Page 43
“You are,” I insist.
“I was shot.”
“That’s not a defense.”
Viktor leaves the accusation unanswered. I let it go because arguing with Viktor has never improved anything, and I need him to be useful today.
We take the car to Black Tide. The drive into Savannah passes through streets that look ordinary. People walk dogs, stop for coffee, argue over parking spaces, and move through the city as if violence didn’t tear through the shelter less than forty-eight hours ago. That’s the part civilians rarely understand. The world doesn’t stop because blood is spilled. It keeps moving around the people left standing in it.
My phone rests in my hand, Roman’s message still on the screen. I wait until we’re on the secure line inside the car before calling him.
He answers before the second ring finishes. “Brat.”
“What did you find?”
“No greeting?”
“Roman.”
A faint breath moves through the line. It’s as close to amusement as Roman ever gets. “Enzo has gone underground.”
My jaw clenches. “When?”
“Last night. Three known residences are empty. Two offices cleared. Phones discarded. His usual driver disappeared with him, and one of his shell accounts moved money through a route we didn’t know about until this morning.”
“He expected us to come.”
“He expected you to come,” Roman corrects.
Outside the window, Savannah slides past in clean lines of brick and iron. I stare through it without seeing any of it clearly. Enzo running confirms what I already knew. A guilty man flees. A frightened one erases tracks.
“Find him.”
“I will,” Roman assures.
There’s a deliberate pause afterward. Roman doesn’t hesitate unless he wants the silence noticed.
“What else?” I ask.
“I started digging into Clara again.”
Her name pulls every part of my attention to the call. “Why?”
“Because every road around this situation keeps turning toward her.”
“She’s dead.”
“Yes,” Roman says. “And still inconvenient.”
A surge of anger moves through me before I can stop it. “Careful.”
“I’m always careful. That’s why I’m calling instead of waiting until I have a prettier answer.”
I stay silent.
Roman continues. “There’s no Clara Bennett before Savannah.”
I hear the words, but they seem impossible. “She changed her name.”
