Chapter 45

Chapter 45
Luca's POV

After Lina left the study, I stood in place for a long time.

I walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, pulled out a cigarette pack from my coat pocket, and extracted one to put in my mouth.

The lighter flipped in my other hand. I bit the filter, the bitter taste of nicotine spreading on my tongue, making those messy thoughts in my head quiet down a little.

She asked me how I knew she couldn't help herself. I said because you care about me too much.

Actually, the moment I said that sentence, I regretted it—not because it was false, but precisely because it was too true.

So true it was like a dagger without a handle; holding it in hand, the one wounded was myself.

I didn't want it to be this way.

I took the cigarette from my mouth, spun it once between my fingers, and walked to the desk to sit down.

The documents were still spread on the desktop. Next to them was the blade she had just placed on the desk. I picked up the blade and looked at it under the desk lamp.

The sharp edge had a small curl, as if it had been knocked against something hard.

I put down the blade, pulled open the drawer, and took out the encrypted communicator, pressing the intelligence team's channel.

"Progress," I said.

The other side quickly responded: "Still need one more handshake signal. The target is rotating between three possible safe houses around New York, staying no more than seventy-two hours each time. The next encrypted instruction window is expected between this Thursday and Saturday, estimated duration thirty to forty seconds."

Thirty to forty seconds.

As long as we could completely intercept those few dozen seconds of signal, triangulation could be completed. Then it wouldn't matter where Dmitri was hiding.

I placed the communicator on the desk, leaned back in the chair and closed my eyes, letting this number repeat a few times in my mind.

As long as we could intercept the signal, Dmitri could be dragged from the shadows into the light, from hunter to prey.

I opened my eyes to look at the chandelier on the ceiling. The warm yellow light stung my eyes a bit.

I took the cigarette from my mouth and found the filter had been bitten somewhat out of shape. I simply pressed the cigarette directly into the ashtray.

Next to the ashtray was the mug Lina had used last night. I held the empty cup in my hand and turned it halfway, choosing to get up and wash the cup.

I walked to the kitchen, placed the cup in the sink, and turned on the faucet to rinse it.

The sound of water echoed in the empty kitchen. I turned around and leaned against the kitchen counter, pulling out that photograph from my pocket.

Theresa holding infant Lina, sitting in the high-backed chair of the Volkov family study, with the bookshelf behind her full of Russian original books.

She smiled faintly, her light blue eyes exactly like her daughter's, as if able to see through all the lies in the world.

This photo was taken three days before the Volkov family massacre. On the back of the photo was a line in pen: "Luca, if something happens to me one day, I will entrust my daughter to you. You are the only one who can be trusted."

I flipped the photo over, my thumb gently brushing over that line of writing. The ink had faded to light gray over fifteen years, and the handwriting had also become blurred.

Theresa, I failed your expectations. I lost Lina for fifteen years, and now it seemed that because of a sentence and action of mine, I had pushed Lina away quite a bit.

I let out a heavy sigh and put the photo back in my pocket.

Alright Luca, now wasn't the time for self-examination.

Dmitri was still in the shadows. Before Thursday's encrypted instruction arrived, I needed to stabilize all variables and ensure every step was within the plan.

I returned to the study, sat back at the desk, opened the computer, and pulled up the surveillance report sent by the intelligence team.

In the past seventy-two hours, there had been no unauthorized physical intrusions, no abnormal signals sent from inside the apartment, and Cecelia's encrypted phone hadn't sent data to any external nodes tonight.

I minimized the surveillance page and opened another encrypted folder containing all the background investigation content on Cecelia that the intelligence team had compiled over the past few months.

Turning to the third page, a foster institution file appeared on the screen.

The photo showed a girl about thirteen years old with shoulder-length black hair and amber eyes, with features that bore seventy percent resemblance to Cecelia.

The file noted her alias, training number, and transfer records.

This was Cecelia's sister.

Two months ago, after the Raven Naples branch was raided by Italian police, she was transferred to a foster institution in Rome. Her current status was "safe," with custody temporarily managed by the local welfare department.

Cecelia didn't know about this.

Dmitri told her that her family was still in Raven's hands, and if she didn't obey, they would die.

She believed it, had believed it day after day for ten years, because Dmitri had never given her any evidence.

And I, Luca Moretti, happened to have evidence that Dmitri had been concealing all along.

This file wasn't a weapon to threaten her—it was a key.

But I didn't plan to give it to her now. Keys only have value when the lock is still intact. If Cecelia knew the truth right now, I guessed she would immediately abandon her disguise and cut off contact with Dmitri.

And once Dmitri sensed something unusual, he would replace all contact nodes.

Then we might never again have the chance to track down Dmitri himself through her, and this chess game would have been played for nothing.

I needed her to maintain the status quo before Thursday's instruction arrived—continue playing that sweet distant cousin, continue passing on the intelligence Dmitri gave her, and then at the most critical moment, push this key along with the truth right in front of her.

I closed the folder, leaned back in the chair, and wearily rubbed my brow.

For these three days, I needed to keep all variables within a safe range. And the most obvious unstable factor wasn't Cecelia—it was Verona's people.

Although I had removed the two informants Verona had previously placed in the student council and administrative office, the people staking out near the apartment hadn't completely withdrawn.

If they made any moves this weekend, even just probing harassment, it could disrupt our entire deployment to round up Dmitri.

They might not necessarily know about Dmitri's matter, but they definitely knew that these recent days were when the apartment's security was most tense. Taking advantage of chaos didn't require understanding who started the fire.

In the Verona internal communications the intelligence team intercepted this afternoon, there was an encrypted message mentioning "near the school" and "weekend." These two keywords together were never a good sign.

I picked up the landline on the desk and dialed an internal extension.

"It's me," I said. "Starting tomorrow, increase surveillance around St. Herman by three people. Continue monitoring Verona's side. If anyone appears within a two-kilometer radius of the apartment or school, intercept them directly without needing to ask for instructions."

The other side simply acknowledged, and the call ended.