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“None,” I say. “He’s not in business with Tommy. Not connected to Tommy at all. A patron of The Hole Story and a close friend of Valentina’s. She checks in on him, brings him food, that kind of thing. Purely human interest.”

Mike’s jaw flexes. “So, nearly a month of fieldwork and you’re giving me a dog’s breed?”

I hold up a hand. “No. Nearly a month of fieldwork, and I’m finally in the fold. When you so sweetly messaged about this meeting, I was having an intimate lunch with Tee—Valentina—at her shop. Getting to know one another. Sharing life details and talking about family.”

That gets his attention. His brows lift and he crosses his arms. “Oh yeah?”

I nod once.

He starts pacing slowly. “Details.”

“She’s normal. Too normal. Either she’s the best liar I’ve ever met, or she’s genuinely clueless. She runs that shop like it’s her religion. Talks about cream cheese like she’s hosting a TED Talk. And she keeps her world small—her family, two employees, and Alfred, that’s about it.”

I don’t add that she smiles with her whole face. That she laughs easily. That she feels . . . open in a way criminals never do.

“Her father?” Mike asks.

“She speaks about him like he’s the American Dream. Says he built Cordone Freight from the ground up. She talks about it like it’s a legitimate company that’s on the up-and-up.”

Mike stays quiet.

“And she did mention Leonidas,” I add. “Her dad’s right-hand guy. Apparently, he’s been trying to set them up for years.”

Mike’s only response is to nod once, like I confirmed something he already had slotted neatly into place. But that’s it. No follow-up. No clarification. No expansion.

Which somehow feels worse than hearing it from her. I know Leonidas is a dangerous fucking dude, and it seems Mike agrees that Tommy Cordone would like to see him with his daughter.

I don’t like that at all.

Yeah, of course you don’t. He’s dangerous. Couldn’t be because you like her too.

“Anything I should be watching for when it comes Leonidas?” I ask, and Mike’s head snaps toward me. His expression is unreadable.

“Leonidas isn’t your mark, kid.”

Kid.

I’m thirty-seven, but sure, kid. My jaw tightens, but I keep my mouth shut.

“Belief can be a powerful cover, Maddox,” Mike eventually says. “You think she’s in on it?”

I hesitate. Which is fucking new. Precarious, even.

“I don’t know,” I admit. “But if she’s covering, she’s damn good. No tells. No nerves. Nothing about her reads criminal.” I scrub a hand over my jaw. “She’s fucking sunshine in a bagel shop.”

He lets that hang there for a second, eyes narrowing, like he’s trying to decide whether to be impressed or annoyed.

“All right,” he finally says. “You’re in her orbit now. Stay there. Get as close as you can.”

“As close as I can?” I question, narrowing my eyes.

“Yes. Close,” he repeats, leveling me with a look. “Get whatever you can. Do whatever it takes.”

Something tightens in my chest. An explicit directive to get as close as possible with Valentina Cordone is both the best and worst news I’ve heard in weeks.

Before I can stop myself, I ask, “What about Tommy? Anything new on your end? Financials, ports, shell companies? Anything break yet?”

Mike’s head snaps toward me. “That’s not your shit.”