My hands began to shake, and I gripped the edge of the desk to steady myself.

“She sold us out,” I whispered.

“She sold my son’s life for a wire transfer.”

Giovanni did not answer immediately.

His chest rose and fell in slow, deliberate breaths.

The silence in the study grew heavy and suffocating.

Outside, the autumn rain beat a steady, metallic rhythm against the thick glass of the window.

He reached out and touched the monitor, his index finger tracing the letters of Marla’s name.

“Fifty thousand dollars,” he said, his voice flat and cold.

“That is what your son’s life is worth to her.”

“How did Marcus find her?” I asked, my voice cracking.

“Marcus has eyes in every major institution in this city,” Giovanni said.

He turned his head slowly, looking at me.

His dark eyes were devoid of any warmth, reflecting only the harsh blue glare of the screen.

“He knew we would have to take Luca to a hospital eventually.”

“So he paid off administrators?” I asked.

“He paid off the right ones,” Giovanni said.

He tapped a key on his keyboard.