidden file structure. Inside, the folders contain temp logs, timestamped edits, audio clips from the initial exam, and scanned images of handwritten notes. Everything I used to build the case. Everything that could unravel what I just did.

I delete them all, one folder at a time. The screen flashes with progress bars as each section vanishes. I wipe the drive three times before removing it, wrapping it in a paper towel, andsnapping it in half. The metal splinters and the board cracks down the center.

I toss the pieces into the trash can, cover it with files from the recycling bin, and sit at my desk, breathing through my nose. My heart is hammering and I feel like I may start crying any second.

This is it. It's done. I can't undo it, and I can't change my mind now.

I also can't get out of the testimony I'm expected to give in front of the deposition board and Dr. Bernardi, where Detective Sergeant Elena Greco will grill me and I may very well crack. That thought makes my stomach churn and I want to reach for my phone to call Chiara, just to hear her voice. I'm going to miss her so much.

Instead, I check the burner phone in my jacket pocket. There are no new messages. The screen remains blank.

My task is complete. Now all I have to do is leave and meet up with Enzo and pray everything plays out the way he said it will.

My stomach knots. The tension doesn’t come from guilt. It comes from something worse. Guilt fades over time, lessens as time passes. Fear doesn’t.

If anyone catches this—if anyone traces a single string back to me—I won’t just lose my job. I’ll lose the protection that comes with it and I'll go to prison right alongside hundreds of criminals who will be standing in line next to my cell to punish me.

But if Enzo did his job, then the truth no longer exists in any form—no paper record, no digital file, no official archive, and no shred of physical evidence linking Gordo Costa to the murder.

It exists only in my memory.

28

VINCENZO

It’s been a week since the ambush, five days since we ran the body swap, scrubbed the DNA, and bought ourselves time with a falsified report. Alessia hasn’t been back to the lab since and I haven’t pushed her. The pressure’s cooled, but a strange silence between us has taken the place of the superheated tension and I'm not sure how to feel about that.

I still have men watching her apartment, but not even Dr. Bernardi has attempted to approach her. The Bianchis have backed down, and all that's left is for her to attend the deposition for which she got the subpoena, and her life will be clear of any ties to her father's. Except the soul ties which I know will haunt her.

I knock once before unlocking her door with the key she gave me weeks ago. The deadbolt sticks, same as always. I step inside and close the door behind me without calling out, but I know she's expecting me. Somewhere inside the apartment, I hear the low scrape of cardboard shifting against the floor.

I follow the sound until I see her on the living room floor, surrounded by half-filled boxes and stacked folders. She doesn’tlook up, but I know she hears me. She's stacking lab notes and framed photos into an open box. Another box sits beside her, already half-full with coats, boots, and the disassembled parts of a French press she probably won’t need again. The curtains are open and light spills across the floor, catching on the tape dispenser beside her knee. The sharp metal edge glints under the sunlight.

I step forward slowly and let the door click shut behind me. "You moving out?" My voice sounds too casual, but I don’t know how else to start this conversation. Emilio has ordered me to pull my men back now. The risk to us is over. With Alessia's help, we managed to destroy any ties Gordo left between us and the murder victim, and he won't waste resources on making sure she's okay following the deposition.

But I'm not ready to give up on her personally. There's too much left unsaid between us.

Alessia doesn’t look up. She slides another folder into the box and says, "Not exactly… Maybe… I don't know." Her tone sounds defeated and reserved all at once.

I move toward her and lean one shoulder against the wall as I stare at the stacks of evidence to the contrary that surround her. "Then what is this?"

She sits back on her heels and rests her hands on her thighs. "I’m not going to have a job when this ends. I might as well be ready."

I cross the room, take the envelope from my coat, and set it on the table next to her half-empty coffee mug. She looks at it, but her hands stay on her legs. She raises her chin slightly. "I don’t want your money, Enzo."

I stay standing next to her as I sigh hard. "It’s not mine. It’s Gordo’s money—or part of it—what he left behind. You’re owed this. There’s more coming." The decision to take care of Alessia financially was always mine to make. Emilio washed his hands of his brother permanently, and he was prepared to let the money sit in Gordo's off-shore account and never touch a dime of it. It rightfully belongs to Alessia now, and I'm going to see to it that she gets it.

Alessia exhales through her nose and scrubs her hands over her face. Her gaze stays fixed on the ceiling like it might offer some kind of answer. "You think a payoff changes what I did?" I see every worry line on her face, the taut way her shoulders fill out the blouse she's wearing. She's a fighter, but everyone has their limit. I can see she's reached hers.

I lower myself to the floor across from her and sit with my legs sprawled out and my shoulders hunched. "No. I think it buys you space to figure out what comes next." Money isn't the answer, but it can provide relief when we need it most. In her case, it might provide more than relief if she lets it.

She draws one knee up and wraps her arms around it. Her voice drops to something quiet and tired. "There’s nothing next, Enzo. Not in that job. Not in any lab that expects clean hands. I'm done here. I won't work in Rome again, maybe not even in Italy. If I don't get fired, I'm quitting. I can't do this job knowing at any point, the criminal underworld will squeeze me like this again."

I shift one of the boxes out of the way and rest my arms on my knees. "Then stop letting that place define what you do."

Alessia lets out a dry laugh, but there’s no smile on her face. "That simple, huh? You think walking away from forensic workis like taking a vacation? I've spent years trying to believe science could stand up to politics. Turns out, I was wrong."

"You don’t owe them anything," I say, and I mean it. Her loyalty’s been stretched past breaking, and I see the will to fight slowly fading away in her eyes.

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