Elena arrived the next morning carrying a leather portfolio that looked older than Sofia.
"I kept records," she explained, sitting at our kitchen table. "After I left Il Consiglio after I chose you over them I documented everything I could remember. Names, operations, methods. I told myself it was insurance. In case they ever came after me for walking away."
"You've had this for thirty-five years?"
"Buried in a safety deposit box. I never looked at it. Couldn't bear to. But I never destroyed it either."
She opened the portfolio. Pages of handwritten notes, some yellowed with age, others apparently added more recently updates, she explained, whenever she'd learned something new through her work at Haven House.
