“You’re sure they said Anya?” I asked, frantic to save her again. Pissed that she’d been targeted, again. Andre couldn’t be at fault for letting her leave the house. Roman and other guards were with her. Permitting Anya some freedom came with a cost, but it wasn’t like she was out there on her own.
Like Claire.
“That’s what they said,” Andre replied.
We called for backup, and all three of us split up to search for Anya. The specific salon they were supposed to go to was on my turf. It was part of the Orlov territory, which implied that she should be safe no matter what, treated with respect and viewed as royalty from any employee of my organization.
Roman still wasn’t answering his phone, but Sergei wasn’t too worried. He rode with me, skeptical. “Sometimes, the reception sucks there.”
I nodded. “It does.” I wasn’t ready to lower my guard, though. We’d just gotten Anya back home and I wasn’t willing to revisit the sensation of guilt for failing to keep her safe.
We pulled up, slamming on the brakes with the urgency to get there. In an orderly but rapid fashion, men filed out of the cars and ran into the salon. Guns up. Heightened senses.
Anya was there, seated in a chair while a stylist cut her hair. With wide-open eyes of alarm, my daughter stared at us all and dropped her jaw. The stylist screamed, crouching to hide her face as she lowered to her knees.
“Fuck,” Andre said, striding toward her.
“She’s right there,” I stated.
“What the fuck is going on?” Roman asked, standing from another chair where it looked like he’d cozied in to either bullshit with Anya while she got her hair cut or flirt with another stylist.
“Reports came in that the Giovannis had taken her.” Andre swallowed hard and lowered his head, relief clear in his eyes.
“I didn’t hear any updates,” Roman said.
“Didn’t you hear your fucking phone at all?” I barked, glancing again at Anya who still looked slightly worried.
“No.” Roman grimaced, pulling his phone out. “Something was busted with the construction down the street and damn near everything is down around here. Reception is shit.”
I exhaled a long breath and set my hands on my hips.
“Is… everything okay?” Anya asked.
I looked up to see that she was asking Andre.
He nodded. “We just heard a rumor and I jumped to the conclusion that you could’ve been in danger.”
She swallowed hard and glanced at me. “And that’s why the, um, the cavalry rushed in?”
“It will always rush in whenever there is a call for alarm,” I stated, turning to leave. It might have been wise to linger and try to talk to her some more, but I couldn’t. Still concerned and not viewing this as a coincidence, I stepped outside and beckoned for Andre to follow me.
“What the fuck?” I asked him.
“I don’t know…” He rubbed his jaw, furrowing his brow. “I know what I heard.”
“But what did your informants hear?” I asked. “If they weren’t talking about Anya, then could they have been referring to taking…”
Andre met my gaze, cringing. “Fuck.”
“Could they have been plotting to take Claire?”
She was already embroiled with the Popovs’ bullshit when those crooked cops pulled her into the station to treat the wounded soldiers.
But it wouldn’t be a stretch for Roberto Giovanni to set his sights on her, too. Not even to hurt her or kill her, but just to be able to taunt me that they had my woman.
My woman.
What a joke.
