جميع فصول : الفصل -الفصل 70

The Sister's ArrestMaria Russo lived in a modest apartment on Milan's north side—third floor walk up, faded shutters, the kind of building where neighbours minded their business. Inspector Rossi stood on the street below, watching the windows, two unmarked cars idling behind him."She's home," one of his officers said, checking his phone. "Lights on. No movement in the last ten minutes."Rossi nodded. "No sirens. We go in quiet. She's Russo's sister, not a soldier. But she's smart enough to run if she hears us coming."They climbed the stairs, boots soft on worn carpet. At the third floor, Rossi raised his fist—stop. He listened. Inside, a television murmured. Water running. Normal sounds.He knocked. "Maria Russo. Police. Open the door."Silence. The television went quiet."Ms. Russo, we have a warrant. Open the door, or we break it down."Footsteps approached. The lock clicked. The door opened a crack, chain still attached. Maria's face appeared—late forties, dark hair pulled back,

Testimony DayThe conference room at the prosecutor's office smelled like old carpet and tension. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked Milan's legal district, the morning sun painting everything in harsh white light. A court reporter sat in the corner, fingers poised over her machine.Livia sat at the long table, Alessandro beside her. Across from them—Rossi, a prosecutor named Giulia Conti, and two assistants with laptops and stacks of folders."Before we begin," Giulia said, her voice crisp and professional, "I want to be clear about what this deposition entails. You're providing testimony under oath. Everything you say can and will be used in court against Russo. Understood?""Understood," Alessandro said."And you've been granted immunity for the villa incident in exchange for your full cooperation?""Yes."Giulia nodded to the court reporter. "Let the record show that Alessandro Moretti and Livia Rossi are present voluntarily, having waived their right to counsel for this depositi

The Heist"Feeds are looped. You've got forty-five minutes."Carlo's voice crackled through Alessandro's earpiece as they crouched in the trees overlooking Russo's villa. The building sat dark against the lake, windows empty, no signs of life.Livia checked her watch. Midnight exactly. "Marco, Sergio—perimeter clear?""Clear," Sergio's voice came back. "No cars, no movement. Place is dead.""Let's keep it that way." Alessandro moved forward, Livia right behind him. They'd done this route before—knew the footholds on the wall, where the razor wire had gaps.Inside the courtyard, everything looked the same as their last visit. The fountain still trickled. Gardens still smelled of jasmine. But the emptiness felt different now. Like the villa knew they were coming.Alessandro tried the service door. Locked. He pulled out his picks, working fast. The lock clicked after thirty seconds."We're inside," he whispered into his comm."Copy," Sergio said. "Clock's running."The villa's interior w

The Ambush“Keep your eyes open.”Livia didn’t answer Alessandro. She just nodded, walking a half-step ahead down the narrow Milan alley. The rain had let up, but the cobblestones gleamed slick under the streetlights. Her coat was open, her hair loose—deliberately careless, like someone who’d finally stopped looking over her shoulder.They’d spent the morning laundering the first €800K recovered from Russo’s villa. Celebrated quietly with espresso and silence. For the first time in months, the air didn’t taste like smoke.That should’ve been her warning.A shadow shifted in a service doorway. Livia’s pulse spiked—but before she could react, a hand clamped over her mouth and yanked her backward.Alessandro spun, gun already out. “Livia!”She kicked, elbowing hard—but Dante’s grip was desperate, iron-tight. Two other men surged from the darkness. One tackled Alessandro low. The other jammed a pistol into his ribs.“Drop it, or I blow her head off,” Dante snarled.Alessandro froze, eyes

The Breaking Point“Eat it.”Dante shoved the plate toward Livia, his breath reeking of whiskey. The pasta was cold, congealed at the edges from sitting too long on the concrete floor. He’d brought it himself this time, driving out to a local trattoria to prove he could still provide. Still care.Livia didn’t move. She sat on the stained mattress, back against the wall, fingers tracing the cold metal of the drain cover she’d been studying for two days.“I said eat,” he repeated, voice harder now. He grabbed her wrist, forcing her to take the fork. “You think I don’t see you fading? You think I want you dead?”She pulled her hand away. “Why do you care?”His eyes flickered—hurt, anger, something desperate. “Because you’re mine. You always were.”“Dante, I haven’t been yours in years.” Her voice was quiet but steady. “Not since you bet me at that poker table.”He flinched as if struck. The plate clattered to the floor, sauce splattering across the concrete. “That was Russo’s idea! He ma