I stare at the photographs again while unease prickles the back of my neck.
The woman’s face looks familiar somehow. Not recognizable, familiar. Like a memory sitting just outside reach.
“She’s older,” I murmur absently. “Late fifties. Early sixties maybe.”
Roman nods once.
“She’s connected enough that Enzo met her privately outside normal channels. That makes her important.”
Rain lashes harder against the windows while I continue flipping through the photographs. In one image, Enzo leans forward while he speaks to her. Respect sits in the angle of his posture.
Interesting.
“She doesn’t look like logistics,” I say quietly.
Roman’s mouth curves faintly without humor. “Neither did half the people who financed wars during the nineties.”
True. The most dangerous people rarely resemble what they actually are.
I look through the photographs again. “You think this started before the shipping routes.”
“I think the routes created opportunity.” Roman folds his hands loosely together. “Not motivation.”
The implications behind that statement change the shape of this problem entirely. If Roman is correct, then this stopped being only about routes and cargo the moment Enzo said Maggie’s name out loud. Personal enemies are dangerous enough. Men willing to weaponize people you care about are worse.
I rise from the chair and move toward the windows. “I increased security around the shelter,” I say without turning around. “Plainclothes only. Rotating coverage around Teresa’s diner. Additional vehicles near Maggie’s routes through the city.”
“Yes,” Roman says calmly. “Which means you’re already thinking emotionally instead of strategically.”
I lean against the edge of the desk. “Enzo made that difficult tonight.”
“And now he believes the pressure works.” Roman reaches for his bourbon again. “That problem gets corrected immediately.”
The muscle in my jaw ticks. “I already expanded security around the shelter.”
“Keep it controlled.” Roman takes another sip of bourbon. “Maggie already knows you have protection around her. The goal now is making sure no one else notices how much of it there actually is.”
“I understand the balance.”
Roman nods once. “Meanwhile, my people will keep digging into Enzo and whoever is standing behind him. If he pushes further, we stop responding defensively.”
“He crossed a line tonight,” I say quietly.
“Yes,” Roman replies. “And men who cross lines eventually learn why they shouldn’t.”
A dark smile forms despite the exhaustion dragging through my system.
“Whatever this becomes,” he says calmly, “won’t remain contained much longer. If this older woman truly sits above Enzo, then yesterday at the shelter wasn’t random escalation.”
“It was a test,” I murmur. “They wanted to see how I’d respond.”
“And now they know.”
Silence fills the study while I look back down at the surveillance photographs spread across Roman’s desk. Enzo sitting across from the older woman. Enzo listening. Enzo following instructions instead of giving them.
That changes everything. And for the first time since this began, I see that Enzo may not actually be the most dangerous person involved.
Roman studies me across the dim light of the study before speaking again. “There’s another issue.”
