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“That’s not the problem.”

“What exactly are you saying?”

“I looked under every name we have. Clara Bennett. Clara Agapov. The aliases attached to the accounts that appeared after her death. Every possible variation connected to the documents she left behind.”

Roman’s voice remains even, which makes the information worse. “She appears in Savannah eleven years ago. Lease agreement. Employment record. State identification. Before that, there’s nothing verifiable.”

“That’s not possible.”

“No,” Roman replies. “That’s not the word I would use.”

The SUV turns toward the Black Tide complex, the port cranes rising in the distance like black bones against the sky.

“Intentional,” I say.

“Yes,” Roman agrees.

I close my eyes and see Clara standing in our kitchen with Ivy on her hip. Clara laughing because Ivy smeared mashed banana across the high chair. Clara refusing a photographer at one of my early charity events because she said she hated attention. Clara asking me not to post family photos online because she wanted Ivy to have privacy.

I thought it was caution because of me, my world, and the violence I brought into her life. Now I’m not so sure.

“What did she tell you?” Roman asks.

I look out at the approaching building. “That she came from a wealthy family in New York. Controlling. Image-driven. She said she left because she wanted her life to belong to her.”

“And you believed her.”

“Yes.”

“Because you had proof?”

I set my jaw before I answer. “Because I loved her.”

“That’s not proof.”

“No,” I agree. “It’s not.”

Roman lets the answer stand on its own. He’s never been the type to soften uncomfortable truths, and I trust him more than anyone because of it.

“The woman in the photographs with Enzo,” he says. “I still don’t have her name.”

“That says enough.”

“It does,” Roman confirms. “She’s old enough to have known Clara.”

A slow, unpleasant pressure forms in my abdomen. “You think they’re connected.”

“I think Clara erased herself before Savannah, and now a woman with enough money, reach, and discipline to hide from my people is standing near the man who tried to take your daughter.”

His voice drops a fraction. “I think people leave families every day, Alexei. They don’t erase themselves unless there’s a reason.”

My grip on the phone tightens until my knuckles whiten. “What reason?”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out.”

The car slows outside Black Tide. Viktor gets out first, scanning the entrance while my driver steps around to open my door. I remain seated.

Roman speaks again. “Is there anything you haven’t told me?”