POV: Emilia Conti
We didn't announce the trap.
That was the point.
Traps only work when they look like routine—when the movement feels justified, even boring. Panic warns people. Familiarity disarms them.
Strauss didn't like that I understood this.
"Once we start," she said, "you don't improvise."
"I won't," I replied. "I'll observe."
"That's not reassuring."
"It should be," I said. "Observation is how you catch inconsistencies."
Alessio watched from the chair near the door, shoulder immobilized, jaw tight. He hadn't said much since Strauss confirmed the leak, but I felt his attention constantly—tracking every decision, every silence.
"You're certain it's internal," he said quietly.
"Yes," I replied. "And recently."
"How do you know?"
"Because Luciano's timing adjusted after protection was assigned," I said. "Not before."
Strauss nodded reluctantly. "That narrows the field."
"But not enough," Alessio said.
"Not yet," I replied.
