Luca POV
Dante dropped the file on my desk without a word.
That was the first warning sign. Dante always had words. Dante was built out of words, quick ones, sharp ones, the kind that filled every silence before it could become uncomfortable. When my brother put something down and said nothing, it meant the something was bad enough that even he did not know how to frame it.
I looked at the file.
Then I looked at him.
His face was careful in a way it rarely was with me.
I opened the file.
It was thin. That was the first thing I noticed. Mia Russo's entire life fit into eleven pages, which told its own story, not a story of secrets, but a story of someone who had moved through the world taking up as little space as possible. Small town. City apartment. Two jobs. No credit cards, no loans, no property. No affiliations, no known associations, no flags anywhere in her financials except for the specific grimness of someone who counted every dollar because they had to.
