I stared at that design magazine, my fingers nearly tearing the page to shreds. The woman in the photo wore a sharp black suit, her hair pulled back elegantly, revealing her long neck. She stood in her studio, with fancy jewelry cases behind her, her eyes full of a mature confidence I'd never seen before.
But I recognized her in an instant. Even with all the changes, even with her whole vibe completely different, even after five years had shaped her into someone new, I fucking spotted Elena right away.
"Get me her address," I snapped at Artyom across from me. "Now."
Artyom nodded and backed out.
I scanned the interview again. The reporter asked about her inspirations, and she smiled, saying, "Life's trials make you grow. I went through betrayal, but I met someone who saved me, got me out of that heartbreak, and gave me a fresh start."
Saved her. Got her out. My fist slammed into the oak desk, knocking over the pen holder.
Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!
What the hell had I been doing these past five years? Expandingmy empire until I could crush Salvatore outright. So I'd watched her disappear into Italy, unable to send my guys deep into his territory to search.
I should've found her easily, but now I understood why. Someone had covered her tracks, gotten her on a plane with a fake ID. And that asshole had "saved" her, "got her out of that heartbreak."
My jaw clenched so hard it ached. For five years, I'd even thought she was dead!
But thank God she was alive—alive, healthy, and beautiful. That was enough. I was grateful.
A knock came at the door. Artyom entered with a tablet. "Got it, Don. 'Stella' headquarters in Tuscany. Elena Jensen lives at—"
I snatched the tablet and glanced at the address. Tuscany.
A place my men had never delved into deeply, because it was Cosa Nostra territory—Salvatore's main stronghold. Over the past five years, that old bastard and I had been one spark away from all-out war. But now? It didn't matter. The Bratva was strong enough.
"Prep the jet," I said, standing and grabbing my coat. "Right now."
The twelve-hour flight felt like pure torture. I sat in the leather seat of my private plane, unable to sleep a wink. Outside, the endless night sky stretched on, clouds churning beneath the wings like frozen black waves. Elena's face kept flashing in my mind—her smile, the way she slept peacefully in my arms. Five years... what the fuck had she been through?
We landed at Florence airport as night fully descended. The Tuscan air was warm and Mediterranean, thick with the scent of pine.
I brought only two of my most trusted men, driving an unassuming black sedan to the address.
Standing outside that Tuscan apartment building, the night was deep, the streets empty. It was a typical old Italian structure, its beige walls glowing warmly under the streetlights.
I signaled my men to stay downstairs. Slipping into the building was easy. Picking Elena's lock? Child's play. The door clicked open. I held my breath and stepped inside.
The apartment was quiet, lit only by a faint nightlight in the livingroom. My eyes scanned quickly: tidy setup, handmade art on the walls, design sketches on the coffee table. The air carried her scent—that light lemon hint.
She was here. She was really here.
Then I spotted the jacket on the sofa. A man's jacket. Navy blue, Italian brand, a size smaller than mine. My fingers clenched.
I moved further in and saw men's slippers in the shoe rack by the door. The kitchen had two coffee mugs—one with the "Stella" logo, the other plain.
She was living with a guy. My spine burned, rage surging like lava through my veins. She was fucking living with another man.
Deep breath. Deep breath. I forced myself to calm down. Maybe they were just friends. Maybe it was—
Then the photo on the fridge. Elena holding a little girl, maybe four or five, with blonde hair and sky-blue eyes. The kid was grinning hugely, Elena kissing her cheek.
On the back: My little Stella, happy 5th birthday.
My world stopped. Five years old. We'd split five years ago. If she'd been pregnant... no. No way. If it were mine, she would've told me. She wouldn't—
Footsteps echoed in the hall. I quickly scanned the small space and slipped silently behind the balcony curtains just as the key turned in the lock. The folds hid me perfectly, but I could see everything through the gap.
