“I know,” I said, flipping through the yellowed pages of the book in my lap. “But your uncle kept very detailed notes.”

My fingers traced a series of neat, handwritten entries from three months ago.

They showed massive transfers from the Vitale accounts to a private shell company in Malta.

The name on the Malta account was not Matteo’s.

It belonged to his cousin, Enzo.

“I have the proof, Matteo,” I said. “I am going to clear your name.”

“No,” he said. “They will kill you before you can even open the book.”

“I am going to San Giovanni,” I said.

“Emily, wait—”

I cut the call.

I looked up at Luca in the front seat.

“Pull over,” I told him.

“Miss Carter, Matteo told me to take you to the safe house,” Luca said, his eyes scanning the dark street.

“The safe house is not safe anymore,” I said. “Let me out here. I will take a taxi.”

He hesitated, then pulled the black sedan to the curb near a dimly lit alleyway.

I grabbed the leather binder and my phone, tucking them deep inside my coat.