Vanessa called Alessandro at six AM on Thursday. Three hours before the press conference.
"We need to talk," she said. No greeting. No preamble. "In person. Before you do something stupid."
"I don't have time—"
"Make time. I know what you're planning to announce today. And I know things about your father's dealings that you don't. Things that will destroy more than just your reputation if they come out." Her voice was cold. Calculated. The kind of cold that came not from emotion but from the absence of it — from someone who had long since made peace with cruelty. "Meet me at the Gramercy Café in thirty minutes. Or I'll make sure every detail of Eduardo's crimes — including the parts that implicate you — becomes public knowledge."
She hung up.
