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I study the image again. “They determined the fire started in the laundry room.”
Roman nods. “They were correct.”
I lower the photograph slowly. “You didn’t come here to repeat the fire department's report.”
“No.” Roman's expression hardens. “It wasn’t accidental.”
Luka straightens beside me.
Roman taps one of the photographs. “My investigators recovered remnants of a melted lithium battery pack hidden inside a donated box of towels stored in the laundry room.”
The only sound in the gym comes from our labored breathing.
“The device overheated,” Roman continues. “It ignited nearby lint and cleaning supplies. By the time the fire spread into the electrical system, the original source had been destroyed.”
I study the photographs again. The device had been hidden inside a donated box of towels in the laundry room, where Maggie spends hours every week sorting supplies.
Fury tears through me. “The donor?” I ask.
“Fake information,” Roman replies.
I lift my head. “Security footage?”
Roman folds his arms across his chest. “The individual wore a baseball cap, sunglasses, and gloves. Facial recognition produced nothing.”
I rise from the bench so abruptly that the water bottle in my hand crumples. “Someone intentionally burned the shelter.”
Roman nods once. “Someone planned it.”
Luka swears under his breath. “They could have killed everyone inside.”
I begin pacing across the gym floor. The fire. The break-in at Maggie's apartment. The threats, the men following her, the vandalism at the shelter. None of it was random. None of it ever was.
“Maggie was supposed to be there,” I say, stopping beside the windows.
Roman meets my eyes. “That’s my conclusion.”
The words hit like a physical blow. Maggie was meant to die. If she had remained inside only a little longer, she and Jules would have never come out.
My fingers flex once before closing into fists.
“Fuck,” Luka swears again. “Enzo?”
Roman shakes his head once. “No. Isabella Moretti.”
“You sound certain,” I say.
“I am.”
Fear and fury collide inside me, stealing words I rarely struggle to find.
Isabella Moretti has crossed a line. She targeted Maggie. There’s no other interpretation.
Roman exhales slowly. “We still lack proof tying her directly to the device. Until we have it, we proceed carefully.”
“No.” I shake my head. “I’m finished proceeding carefully.”
“Alexei,” Roman says, a clear warning in his voice.
