A soft, warm light spilled out onto the Persian rug.

I pushed it open, thinking it might be a guest room where I could rest.

Instead, it was a smaller, private office.

A green banker’s lamp illuminated a heavy metal filing cabinet that stood open.

Several manila folders were scattered across the desk, some with legal seals on them.

I stepped inside, my curiosity getting the better of my exhaustion.

My eyes fell on a document lying open near the lamp.

It was a legal deed, stamped with a corporate seal.

Beside it was a ledger with columns of numbers, some crossed out in thick red ink.

I reached out and picked up the first page, my fingers trembling slightly.

the paper was heavy, textured parchment that felt cold against my fingertips.

My eyes skimmed the dense, legal paragraphs, searching for names I recognized.

The document was a transfer of ownership for a private dock facility in East Boston.

It was one of the primary entry points Giovanni’s family had controlled for three decades.

According to the notary stamp, the transfer had been finalized exactly fourteen months ago.