“No,” Damiano said. “You stay right next to me.”

He pulled a heavy leather chair beside his own and indicated for me to sit.

I sat down, folding my hands in my lap to hide their shaking.

The diamond caught the yellow light of the desk lamp, sparkling like ice.

A moment later, the heavy oak doors opened wide.

Silvio walked in first, wearing a tailored gray wool coat.

He was an older man with graying temples and a sharp, hook-like nose.

Behind him came three other men, all of them looking tense.

They did not look at Damiano; they looked directly at me.

“Damiano,” Silvio said, his voice echoing in the high-ceilinged room.

“We have a problem.”

“I am listening, Silvio,” Damiano said, leaning back in his chair.

Silvio tossed a thick paper document onto the desk.

It landed with a dull thud right next to my phone.

“That woman is a disease,” Silvio said, pointing a finger at me.

“She just flagged our entire network,” Silvio continued.

“The Department of Justice is tracking those defense files right now.”