Matteo’s office smells like old paper and espresso.
I sit across from him while he flips through a folder. His narrowed gaze is filled with annoyance, and his jaw right in irritation. The windows behind him look out over the bustle of Brooklyn.
“Anton and Georg Pavlov,” he says, tapping the file. “Still ghosts.”
“No sightings?” I ask.
“No solid ones. A shell company here. A burner there. Nothing we can grab.”
I nod once. I don’t like it, but I’m not surprised. The Pavlov brothers don’t step into the light unless they’re ready to burn something down.
Matteo closes the folder and leans back. “That’s all I’ve got for now.”
There’s a pause. I let it stretch.
“There’s something else,” I say.
His eyes lift. Sharp. “Of course there is.”
“Amber’s worried about her friend. Rose.”
The air in the room changes.
Matteo doesn’t speak right away. His expression doesn’t shift, but his shoulders go rigid.
“You wouldn’t happen to know where she is,” I add.
He stares at me. “You think I did something to her?”
“I think we’re friends,” I say evenly. “And I’d like to stay that way.”
The implication hangs between us. Clear enough.
Matteo exhales through his nose, a short, sharp sound. “You think I’m in the business of kidnapping girls now?”
“I think if you were,” I reply, “I’d need to know.”
For a moment, I’m not sure how he’ll take that.
Then he huffs a laugh, humorless. “Jesus, Gio.” He rubs a hand over his face. “It was the stalker.”
I still.
“He tried to grab her last night,” he explains. “I don’t know if he’s doing it all alone or someone sent him, but he tried something shitty last night.”
“And?” I ask.
“And I stopped it.” His gaze sharpens. “Took her somewhere safe.”
I let out a slow breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.
“That sounds just like you,” I say.
Matteo tilts his head. “You believe me now, or do you want to sweep my place while you’re here?” There’s an edge to it. Displeasure. Maybe a little insult.
“I believe you,” I say.
The tension eases, just a fraction.
