Page 36 of Beautiful Evidence
Alessia: 3:14 AM: We need to talk. NOW.
I hitSend, then keep staring at the screen, willing those three little dots to roll over the screen indicating he's typing back. My chest feels tight. If he doesn’t answer immediately, I'm going to lose my nerve. Because everything else already feels like it’s falling apart.
22
VINCENZO
The hallway leading to Emilio’s office stretches wide and pristine, lined with marble floors and quiet recessed lighting that glows softly on both sides. The floors shine with fresh polish, every detail curated to project wealth and control. One of the lieutenants nods at me as I pass, but I don’t slow down. My jaw is tight.
I carry the paper and key Gordo handed me earlier, and my thoughts are already ten steps ahead. I don't care if the boss doesn't like what I have to say. He has to listen to me. No one has told me what his orders are concerning this entire situation, but given how he's washed his hands of Alessia already, I know I can't fight him. I'm only one man, and if he unleashes the Costa fury, I'll get put in a body bag right alongside Bernardi, Greco, and Alessia.
When I push into his office, Emilio is alone, hunched over a painting stretched out on his desk. It looks like one of the new ones his son's cash cow created. He doesn’t look up right away, but I can tell he senses it's me. I'm the only one in this familywith enough balls to walk into his office without knocking. Not even Victor does that.
I throw the paper and the key onto his desk hard enough that his whiskey sloshes when the key hits it. He lifts his gaze slowly, but I don’t wait for pleasantries I know aren't coming.
"Gordo’s gone," I say, watching Emilio’s expression for the first flicker of reaction as his eyes narrow slightly, his hands still flat against the desk. "He's leaving town and washing his hands of Rome entirely. Bank accounts scrubbed." My eyes drop to the key as I shake my head at him.
I keep going without pausing for a reaction, unwilling to let him get a word in until I’ve laid it all out. I lean forward, planting both hands on the edge of the desk. "And Alessia is being hunted by them, Emilio," I add, straightening up just enough to gauge how deeply this hits him.
His eyes narrow as he flips the paper over, scans the numbers, and tosses it aside. "Then find her and end this," he says, but I can tell he's already written her off. His tone isn't angry—it's finished. Like she's a problem that doesn't need another conversation. "She wanted to play in this world. She made her choice. Let her deal with the consequences."
He brushes the paper aside with the back of his hand and picks up the key again, weighing it for a moment like he’s deciding whether he even cares about the rest. Then he sets it down and finally looks at me.
His casual tone makes my skin crawl. I lock eyes with him and don’t blink. "If she dies, the report still surfaces. They’ll treat it like a silencing. You know what that means. Investigators swarming us, news crews parked on the street, Greco andBernardi weaponizing every scrap of evidence. You want to talk about exposure? That’s exposure."
He stands and walks around the desk. His pace is measured and slow, each footfall chosen like a predator closing in for the kill. "You think I’m going to let some forensic analyst sink this family? You think I can't find her precious files and remove them?" he snarls, shoulders pulled back as he towers in front of me.
"You should stop and think," I snap. "Because she’s the only reason we haven’t been charged already. She’s sitting on evidence that can bury all of us. She's hidden it for now. And I’m the only one she still trusts." Red flags are going off everywhere. Emilio Costa doesn't fuck around, and I'm lucky he hasn't pulled his gun on me yet.
He stops in front of me, too close. "So, she’s yours now? You take her side over mine?" he snaps, voice rising as he takes another step forward, challenging me with his stare.
"I’m taking the side that keeps us all alive. You want to gut the operation to prove a point, go ahead. But don’t act shocked when the financial crimes unit freezes our accounts and investigators start dragging asses into court. We'll be lucky to get another few days."
He speaks more quietly, and there’s a roughness to it that makes his frustration obvious. "She should be scared, not me. You think I’m losing sleep over this?" he says, rubbing the back of his neck like the pressure is finally starting to get to him. I see the cracks around the edges, though he will never show them. He knows I'm right.
"Then think like a man who wants to keep what he built. She’s scared, yes—but if we corner her, she’ll act out. Right now, I can still talk to her. I can calm her down, get her to hold off. Maybe she'll even make the report disappear. But if you make a move on her, she won’t hesitate. She’ll burn everything." My pulse is screaming past my eardrums because I don't know if I can actually make Alessia do anything. I'm living on two hours of sleep and a prayer to a god that may not even exist.
He turns and paces to his desk, stares at the painting like it might give him an answer. "I want them all gone," he mutters, dragging a hand through his hair as if saying it aloud might make it easier to accept. "Every shred of evidence destroyed. I want Greco and Bernardi, whoever else is involved—I want them silenced. And I want copies of her evidence as insurance."
As he turns to face me, I see his resolve finally weaken. He will do this as long as he has dirt on her to control her, but if my gut is right, hopefully, he won't need it.
"And you’ll get all of that," I say, voice steady. "But not by killing Alessia."
"You’re betting the future of this family on a woman who doesn’t even want to be here," he says as he taps the top of his desk. Then he uses a finger to move the key as he purses his lips.
"No. I’m managing risk. She’s the threat and the solution. You kill her, the report becomes a martyr’s statement. You let me handle her, and we have a chance to bury this whole thing."
He doesn’t speak for several seconds. The silence hangs between us while the decision settles into the room. He walks back to his desk, lowers himself into the chair with a tired grunt, and stares at the key I dropped. Finally, he speaks.
"You say she listens to you? Fine. Keep her quiet. Keep her away from anyone who can pull her in deeper. And keep my name out of her mouth," he says, "and never speak my brother's name in this office again. He's dead to me."
"Done," I reply, locking eyes with him one last time before walking over and tapping on the key. "This is payback, everything you gave him and more returned to you. He wants me to use it for her, and I'm offering it back to you."
I turn and leave him there, not waiting for a response, and I walk through the main hall toward the rear den, where a few of the younger men handle comms and errands. One of them is dozing on the couch, another scrolling through messages. I grab one of the new burners off the charging tray near the sideboard. No one asks what it's for. I slide it into my jacket and head for the back stairs.
As I descend, I pull the burner from my jacket pocket and unlock the screen. The glow lights up the stairwell in short bursts as I tap into my message thread with Rory, one of the only men I trust to handle this quietly.
Double Alessia's protection. No one gets near her without my say. That includes Bernardi or Greco.
