Page 61 of Vows Made in Silence

That means surveillance.

That means planning.

That means someone close.

Someone inside.

Which narrows the suspects down to people who should’ve been protecting her.

“Turk, you said the camera footage from the alleyway behind the gallery cut out two nights before she left. Did you ever find the cause?”

“Nope,” he says. “Feed was rerouted. Professionally. Someone knew what they were doing.”

My stomach knots. “Get the raw network logs. I want IP traces. Anyone who accessed that stream.”

“You think it was an inside job?”

“Turk, I think we’ve been dining with fucking traitors.”

There’s a beat of silence before he growls, “I’ll find them.” He turns and gets to work.

I turn toward the window. Sin city looks peaceful from here. But I know better.

And Giuliana’s right—the break-in wasn’t random.

A soft knock hits the door. I don’t turn. “Enter.”

It’s Leo. He’s got a manila folder in his hands and guilt written all over his face.

“Boss,” he says, tone tight. “You’re going to want to sit down for this.”

I don’t. I snatch the folder and flip it open.

Inside—photos. Old surveillance stills. A woman in a coat. Giuliana. Standing at the gallery years ago, speaking to someone I recognize too well.

Sophia.

And right beside her, half in shadow—Vescari.

I freeze.

“What the fuck am I looking at?” I rasp.

Leo clears his throat. “It’s from an old security dump tied to one of the gallery’s silent investors. We ran the financials.

Sophia moved a wire to an offshore account in Zurich... three days before Giuliana showed up as the new Gallery curator.”

My pulse thunders.

Sophia knew. All this time, she knew something.

And she played us both.

I flip the next page.

Another photo.

This one? A different date. A young guard—Moretti-blooded—handing something to Vescari. A flash drive. A small one. Barely visible.