I looked between them, exhaling through my nose. “I sometimes wonder how I ended up the adult in this family.”
“You like control too much to let anyone else have it,” Lev said smoothly.
Roman grinned. “He’s not wrong.”
“Enough,” I snapped. The word came out like a gunshot, echoing against the glass walls. Silence followed as Lev raised an eyebrow again. “Roman. Sit.”
He did, sprawling into the chair opposite my desk, legs crossed like we were discussing the weather.
“Lev, close the blinds.”
He obeyed without question, pulling them shut until the city disappeared behind us. The room darkened, cocooned in muted gray.
I slid a dossier across the desk toward Roman. Inside were photographs, all grainy security stills, timestamped from the night before. Roman entering the Eclipse Tower with a woman in red. Roman stumbling out of the hotel lobby, barefoot and completely naked.
“Recognize her?” I asked.
He frowned, staring at the image. “Should I?”
“You tell me.”
“I don’t,” he said finally.
“Convenient.”
“It’s not convenient, Dmitri. It’s the truth.”
Lev circled behind him, looking over his shoulder. “She’s beautiful,” he remarked, almost idly. “And not the kind that picks up strangers.”
“Thank you, little brother,” I said. “Your taste in women is noted, but not helpful.”
Lev’s lips curved. “I’m just saying, she looks like trouble. Exactly Roman’s type.”
Roman ignored him, eyes still on the photo. “I remember going to the bar. Having a scotch. Then… nothing. Like someone flipped a switch in my brain.”
I studied him. Roman was many things—a liar, a manipulator, a hedonist—but he’d never been a fool. The confusion etched across his face wasn’t performative. His pupils flickered, his jaw clenched once, hard.
Lev met my eyes across the desk. “He’s not faking it.”
I inclined my head slightly. “No. He isn’t.”
Roman looked between us. “So what are you saying? I was drugged?”
“Yes,” I said. “And not by accident. Whatever was in your system, it wasn’t recreational. According to the tox screen, there were traces of benzodiazepine derivatives, high grade, designed to induce short-term amnesia. You didn’t just pass out, Roman. Someonewantedyou to forget.”
He leaned back in the chair, a humorless laugh escaping him. “Well, that’s a first. Usually, peoplewantme to remember them. Especially the ladies.”
Lev smirked faintly. “Not this one.”
“Who is she?” Roman asked, looking up.
“No idea,” I said, watching the way he blinked at the photo. Nothing. No recognition, not even a flicker. “But we know she’s good.”
Lev crossed the room, plucking the image from my hand and studying it under the lamplight. “We don’t have a name?”
“Not one that sticks,” I said. “The ID she used was fake, a high-level forgery. Facial recognition came up empty. No match in any system, not ours, not Interpol’s, not even the dark net. She’s a ghost.”
Roman frowned, sitting back in his chair. “Everyone leaves a footprint, Dmitri. Everyone.”
