Rose stared at the flickering light above her, eyes fixed but her mind far away. The documents spread on the table in front of her were more than just names and figures. They were graves. Graves she intended to dig one by one. Names of shell companies. Transactions coded in currencies that whispered of blood and betrayal. All linking back to the Mancinis. All stained.
The silence in the penthouse was thick, except for the faint hum of the city beyond the glass windows. Cassian had left hours ago after they went through the files together. He hadn’t said much, but his presence lingered like heat after lightning.
Rose picked up the ledger again, fingers tracing the edge of a particular page—one with her father’s name on it.
Paolo DeLuca.
Receipts. Transfers. A trust fund wiped clean a we
