"Alessio?" My voice came out small, already knowing this was bad. "What happened?"
He looked at me, and I saw it in his eyes before he said the words.
"Marco escaped federal custody during transport this morning. Killed three guards in the process. Disappeared completely—no trace, no leads, nothing."
The room tilted. I gripped the sheets. "How? He was in maximum security—"
"He had help. Inside and outside." Alessio's voice was flat, emotionless—the tone he used when he was trying not to terrify me. "They found a note left behind in the transport vehicle."
"What did it say?"
He met my eyes, and I saw the fear he was trying to hide.
"'Coming for what's mine.'"
The words hung in the air, heavy with threat and promise.
My father was free. Hunting us. And this time, he had nothing left to lose.
"We need to move," Alessio said, already standing. already standing and pulling clothes from the closet with military efficiency. "FBI is arranging transport to a more secure location. We leave in thirty minutes."
But we both knew the truth.
Marco had spent forty years building networks and buying loyalty. He had resources, connections, and people who owed him favors or feared him enough to help.
FBI protection wasn't enough. Safe houses weren't enough.
Because my father wouldn't stop. Not until we were dead. Not until he'd eliminated the threat we represented.
Not until he'd won.
I stood slowly, one hand protectively over my stomach. Eleven weeks pregnant, nauseous and exhausted and terrified, but refusing to break.
"Then we disappear," I said quietly. "For real this time. New identities, new lives, somewhere he'll never find us."
"Valentina—"
"We have to protect them." My hand pressed harder against my stomach, against the tiny lives growing there who had no idea the danger surrounding them. "Our babies. They matter more than testimony or justice. We get them somewhere safe. That's all that matters now."
Alessio crossed the room and cupped my face in his hands. "We'll figure it out. Together. I promise."
The FBI moved us within two hours.
No time to pack properly. No time to say goodbye to Sofia—just a hurried phone call explaining we were being relocated for our safety, that we'd contact her when it was secure.
Agent Morris coordinated the transport personally—three armored vehicles, armed escort, the whole tactical operation. We drove for hours, heading north and east, leaving Arizona behind.
Montana. That's where they were taking us. Remote location. Isolated. Harder for Marco to reach.
I dozed fitfully during the drive, Alessio's arm around me, his other hand never leaving my stomach. Protective even in sleep.
We arrived at the new safe house after dark—a log cabin on twenty acres, mountains visible as dark shapes against the starlit sky. Beautiful. Isolated. Lonely.
Our third location in as many months.
"This is temporary," Agent Morris said as armed guards swept the property. "Just until we neutralize the threat. A few weeks, maybe a month."
A few weeks. A month. However long it took for them to find Marco or for Marco to find us.
