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I lean back against the desk and stare at the tattoo again. “Because Enzo wants leverage. This wasn’t only leverage.”

“No,” Roman says. “This was an attempt to take Ivy cleanly. If they had succeeded, she would already be out of the state.”

My fingers grip the edge of the photograph. They weren't trying to scare me or send a message. They were trying to take my daughter.

“Don't waste time thinking about what almost happened.”

I meet his eyes. “It’s a little late for that.”

“Then use it and make sure it never happens again.”

I place the photograph on the desk. “Find who paid them.”

“I will.” There isn't a trace of uncertainty in his voice. “Money moved through three layers before reaching the broker. Offshore entity, private security shell, then an intermediary account linked to port operations.”

“It’s Enzo.”

“Possibly. The link points toward him, but not cleanly enough.”

I shake my head once. “He’s too careful to leave a clean trail.”

“He’s careful,” Roman says. “He’s not invisible.”

There’s a difference. A man like Enzo believes discretion makes him untouchable. It doesn’t. It only makes the process of reaching him more satisfying.

I pick up the second photograph from the desk. Enzo stands beside the older woman from New York. Dark hair, elegantly streaked with silver, and a face sharpened by age, restraint, and power. I've studied the image enough that I should be tired of looking at it by now. Instead, I keep coming back to the same problem. She feels familiar, just not in any way I can explain. It’s a persistent feeling that I've seen her before and forgotten where.

“The older woman.”

Roman nods. “We're still digging.”

I rub a hand across my jaw. The lack of answers is answer enough. People don't stay hidden from Roman by accident.

A quick knock comes at the office door before it opens. Luka enters with one of Roman’s men behind him. The air changes again, becoming colder, more operational. The man carries a folder.

“We just received information,” the man tells Roman.

Roman takes the folder from him and opens it. “Leave us.”

They leave at once. Luka closes the door behind them.

Roman lays another page on the desk. “Preliminary list of mercenary brokers who might connect to Enzo’s routes.”

“How many?”

“Seven.”

“How many matter?” I ask, scanning the list.

“Three.”

I read the names. Two I recognize. One I don’t. “This one?” I question, pointing at the third name.

“Specializes in family extractions, political removals, and corporate kidnappings disguised as custody disputes.”

My blood goes still in my veins. “Custody disputes.”

A muscle in Roman’s jaw ticks. “That caught my attention as well.”