"And besides," she said, "they were here today. They won't come again so soon. You can go handle New York. We'll wait until you come back."
"You can't promise that." I cut her off.
"You can't promise New York is any safer," she shot back. "Salvatore's men are everywhere. Running won't change that."
We stared at each other, breathing hard. Stella whimpered in Elena's arms.
"So what do you want to do?" I asked finally, exhausted.
"Let me stay," she said. "Me and Stella will stay in the apartment. We won't leave. You go handle New York and come back when it's over."
"And if they hit the apartment again?"
"Your men will protect us," she said, nodding. "Like today."
I looked at her stubborn face and realized I couldn't make her change her mind. I couldn't force her to uproot everything she'd fought for.
"Fine." I relented. "I'll beef up security. And you and Stella stay inside. No going out. Understood?"
She nodded. "Okay."
"Stella." I looked at my daughter. "Promise me—no leaving the apartment. Stay with Mom."
She nodded hard, tears still wet on her lashes. "I promise."
I kissed her forehead, then Elena. "I'll handle New York and come back fast."
"Be careful," she said.
"I will," I promised. "I'm going to marry you. I'm going to watch Stella grow up. I'm not giving that to anyone."
She smiled through her tears. "You jerk."
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Elena
After Igor left with Artyom, I sat in the living room with Stella, drawing. Igor's men had cleaned everything up—the floor showed no speck of blood, the smashed doorframe had been briefly mended. Only a faint smell of disinfectant lingered, a bitter reminder that the nightmare had really happened.
"Mom, look!" Stella held up her finished picture, paint smudging her small face. "I drew Daddy, Mommy, and me."
I took the paper. Three stick figures holding hands; the smallest in the middle had blonde hair. She'd colored Daddy brown, Mommy yellow, and dotted red hearts all around.
"Good job, baby." I kissed her forehead and felt something twist inside me. After everything that had happened, she'd already slipped back into the innocent little girl she'd always been.
"Mommy, draw too?" She handed me a blue pencil, eyes bright.
"Okay." I sat down beside her and let the lines come. For a few minutes, I relaxed.
About ten minutes later, I went to the kitchen for a glass of water. When I came back, Stella was still on the couch, that little golden headbent over her drawing. A nameless dread rose in my gut, a queasy, rolling sensation.
I moved to the door and listened. There were supposed to be guards in the hallway—Igor had reinforced security before he left and told them to hold every exit. But outside, it was eerily quiet. No conversation, no heels on marble. Just my breath, tightening.
My heart started to pound.
"Is someone out there?" I called, my hand on the doorknob.
No answer.
