The morning after the gala, the glass house was no longer a sanctuary. It felt like a target. Leo's security detail doubled. Silica gel packets for checking explosives appeared by the front door. The paranoia was palpable.
Dante was gone before dawn, a flurry of urgent, hushed phone calls sending him into the city. Valentina, left with her fear, did the only thing she could: she painted. She attacked the canvas with a furious energy, the reds and blacks swirling into a violent, chaotic storm.
She was interrupted by Silvia, looking more anxious than usual. "Signorina, there is a… a delivery for you. A personal one. It was not screened by Leo."
A cold finger traced Valentina's spine. "What is it?"
It was a small, elegant box, the kind that might hold jewelry. Attached was a simple card: "A token from your father's collection. Something he would have wanted you to have." It was unsigned.
Her hands trembled as she lifted the lid. Nestled on black velvet was not a piece of jewelry, but an old, brass key. It was ornate, heavy, with a distinctive, scalloped bow. Taped to the inside of the lid was a small, typed note with an address in Little Italy and a time: 3 PM today.
Mancini. It had to be.
Every instinct screamed to call Dante, to hand it over to Leo. But the words "the daughter knows" haunted her. What if she did know something, buried in her memory? What if her father had whispered secrets, hidden in stories of art and travel? This key felt like a thread, and if she gave it to Dante, he would yank on it, likely triggering a trap. But if she followed it herself… she might see the weave of the whole cloth before it was too late.
It was a reckless, stupid, potentially fatal idea. But the thought of Dante walking into another ambush because of her, because of her father's sins, was unbearable. She had to act.
She told Silvia she had a migraine and was not to be disturbed. She changed into dark, nondescript clothes, waited until Leo was on his perimeter round, and slipped out through the service entrance she'd noted weeks ago. She used cash from her emergency fund to take a series of cabs, her heart in her throat the entire way.
The address led to a narrow, unassuming door wedged between a boarded-up bakery and a cigar shop in a quiet part of Little Italy. The brass key fit perfectly. The door opened onto a steep, dark staircase smelling of dust and mildew.
At the top was a small, cramped studio apartment, frozen in time. It was her father's. She recognized the faded Turkish rug, the specific smell of his pipe tobacco still lingering in the air. This was a bolt-hole, a place he'd never told her about.
On a simple desk, under a glass paperweight, was a letter addressed to her in her father's flowing script.
My dearest Valentina,
If you are reading this, I am gone, and you have found your way here. For that, I am both proud and profoundly sorry. I have lived a life of beautiful lies. The art was real, my love for you and Marco was real, but the man was a forgery.
I did a terrible thing. I betrayed a good man, Salvatore Mancini, and a boy who would become a powerful one, Dante Conti. I did it out of greed, and then out of fear. The ledger I stole contained secrets that could topple empires. I sold it, but I kept a copy. A final insurance policy.
It is behind the Caravaggio reproduction. The Madonna of the Rosaries. Give it to Dante. It is the only thing that can truly end this. It names the politicians, the judges, the rival families involved. With it, he can dismantle them all and secure his future. His legitimate future.
Mancini knows of this place. He is not your enemy, though he has every right to be. He is a man of honor, bound by the old ways. He will test you. He will test Dante. Prove you are not me. Prove your heart is true.
Forgive me, my darling girl. Be brave. Be the woman I always knew you were.
With all my love,
Papa
Tears streamed down Valentina's face. Sorrow, anger, and a desperate hope warred within her. She rushed to the cheap framed print on the wall—a detail of the Caravaggio. She pried the back off. Inside, sandwiched between the print and the backing board, was a slim, encrypted USB drive.
At that moment, the door to the apartment creaked open.
She whirled, clutching the drive, expecting Leo or one of Dante's men. Instead, it was Salvatore Mancini. He looked older, frailer up close, but his eyes were still piercing.
"You came alone," he observed, his voice like dry leaves. "Braver than your father. Or more foolish."
"I have it," she said, her voice shaking. "The copy."
He nodded slowly. "I know. I have been keeping this place safe, waiting. I wanted to see what you would do. If you would run to your new protector, or try to fix your old one's mistakes yourself." He gave an approving nod. "You have his sentiment, but you have your mother's spine. She was a remarkable woman."
"You knew my mother?"
"I loved her," he said simply, shocking Valentina to her core. "Before your father swept her off her feet with his charm and his lies. My quarrel was with him, not his blood." He stepped closer. "The drive is a death sentence. Many powerful men will kill to keep it buried. Giving it to Conti will start a war."
"Not giving it to him will mean living in the shadow of one forever," she countered.
A genuine smile touched Mancini's lips. "Good answer." He sighed. "The debt your father owed… it was to me, too. For stealing the woman I loved, for betraying my trust. But seeing you, seeing the fire in Conti's eyes when he looks at you… the ledger is a poison. Let it be an antidote instead. Give it to him. Tell him… tell him the Ghost gives his blessing. And his warning. The storm is coming."
He turned to leave.
"Wait," Valentina called out. "Why? Why help us?"
He paused at the door. "Because the old world, with its endless cycles of vengeance, is dying. Perhaps you two can build something new. And because," he added, his voice softening, "your mother would have wanted me to."
He was gone.
Valentina stood in the dusty silence, the cold weight of the USB drive in her hand. She held her father's sins, her mother's legacy, and Dante's future. She had gone looking for answers and found a weapon. Now, she had to bring it home to the Wolf and pray it didn't get them both killed.