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"There is a case file."

"Less useful."

"Less flattering photo."

I look at him. "Three weeks ago, you didn't make jokes. I've ruined you."

"Completely."

He says it dry, but his thumb moves once over mine, and my chest does something stupid.

The plane banks. Chicago fills more of the window.

Valentino looks past me at the city. His family lives there. His work lives there. Whatever happens next lives there too. The thought tightens his mouth.

"Amanda."

The way he says my name changes the air between us.

"It won't settle just because we land," he says. "Chicago isn't the end of it."

"I know."

And I do.

I've done the homework. Lying awake in the farmhouse outside Rome, listening to him not sleep beside me.

"Elio's in federal custody," I say. "There's going to be a trial, or a deal, or whatever the FBI does when a man flips for a trafficker. And someone gave the Basiles our route to the airport. Someone knew which car. Which road. Which hour."

His hand tightens around mine.

"Bruno's people are working on it."

"I know that too."

Elio is the neat answer. Elio knew the family. Elio knew Aldo. Elio knew enough to sell us.

Except Elio was already in custody when Luca and I were hit.

He had no phone. No access. No way to know the route Fabio gave Luca that morning.

So someone else knew.

Someone else told Enzo.

"What?" Valentino asks.

I look at him.

He's watching my face now, not the window. Of course he is. The man notices everything I don't want noticed.

"Nothing." I squeeze his hand and force a smile I don't feel. "Landing nerves."

He studies me a second too long.

Then the wheels touch down, Chicago rushing gray and bright past the windows, and he lets it go.

I don't.