I shone the light on the faded ink.

The transfer had been completed three hours before the first explosion rocked the villa.

My father had received his payout while I was still packing my bags.

“He is still in Rome,” Matteo said quietly.

“He did not flee back to America like the police think.”

“He is waiting for the final transfer to clear before he leaves.”

My hands clenched into fists, crumpling the edges of the wet bank statements.

“Where is he?” I asked.

“I have an address in the historic center,” Matteo said.

“A small, private apartment near the Piazza Navona.”

“He thinks he is safe because the syndicate is distracted by the attack on my uncle.”

I stared at the name on the paper until the letters blurred together.

The man who had raised me, who had promised to protect me, had traded my life for half a million euros.

“I want to see him,” I said, looking up at Matteo.

“It is too dangerous,” Matteo replied, his eyes dark under the shadow of his brow.