Silas raises an eyebrow. “You sure? He’s not going to stop on his own.”
“If he suddenly disappears, it draws attention. Police investigation. Questions about his connection to Savannah. I don’t need that kind of scrutiny right now.” I take the phone and study Mason’s face. Weak. Desperate. Pathetic. “Keepmonitoring him. If he tries to come to New York or escalates beyond calls and flowers, then we deal with him. But for now, we just watch.”
“Understood.”
After Silas leaves, I sit with this information. Mason is still in love with her. Still trying to get her back. And part of me wants to fly to Chicago and handle him personally.
But patience is smarter. Let Mason exhaust himself trying to reach her and realize she’s never coming back.
And if he doesn’t get the message, then I’ll send a clearer one.
The Rome trip comes at the perfect time.
I’ve been buried in work for three weeks. The shipment. The Chicago acquisitions. A territorial dispute with another family that required delicate negotiations. I’ve been handling crisis after crisis, and Savannah has been patient.
Too patient, maybe. I’ve barely seen her except at dinner, and even then, I’m distracted.
The hotel acquisition in Rome is important, but it’s also an excuse to get away. To focus on her. To remember that I have a wife who needs attention.
We fly out on a Friday evening. The private jet makes the trip comfortable, and Savannah sleeps most of the way, her head on my shoulder.
When we land in Rome, it’s morning. The city is golden in the early light, all ancient stone and baroque fountains and the kind of beauty that makes you understand why people have been fighting over this place for thousands of years.
Our hotel is near the Spanish Steps. A converted palazzo with frescoed ceilings and marble floors, the kind of luxury that costs obscene amounts of money.
Savannah stands at the window of our suite, looking out at the city, and I watch her take it in.
“It’s beautiful,” she breathes.
“Wait until you see it at sunset.”
“When’s your meeting?”
“Not until Monday. We have the whole weekend.”
She turns to me, surprised. “Really?”
“Really. I figured you deserve a proper honeymoon, even if it’s three months late.”
Her smile is radiant. “Thank you.”
But by Sunday night, work pulls me back in. There’s a crisis with the New York distribution network. One of my buyers got arrested, and I need to make sure he doesn’t talk. It requires calls, negotiations, and payments to lawyers who specialize in keeping mouths shut.
By Monday morning, I’m back in crisis mode. The Rome acquisition meeting is at 2:00 PM via video conference. The sellers are in Milan, too important to travel. So I’m in the hotel suite’s office, laptop set up, prepared to negotiate.
Savannah is somewhere in the city. She said something about shopping, about wanting to explore without me being distracted. I felt guilty when she said it. But not guilty enough to cancel the meeting.
At 1:55 PM, I’m reviewing notes when the video call connects. Four icons appear on screen. The sellers and their lawyers, all looking serious and ready to negotiate.
“Gentlemen,” I say. “Thank you for making time for this.”
“Mr. Volkov. Shall we begin?”
We’re fifteen minutes into discussing terms when the office door opens behind me.
I don’t turn around. Assume it’s Savannah coming back from shopping. She knows I’m in a meeting and won’t interrupt.
Then I feel hands on my shoulders.
