Page 57 of The Enforcer’s Pawn

“Patrick was already under Volkov watch when I went to Boston,” I say. “He had touched our money, and one of his contacts led toward Morozov. Maksim sent me to follow the money, confirm the link, and come home.”

Her face changes. “You were there for Patrick.”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t come there for me.”

“I didn’t know you existed.”

She pulls the blanket closer around herself.

“I met you at that party,” I say. “I had a flight back to Moscow. I didn’t take it.”

Cara goes still.

“That night, my house burned. My parents were inside.”

Her lips part, and for a second she can’t speak.

“For five years, I hunted the man who ordered it,” I say. “I found names, payments, and routes. Every time I wanted to move, Maksim stopped me.”

“Why?” she asks.

“Because anger isn’t proof.” I sit again because standing over her feels wrong. “He told me to build the case first. Then we would destroy the men behind it.”

Cara doesn’t interrupt me, but her face tightens as I speak. Part of her already knows where this is going, and that part doesn’t want to hear another word.

“I had nothing clean to give you then,” I say. “I was angry. I was empty. I left Boston before I could make another bad choice.”

Her eyes lift to mine.

“Then Patrick vanished with Volkov money,” I say. “Your name came up on the Blacklist.”

Her face loses color.

I keep my voice even. “I don’t know what Patrick knew five years ago. I don’t think he knew what Morozov would do that night.”

She stares at me.

“But Patrick’s money, his contacts, and his careless mouth brought me to Boston,” I say. “That part is true.”

Her voice breaks. “He put you there.”

“Yes.”

“He didn’t plan the fire.”

“I don’t think so.”

“But his mess put you in Boston, and then he used me years later.”

I have no answer that will make that cleaner.

Cara covers her face with both hands. I move once, then stop with my hand on my knee. I wait.

After a while, she lowers her hands.

“I don’t know what to think anymore,” she says.