The next day.
Knock! knock!! knock!!!.
Vincenzo sat up slowly with his head pounding. He groaned, grabbed a hangover pill from the drawer, swallowed it, and dragged himself to the door.
As he unlocked it, one of his men stood there, holding a brown file.
“Boss, this is Seraphina's call record. It just came in from tech, I thought you’d want to see it right away.”
Vincenzo snatched the file. “Thanks,” he muttered, already flipping it open.
He scanned the pages, his expression tightening. “All these calls… to one number?” he asked.
“Yes, sir. Just one, located somewhere in Lower Manhattan.”
Vincenzo’s finger stopped on a name. “Jarvis.”
The room fell silent.
“You’re telling me every single call she made… was to Jarvis?” he asked coldly.
“That’s what it shows.”
“Are you sure this
