8. Alexei #3
The memory disappears when I step through the guest house door. Business demands my attention.
The man sits at the kitchen table when I walk in. Dried blood stains the collar of his shirt, and one eye is swollen nearly shut. A bottle of water rests in front of him.
Two of Roman's men are in the room with him. One stands near the doorway while the other stands against the far wall. Neither speaks.
The man looks up when I enter, and fear flashes across his face. Not because he knows my name, but because he understands exactly why I'm here.
I pull out the chair across from him and sit. Viktor remains near the wall.
The man swallows audibly. “I already told them everything.”
The lie is too fast. Most people think lies become convincing when they're delivered without hesitation. The opposite is usually true.
I lean back and study him. “No. You didn't.”
His breathing grows louder, and the room suddenly feels very small.
“I don't know anything,” he insists.
Again, too fast. Too rehearsed.
I rest my forearms on my knees. “Let's try this another way.”
The color drains from his face.
Interesting.
“I was hired.”
He admits it abruptly, as though he's already decided resistance isn't worth the effort.
“By who?”
Moisture beads along his hairline. “I don't know.”
“Bad answer.”
His eyes dart to Viktor, then back to me. “It's the truth.”
I rise from the chair and begin pacing slowly around him. The movement is enough to make him tense. Fear is useful. Not because it creates honesty, but because it creates mistakes.
“You watched the shelter.”
His jaw clenches.
“You followed Maggie.”
No response.
“You followed my daughter.”
He shuts his eyes briefly.
There it is.
Guilt finally surfaces. It's faint, but it's there.
“I never touched either of them.” He licks his lips before taking a drink of water.
The distinction clearly matters to him. It doesn't matter to me. “You helped the people who intended to.”
His breathing becomes uneven.
I stop beside the chair. “Names.”
“I don't know any names.” His fingers tighten around the water bottle until the plastic crackles beneath his grip.
“Then give me faces.”
The pause that follows lasts less than a second. “There was a woman.”
Every thought in my head stops. Across the room, Viktor pushes away from the wall, and the man's gaze snaps toward him. The fear that follows is impossible to miss. He finally understands the significance of what he just said.
I move back into his line of sight. “What woman?”
His throat works once. “Older.”
The man looks nervously between us. “She wasn't at every meeting,” he adds.
I wait.
“But everyone listened when she showed up,” he continues.
My pulse slows. It’s a dangerous reaction. The closer I get to answers, the calmer I become.
“How old?”
“Sixties. Maybe older.” He licks his lips again.
Viktor's eyes meet mine. This has to be the older woman that Enzo answers to.
“Who is she?”
The man rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “I don’t know.”
“What did she want?”
“I don't know,” he repeats.
I step closer.
His voice breaks before I even say anything. “I swear.”
“You’re rapidly running out of opportunities to swear.”
The man squeezes his eyes shut. “I heard people talking.”
“About what?”
“A girl.”
Ivy.
He has my full attention. “What about her?”
His voice drops. “They said she belonged with family.”
The words hang in the air. Family. Not money or ransom. Family. That changes everything.
“Where’s Enzo?”
The man shakes his head. “I don't know.”
“Try again.”
“I'm telling the truth.” He thrusts his hands out in front of him, palms up. “He just... disappeared. No one could reach him. Orders kept coming, but they weren't coming from him.”
Before I can ask another question, my phone vibrates.
Roman.
I answer the call.
“He mentioned an older woman.”
“Interesting.” His voice drops. “I found records.”
I straighten. “What records?”
“Financial transfers.”
Every ounce of my attention narrows onto Roman's voice.
“They started shortly after Clara died,” he continues.
A chill works its way through me.
“It seems Clara wasn’t as cut off from her family as we thought,” he adds.
Every muscle in my body goes still. “Explain.”
“I'm still putting it together,” Roman says. “But I think we've been looking in the wrong direction.”
I think of Clara. Whoever is behind this has spent years moving pieces across a board I couldn't fully see. That ends now.
“Keep digging,” I tell Roman.
My attention returns to the man sitting across the table. He knows I'm looking at him because his shoulders draw tighter.
“That's all I have,” he says quickly. “I swear to God.”
I believe him. Fear has stripped away everything except the truth, and he has nothing else to give me.
“Brat?” Roman says.
I keep my eyes on the man. “He doesn't have any more information.”
“My men will handle it.” Roman doesn't need to explain what comes next
The call ends.
The phone remains in my hand as I stare at the half-empty bottle of water.
Family.
An older woman.
Clara.
For the first time in years, I can feel the shape of something hidden beneath the surface, and now I know where to start looking.