She knew the name of the facility, the room number, and the staff who worked the night shift.

If I went to Matteo with these letters, what would stop Silvio from reaching out to Astoria?

A fragile woman in a wheelchair would be so easy to hurt.

A sudden change in medication, a misplaced syringe, and it would look like natural heart failure.

I stood up, my knees shaking.

I had the proof to destroy Silvio’s coup, but the cost of using it might be my mother’s life.

The grandfather clock in the main living room chimed eleven times.

The penthouse was quiet, save for the distant hum of traffic on West Street.

I walked to the window and looked out at the city lights reflecting off the Hudson River.

Downstairs, in the study, Matteo was likely sitting across from his uncle, drinking scotch and discussing business, completely unaware that his son was being poisoned in the room above them.

I had to tell him.

But I had to do it in a way that guaranteed my mother’s safety first.

I needed to get her out of that facility.