“Romeo confirmed?”
“Yeah,” I mutter.
A beat.
Then Santo says, quieter, “Maksim.”
I already know I’m not going to like whatever comes next.
“What.”
“The card hit tells us she meant to leave.”
The words land like a fist to the throat. I stare at the wall hard enough to crack it.
“She packed,” I say.
“Yes.”
“She took cash.”
“Yes.”
“She left my house.”
Another pause.
“Yes.”
Every answer makes something uglier open under my ribs.
But the phone. The crushed phone. I shut my eyes for one second.
Then open them again.
“She still could’ve been taken after,” I say.
Santo doesn’t argue. That’s enough to keep me breathing.
“I’ll send you garage footage as soon as we get it,” he says. “And I’m having my people pull station cams in case she switched routes after she ditched the car.”
That makes my head snap up.
“You think she went to the train?”
“I think she didn’t want to be found.”
That one almost does it. Almost.
My hand curls so hard around the phone it hurts.
“Get me the footage,” I say.
“You’ll have it.”
The call ends.
I stand there in the middle of her apartment with the silence pressing in from every side.
