"Aria, have you seen the new surveillance photos of Marcus?"
Vera's voice came through the phone, excited. Aria had stepped onto her balcony.
"What photos are you talking about?" Aria asked.
"The photo of Marcus meeting with a well-known arms dealer in Prague last month. I'm sending them to you now."
Aria pulled her laptop closer. The photos loaded. It showed Marcus in a restaurant with a man she didn't recognize. Another shot outside. A third is getting into a car.
"Who's the man?" Aria asked.
"Viktor Kozlov. He is a distant cousin of your father's. He runs weapons through Eastern Europe." Vera paused for effect. "Marcus has been doing business with him for years. That's part of how he connected with your family initially." Vera explained.
Aria stared at the photos. Viktor Kozlov. The name sounded vaguely familiar, but she'd been young when her parents died. Most of her extended family were just faces in old photographs.
"These photos just came through?" Vera said.
"My contact in Prague finally came through with them. I've been waiting months for this level of confirmation. There are also financial records showing payments from Marcus's fake companies to Viktor's accounts. Going back six years." Vera explained.
Six years. A full year before her family was killed.
"Send me everything," Aria said.
"Already compiling it. You'll have a complete file by tomorrow morning." Vera's tone softened slightly. "How are you holding up? The first day must have been intense." Vera said.
"It was fine. He's attracted to my charm. We're on track." Aria said.
"Good. Don't let him get under your skin. Men like Marcus are experts at seeming vulnerable. That's how they operate." Vera advised.
After the call ended, Aria sat staring at the photos. The evidence kept stacking up. Financial records. Witness statements. Now, photos of Marcus with her father's cousin, who dealt weapons. It all pointed in the same direction.
So why had Vera left out the detail about Catherine?
Aria pulled up Marcus's original files. Scanned through them again. Current status: unmarried. No romantic attachments.
This is technically accurate if his wife were dead. Maybe Vera had just been concise. Grief over a dead wife could actually work in Aria's favor, making him more vulnerable to attachment.
Still, it felt like an odd omission.
The knock on her door made her jump. She closed the laptop and went to answer it.
Marcus stood in the hallway, holding her leather portfolio. "You left this in my office."
He could have sent it with anyone. Instead, he'd brought it himself.
"Thank you." She took it from him. Their fingers brushed, and heat shot up her arm. "You didn't have to do that."
"I was in the neighborhood." His eyes moved past her to the balcony setup. Laptop, coffee, scattered notes. "Working late?"
"Just preliminary research on the collection," she said
He nodded but didn't leave. He stood there looking at her like he was trying to work something out.
"What?" she said.
"You froze today. In the gallery." He said it without judgment. "If that's going to be a problem, I need to know now."
Her pulse went up. "It's not a problem."
"You sure?" he asked. "I'm not interested in making my employees uncomfortable."
"I'm not uncomfortable," Aria said quickly.
"Then what was it?" he pressed.
She considered deflecting. It would have been safer. But instead, the truth slipped out.
"You move fast," she said. "I wasn't expecting it."
"I can move more slowly," Marcus offered.
"I didn't say I wanted you to," she said, the words almost challenging.
The energy between them shifted.
Marcus stepped inside, closing the space between them. She had to tilt her head to meet his gaze.
"Then what do you want?" he asked.
This was the moment. The opportunity. She should say something calculated, seductive, and strategic.
But instead she said softly, "I don't know yet."
Something changed in his expression. Then he reached up, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. The movement was intimate and automatic.
"Fair enough," Marcus said. He stepped back. "When you figure it out, let me know."
He turned toward the door.
"Marcus," she called out to him.
He paused, looking back at her.
"Your wife," Aria said. "What happened to her?"
His face went blank. "I told you. Car accident."
"I mean… what really happened?"
There was silence. Then Marcus answered quietly.
"She was coming home from a doctor's appointment. Twenty-week ultrasound," he said. "We'd just found out it was a girl."
His jaw clenched.
"A truck ran a red light and hit her driver's side. She died on impact. Our daughter, too."
The words hit Aria harder than she expected.
"I'm sorry," she said.
"Thanks for your concern," Marcus said, his voice low.
And with that, he left.
Alone again, Aria stood motionless in her apartment. Something ached in her chest. Eventually, she drifted back to the balcony and opened her laptop.
She should have reviewed the financial records, drawn the connections, and mapped the data the way Vera had taught her.
But instead, she typed into the search bar: Catherine Thorne accident.
Dozens of articles loaded instantly. Police reports, local news blurbs, and medical examiner summaries. The details matched Marcus's story exactly.
Twenty-week ultrasound. Red light. Killed on impact. All these happened four years and two months ago.
She closed the tab and opened Vera's files, narrowing her focus to the financial timeline. Her family was killed five years ago. But the payments to Kozlov had started six years ago, well before Catherine's death. Well before everything.
Her phone buzzed. A message from Vera.
Did you review the new materials?
She texted back:
Reviewed. Strong evidence. Will incorporate into the approach.
Vera's reply came almost instantly.
Good. Don't lose focus. He's very good at playing the victim.
Aria set her phone aside and poured herself a drink. She moved to the window, glass in hand, looking out at the city lights.
Vera was right. Marcus could be manipulating her. The grief. The story. The quiet way he'd said our daughter. It could all be part of the performance. A sociopath's weapon.
The evidence didn't lie. Surveillance photos. Bank transfers. Testimonies. Five years of Vera's work. One small omission didn't make it all false.
Aria took a slow drink, letting the burn settle in her chest. She was here to finish what had been started. To take down the man who had destroyed her family and many other families.
Even if, deep down, part of her wished his grief wasn't so convincing.
Even if, when he said "our daughter," it had sounded real.
She shook the thought off and opened the assessment files for Marcus's art collection. Work would keep her grounded. Work would remind her why she was here.
And tomorrow, she'd wear a different perfume.
Something more distracting.