Page 21 of Shadow Of Sin

Wolfe nods and looks at the data. I pull up a chair next to him because there’s only one desk and this apartment is barely big enough for one person, let alone two people and enough equipment to run a small country.

He’s got this way of working that’s different from anyone I’ve dealt with. He doesn’t narrate what he’s doing. He doesn’t explain his process. His fingers move and his eyes stay locked on the screen, and every once in a while, he asks a question that’s so specific it makes me realize he’s been three steps ahead the whole time.

“The real estate holdings,” he says, not looking up. “Pull up the property list.”

I pull it up on the second monitor. “What am I looking at?”

“Third page. The address on Newbury.”

I scroll. Stop. “That’s a Colonna Industries property.”

“Which is now run by the DiMicheli family.” He types something fast. “Cross-reference with the client list. Look at who’s been making inquiries on that property in the last three months.”

I do, and it’s a shell corporation I’ve seen before. Different name, different registration, but the same fingerprints as a company that showed up in a job I did for Dmitri two months ago.

“Son of a bitch,” I say.

“Yeah.”

“It’s the same people.”

“Different front. Same operation.” He leans back and looks at me. “Dmitri’s not just gathering random intel. Every job he gives you connects to the same two organizations. He’s mapping them for some reason.”

My stomach drops. I knew this. I goddamn knew this. I’ve seen the patterns for months—the overlapping targets, the connected names. I saw all of it and I looked away because looking is what got me locked up last time.

“How many of my jobs connect?” I ask, my voice tight.

“Based on what I’ve seen so far? All of them.”

Fuck.

I press my fists against the desk and lean into them. The room is too small, and the air is too warm, and the man sitting next to me just confirmed the thing I’ve been trying not to know for months.

“You were coerced,” Wolfe says. “Dmitri gave you just enough to do the work and not enough to see what it was for. That was on purpose.”

“That doesn’t make it better.”

“No. But it’s context. And context matters when you’re figuring out your next move.”

I open my eyes. He’s not trying to comfort me. He’s not trying to fix how I feel. He’s just sitting there, steady, offering a direction instead of a speech.

“How many more jobs until you have enough?” I ask.

“I don’t know yet. But every one you bring me fills in more of the picture.”

“Great. So I just keep feeding the monster and feeding you until you’ve got what you need.” I pause. “Or maybe you and the monster are one and the same.”

“Trust me, I’m the lesser of the two evils.”

“I’d like it if you didn’t consider yourself one of the evils.”

He looks at me for a long minute but doesn’t address my comment. “You’re the only person who can do this. You’re inside his operation. You see the raw data before anyone else touches it. Nobody else has that access.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“It’s supposed to make you feel important. Because you are.”

I stare at him. He says it the way he says everything. Matter-of-factly. As if telling me I’m important is the same as telling me the weather. And I can’t decide if that makes it more meaningful or less, but something in my chest cracks a tiny bit anyway.