POV: Emilia Conti
The consequences didn't arrive loudly.
They arrived organized.
Strauss knew it the moment she walked into the room—shoulders tight, jaw set, movements clipped in a way that meant bad news had already been confirmed twice before being spoken aloud.
"He made his move," she said.
I didn't ask who.
"When?" I asked.
"An hour ago," she replied. "Quietly."
That was worse.
Alessio sat up straighter despite the pain. "What kind of move?"
Strauss looked at him, then back at me. "He triggered a legal counterstrike."
My chest tightened. "Against whom?"
"Against your brother."
The room went still.
"Dante is already in custody," I said. "You have him protected."
"Yes," Strauss replied. "But protection doesn't erase history."
"What history?" Alessio asked sharply.
Strauss tapped the tablet, then turned it so we could see.
Old case files. Sealed indictments. Charges that had never been pursued because they were never meant to be.
