"Yeah. A few of Salvatore's men disappeared at the same time." Artyom's tone grew heavier. "Our intel points to a coordinated move. They might be planning something big."
I shut my eyes and the pieces spun. Someone was moving against us. Maybe against me.
"Reinforce Tuscany's security," I ordered, my voice flat as ice. "Every place Elena and our daughter might be — the apartment, the studio, the daycare — double the guards. I want 24/7 surveillance. Any suspicious approach, neutralize."
"Understood, Don."
I hung up and turned to see Elena pale as paper.
"What's happened?" she asked, voice trembling.
I took her hand; it felt cold. "Natasha's missing. Along with some of Salvatore's men."
Her face drained further. "Do you think they're moving?"
"Yes." I nodded and pulled her into my arms. "But don't be afraid. I'll protect you."
She looked up at me with complete trust. "I believe you."
"Sorry." My voice cracked. "I'm sorry I dragged you into this."
"Don't apologize." She pressed her palm to my cheek. "I chose this, Igor. I knew loving you meant accepting danger. Don't blame yourself. We face it together, okay?"
I kissed her palm and left a mark in its center. "Okay. Together."
Tuscany's night was gentle and starry, but I knew danger prowled in the dark. Natasha's disappearance with Salvatore's men meant blood was coming. A war was being set in motion — and I had to be ready.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Igor
I hadn't slept a fucking second for two days.
Coffee stopped working. By the eighth espresso Artyom brought me, my hands were shaking—not from caffeine, but from anger. That hollow, burning kind of rage with nowhere to go.
"Don, you need to rest," Artyom said carefully.
"Shut up." I stared at the map spread across the table, every possible hideout for Natasha and Salvatore marked in tight, ugly handwriting. "Where's the intel report?"
"Here." He handed me a stack of files.
I flipped through them fast, eyes skimming numbers and locations. I'd been putting defenses in place for days, but defense wasn't enough. I needed to strike. I needed to know what those bastards were planning.
"Salvatore's been active," Artyom said, pointing to a line. "Our source says he's moving a weapons shipment. Big enough to arm fifty men."
My temples throbbed. "Destination?"
"Unknown." He shook his head. "He's being careful—using layers of middlemen. We're tracing it."
"Faster." I slammed the files on the table. "I want to know where it's headed, when it moves, how they're moving it. Now."
"Yes, Don."
I paced the temporary office Artyom had secured for me. I didn't want Natasha and Salvatore's mess touching Elena and Stella. Outside the window, Tuscany lay under the stars. Elena and Stella were at the apartment—maybe getting ready for bed.
I pulled out my phone and looked at the photo Elena had sent that morning: Stella in her favorite pink dress, clutching the giant teddy I'd won, smiling so hard her eyes were crescent moons.
Goddamn. I had to end this—fast.
