Anger spikes, sharp and immediate. “She’s under my protection. You don’t dig into people I haven’t cleared.”
“I know,” he says. “And you can shoot me later. But listen.”
I don’t answer. My silence is permission enough.
“She’s a ghost,” Ottavio continues. “Rose Brown doesn’t exist. No school records. No family. No financial trail beyond what she earns and spends. Clean as a wiped drive.”
That alone would have been unsettling.
“But,” he says, and glances at the paused frame on the screen, “I ran facial recognition through some… older databases. Private ones.”
My stomach tightens.
“One hit,” Ottavio says. “Different name.”
He taps the keyboard and pulls up a file.
Brooklyn Lark.
The air seems to leave the room.
The Larks.
Old money. Ruthless money. The kind of family that eats cities alive and calls it investment. They’d sell their own mothers if it turned a profit.
Or their daughters.
A thought crosses my mind.
There’d been rumors, years back. A scandal buried under settlements and silence. A daughter who vanished just before a high-profile engagement. Whispers about a forced marriage to a man so dangerous even the Larks kept their hands clean by feigning ignorance.
I stare at the screen, the pieces locking into place with sickening clarity.
“Jesus Christ,” I murmur.
If I'm right, Rose is in more danger than I thought.
Which means I can't waste a second.
I turn to Ottavio. “Get the men.”
His head snaps up. “All of them?”
“All of them,” I say. My voice is low, deadly calm. “Lock down Brooklyn. Pull every favor. I want eyes on every road in and out.”
“And the Pavlovs?”
I stare at the frozen frame on the screen, at the smug curve of that bastard’s mouth.
“We’re taking her back,” I say. “And when we do, they’re going to regret ever setting foot in my territory.”
I don’t wait for confirmation.
This time, I won’t be too late.
19
ROSE
