Another window opened, showing a detailed log of Marla Hensley’s personal bank accounts.

“My people have been monitoring Marcus’s shell accounts for three weeks,” he said.

“This transfer cleared right as you walked through the sliding doors of Boston General.”

I thought of Luca lying in that cold hospital bed, his chest laboring for every breath.

I thought of Marla’s smug, dismissive face as she told me to wait in the lobby.

She knew he was dying.

She knew every minute she delayed his treatment brought him closer to the edge.

And she did it anyway for a digital deposit.

“I am going to kill her,” Giovanni said quietly.

The statement was not a hot threat; it was a simple, chilling declaration of fact.

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his phone.

“No,” I said, my voice sharper than I intended.

Giovanni paused, his thumb hovering over the screen.

He looked at me, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

“She set my son up to die, Lauren,” he said.

“She gave his coordinates to a man who wants to put a bullet in his head.”