Chapter 7: What Fausto Knew
Fausto Greco had been watching Vincent Torino's household for four months.
He had a notebook.
Luca photographed every page.
The photographs arrived on Vincent's phone in a series of seventeen images, and Vincent looked at each one in order, without hurrying, the way he had learned to look at things that required him to stay calm precisely because they made him want to be anything but.
Fausto had noted Carmen's schedule.
Her hours.
Her route from the bus stop to the mansion gates.
The days she stayed late.
The days she left early because Isabella had a school event.
He had noted Isabella's school.
The name of it.
The hours.
He had noted Mrs.
Reyes, the neighbor who watched Isabella in the mornings.
He had noted that Carmen sometimes brought a small container of food home at the end of her shift — leftovers she had been given permission to take — and that she always carried it in the same green plastic bag.
He had been thorough.
He had been patient.
And he had been doing all of this on Dante Moretti's instructions, which meant Dante had been planning this for four months while sitting across from Vincent and smiling with eyes that never warmed.
Vincent set the phone down.
"Where is Fausto now?" he asked.
Luca's voice came through the speaker.
"Safe house near the port.
He doesn't know we found the notebook yet."
"Keep it that way."
"What do you want to do with him?"
"I want to talk to him." Vincent stood and moved to the window.
"Arrange it.
Tonight."
"And Dante Moretti?"
"Not yet." He watched a car move slowly through the street below.
"I want Fausto to tell me exactly what Dante knows and exactly what he was planning to do with it.
Then I'll know what to do about Dante."
"Understood."
He ended the call.
Marco was in the doorway.
"There's something else," Marco said.
"Luca found something in the notebook beyond the surveillance notes."
"Tell me."
"There's a section in the back.
Names and amounts." Marco paused.
"Three names from Vincent's household staff.
Not just Rosario.
Three."
The room felt different suddenly.
"Who?"
Marco told him.
One of the names was someone who had worked for Vincent for six years.
Someone who had access to the east wing, the security schedules, and the safe room codes.
"Change the codes," Vincent said immediately.
"All of them.
Tonight.
Don't tell anyone you're doing it until it's done."
"Already started."
"The other two names — are they still in the house?"
"One is.
One called in sick this morning."
"The one who called in sick — find them." He turned from the window.
"The one still in the house — I want them watched, not moved.
Not yet.
If Dante thinks his people are still in place, he'll move on his timeline.
I want to know his timeline before I disrupt it."
Marco nodded.
"And Carmen?" Marco asked.
"She stays at Via Serena.
She doesn't go back to the house until this is finished." Vincent picked up his jacket from the chair.
"Does she know any of this?"
"No."
"Good."
He thought about her face at the kitchen table that morning, the way she had turned toward the window so he wouldn't see the tear.
The way she had said *we don't need anything* with such complete conviction that it had taken him a moment to understand she genuinely believed it.
She had built a life on not needing anything from anyone.
And someone had been watching that life, cataloguing it, planning to use it as a handle to move Vincent Torino.
"Tonight," he said.
"Fausto.
I want the full picture."
He left the office.
On the stairs, his phone buzzed.
A message from the Via Serena number — Carmen's temporary phone.
*Isabella wants to know if the pasta was really fine or if you were just being kind.*
He stopped on the stairs.
He stood there for a moment in the empty hallway, with everything that was happening pressing in from all sides, and something shifted in his chest that he did not immediately have a name for.
He typed back: *Tell her it was fine.
Tell her the fork was a nice touch.*
May you like
He put the phone in his pocket and kept walking.
But for the first time in a long time, he was almost smiling.
