Chapter 127

Genevieve crossed the threshold into the apartment she shared with Matteo, her hands trembling as she took in the devastation left behind by the FBI. The once orderly space was now a chaotic mess—furniture lay toppled, drawers yanked open and their contents strewn carelessly across the floor. Books had been yanked off the shelves and tossed without care, littering the room in disarray. Couch cushions were ripped open, feathers drifting gently down onto the floor like snowflakes, adding an eerie softness to the wreckage.

“Ay, cazzo,” Alessio muttered sharply from behind her.

Despite the sting in her eyes and the hollow ache in her gut from the violation of their sanctuary, Gen forced herself to lift her chin and press forward down the hallway. Her steps slowed as she passed the sunroom, where the destruction was particularly brutal. Not a single plant had been spared—roots torn from pots, soil spilled and scattered across the floor like spilled secrets. She swallowed hard and pushed on.

Matteo’s office was a scene of upheaval, but it was what she had expected. She stepped inside quickly and exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Whoever had ransacked this place had, at the very least, shown some respect for the first editions. They were arranged carefully on his desk, lined up perfectly so as not to damage their spines or the precious words within. Grateful, she sent a silent prayer of thanks upward for this small mercy.

Turning back into the hallway, she headed toward their bedroom. After witnessing what she had already seen, she wasn’t shocked by the chaos that awaited her there. Nothing in the room had been spared from the thorough search. She pulled out Matteo’s sock drawer and smiled when she discovered they had missed the secret compartment. Inside, she found his stash of magazines, a vibrator, a rolled joint—and then her fingers brushed against something else. She carefully extracted a worn slip of paper. The handwriting was smudged, some lines crossed out, others circled. The paper had clearly been folded and unfolded countless times; the creases were soft and smooth from frequent handling. It was his proposal—the notes and ideas he had jotted down for what he wanted to say to her. She clutched the paper to her chest, a tender smile spreading across her face. God, she loved that man. Even behind bars, he still found ways to surprise her with his gifts.

“Like the safehouse, they left the apartment across the hall untouched,” Conor remarked.

“It’s under Antonio’s name,” Leo replied, entering the room with the bat Gen had left there months ago.