The next morning, while Alberto was distracted, I started looking,not everywhere, just where instinct pulled me. A drawer that stuck. A laptop he never locked. A small safe hidden behind a painting.
And there it was.
Files. Names. Transactions. Messages in his own words,proof that he had orchestrated everything, not just with Paul, but with so many others. People he had used, threatened, discarded.
My hands shook as I copied everything, my heart pounding so hard I thought he might hear it from another room.
When Alberto returned, I smiled like I knew nothing.
By evening, Paul and I were back together,quietly, carefully. When I showed him what I’d found, he didn’t speak for a long time. He just pulled me into his arms.
“You were brave,” he said.
“No,” I replied. “We were.”
We didn’t
