“It wasn’t just my creditors,” he said. “It was Matteo’s cousin. Silvio.”

Matteo stiffened beside me, his jaw tightening so hard a muscle twitched in his cheek.

“Silvio Vitale,” my father continued, the words spilling out in a panicked rush. “He’s the one who paid off my debts. He wanted me to put you in a position where they could snatch you. It was a distraction.”

“A distraction for what?” I asked.

“He ordered the hit on Don Alessandro,” my father said. “Silvio wanted the old man out of the way, and he needed everyone looking at me, at us, while he took over the family.”

A floorboard creaked in the hallway outside our room.

Matteo immediately drew his Beretta, his eyes shifting toward the heavy oak door.

“Where are you, Dad?” I asked, my heart hammering against my ribs.

“I’m at the warehouse by the Tiber,” he said. “The old brick yard near the Marconi bridge. But Emily, you can’t trust—”

The line went dead with a sharp beep.

I stared at the black screen of the burner phone.