The Mafia's Undoing-Chapter 36: The Devil You Know

Marco’s FBI file sits on the metal table between us like a confession waiting to happen.

I flip it open. Financial records, surveillance photos, transcripts of intercepted calls. My cousin’s entire life has been reduced to evidence of betrayal. But it’s the desperation in his eyes that tells me he’s not lying.

"Start from the beginning," I say, my voice flat and cold. The tone that makes grown men confess to crimes they didn’t commit. "How did Angelo survive?"

Marco’s shackled hands tremble as he pulls the file closer. "The coroner. Dr. Edwin Marsh at Manhattan Memorial. Angelo paid him fifty thousand dollars." He taps a bank statement with one finger. "Wire transfer dated November 3rd. Two days before the shooting."

I study the document. Clean. Verifiable. The routing numbers trace back to a Cayman Islands shell corporation - Silverton Holdings LLC.

"Marsh switched the body," Marco continues, gaining momentum now that I’m listening. "Angelo used a homeless man of a similar build and age. Gunshot wounds matched. Dental records were ’damaged beyond recognition’ in the fire." He makes air quotes with his shackled hands, the chains clinking. "The real Angelo was moved to a private clinic in Grand Cayman. Spent six weeks recovering."

"Who else knows?" My mind is already running scenarios. If Angelo’s alive, every deal we made, every territory we divided, every alliance we built on the assumption of his death - all of it collapses.

"Davidson. Luca doesn’t know - Angelo’s cutting his own son out." Marco leans forward. "That’s how desperate he is, Tony. He’d rather work with bankers and thugs than trust his own blood."

Marcus Davidson. The name lands like a stone in my gut. Katherine’s former colleague, the man who pushed her toward me in the first place.

"Davidson’s been Angelo’s inside man for three years," Marco says. "Premier Financial was laundering Torrino’s money through legitimate client accounts. Small amounts, dozens of transactions, layered through shell companies. Katherine’s old accounts were part of the network - she just never knew."

I force myself to breathe. To think. "The Marvin account assignment."

"Was deliberate." Marco nods. "Davidson fed Katherine to you like bait. Angelo wanted someone close to you, someone you’d protect. When the time was right, he’d use her as leverage to destroy the Marvin family from the inside."

The elegant cruelty of it makes perfect sense. Katherine wasn’t collateral damage. She was the weapon.

"Victoria’s engagement demand threw them off schedule," Marco continues. "Angelo had to improvise. The kidnapping, the shootout - none of that was supposed to happen yet. You moved too fast, loved her too publicly. It forced Angelo’s hand."

I close the file, mind racing through every interaction, every decision. "You have proof of all this?"

"Bank records. Wire transfers. Encrypted communications I copied before they burned me." Marco’s voice drops. "I knew they’d throw me under the bus eventually. I’m not stupid, Tony. Just... weak."

There’s something almost human in the admission. Marco, who spent years undermining me, scheming for position, playing family politics like a blood sport, was reduced to this. A desperate man trading information for survival.

"Why tell me now?"

"Because Angelo’s not finished." Marco’s eyes meet mine, and I see genuine fear there. "He wants revenge for his ’death,’ for losing his empire. And he blames Katherine for everything. If she hadn’t walked into your life, you’d still be the cold, controllable heir Thomas wanted. Angelo could’ve worked with that. But love made you unpredictable. Dangerous."

"I want a deal," Marco says. "Full immunity. Witness protection. New identity. Everything."

"In exchange for what?"

"Everything I know. Names, dates, and financial records. The entire Davidson-Torrino network." He pauses. "And the identity of your mole."

My blood goes cold. "What mole?"

"Angelo has someone inside your organization. Someone close to you." Marco’s chains rattle as he shifts. "They’ve been feeding him security protocols, locations, and personnel movements. That’s how he’s stayed ahead of you. How he knew Katherine would be at the restaurant that day. How he knows where she is right now."

I’m on my feet before I realize I’ve moved. "Who?"

"Get me the deal first." Marco leans back, and despite his condition, there’s a flicker of his old calculating smile. "The FBI’s offering me ten years minimum. I want full immunity, or Katherine dies not knowing who sold her out."

Every instinct screams to reach across the table, to make him talk through pain and fear. The old Tony would’ve already had Vincent break every finger until Marco gave up the name.

But Katherine’s voice echoes in my head: I need you to be different. Better.

I force myself to sit back down. "I’ll talk to my lawyers. But Marco?" I lean forward, let him see the predator behind the civilized mask. "If you’re lying, if this is some scheme to get out of custody, I will find you. Witness protection won’t save you. Nothing will."

"I know." His smile fades. "That’s why I’m telling the truth. I’m terrified of Angelo, but I’m more terrified of you."

Good. 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝙚𝙬𝓮𝙗𝒏𝙤𝒗𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝒐𝓶

Agent Morrison escorts me out twenty minutes later, after I’ve photographed every relevant document, memorized every name and account number. The FBI wants forty-eight hours to verify Marco’s information before discussing any deal.

We don’t have 48 hours.

The parking garage is dim, echoing with the sound of my footsteps. Vincent waits by the SUV, phone in hand, expression grim. He sees me coming and straightens.

"Boss."

Something in his tone stops me cold. "What happened?"

"Katherine." He hands me his phone. "She received an email this morning that sounded threatening. Specific details about your grandmother’s house - layout, security, vulnerabilities."

My vision tunnels. "From who?"

"Anonymous sender. Routed through multiple proxies." Vincent hesitates. "She didn’t tell you. I only know because I monitor all household network traffic after the last incident."

The ground shifts beneath me. She’s keeping secrets, just like I used to keep secrets from her - same pattern that nearly destroyed us.

"She thinks she’s protecting you," Vincent adds quietly. "Doesn’t want you reverting to lockdown mode."

I pull out my phone. Three texts from Katherine:

Made actual edible pasta! Proud of myself.

Elliot wants to video call tonight. Is that okay?

Love you. Be safe.

Nothing about threats. Nothing about danger. She’s smiling through my screen while someone maps out ways to kill her.

"There’s more." Vincent’s voice drops. "The email signature. Just two letters: AT."

Angelo Torrino.

He’s not just alive. He’s here. He’s watching. And Katherine decided to handle it alone rather than trust me with the truth.

I’m already dialing Thomas as I climb into the SUV. He answers on the first ring.

"We have a problem," I say. "Angelo’s in New York. He’s made contact with Katherine. And we have a mole."

Static silence. Then: "I’m sending everyone. Lock down the brownstone. Don’t let her leave."

"She won’t listen to that. Not anymore." The SUV accelerates into traffic, Vincent pushing through gaps that don’t exist. "And if I force her, I lose her anyway."

"Then what’s the play?"

I watch the city blur past, thought about my father’s trembling hands on my mother’s photograph, his warning about holding too tight.

"I tell her the truth. Everything. Then I trust her to make the right call."

"And if she makes the wrong one?"

"Then I do what I should’ve done from the start." I end the call and text Katherine: "On my way home." Need to talk about something important.

Three dots appear as if she were typing. Disappear. Appear again.

Okay. I need to talk too.

My phone buzzes with a new email. Unknown sender. No subject line.

I open it.

A single photograph: Katherine at the brownstone window this morning, coffee mug in hand, wearing my shirt. The angle suggests someone across the street. Close. Patient.

Below the image, one line:

She looks peaceful. Enjoy it while it lasts. Three days, Anthony. Then we negotiate terms for her return.

-AT