THE FIRST THREATcame through a text message at 2:15 AM.
Unknown number. Burner phone, probably. The message was short and direct:Send Romano's son home or he dies.
I stared at it for a long moment, Stefan asleep beside me, his breathing slow and even. My first instinct was to wake him. Show him. Let him know what we were dealing with.
My second instinct—the one I followed—was to delete it and double security without saying anything.
I told myself I was protecting him. Keeping him from worrying unnecessarily. It was probably just some idiot trying to stir up trouble. Not worth disrupting Stefan's sleep over a vague threat from a coward who wouldn't even use their real number.
But I couldn't fall back asleep. I lay there watching Stefan breathe and planning. More guards. Tighter security protocols. Maybe I'd keep Stefan inside the building for a few days. Just until I figured out who'd sent the message and eliminated the threat.
The second message came two days later.
This time it was specific. Detailed. Terrifying.
We know he works on your books. Third office on the left, second floor. He drinks coffee at 10 AM and 2 PM. Very predictable. Very vulnerable. Last chance - send him home.
I read it three times. My hands were shaking.
They knew too much. Stefan's routine. His office location. His schedule. The kind of detail that required surveillance. Planning. Intent.
This wasn't a random threat. This was someone serious.
I forwarded the message to Elio with a single word:Trace this.
Then I went to find Stefan.
He was in his office reviewing quarterly projections, coffee cup in hand exactly like the threat had described. The vulnerability of it made rage burn through my chest.
"We're leaving," I said from the doorway.
Stefan looked up, startled. "What?"
"Now. Pack your things. We're going to a safe house."
His expression shifted from confused to wary. "Matteo, what's going on?"
"I'll explain in the car. Pack. Now."
To his credit, Stefan didn't argue. He saw something in my face—fear, probably, or barely controlled violence—and just nodded. Closed his laptop. Grabbed his jacket.
I packed. Called ahead to the safe house. Arranged for additional security. All within the fifteen minutes it took Stefan to grab his things.
The drive out of the city was tense and silent. Stefan kept looking at me, waiting for explanation. I kept my eyes on the road and my gun within easy reach.
The safe house was an hour north. A cabin technically, but fortified like a bunker. Sandro had bought it years ago as an emergency location. Reinforced doors. Security system. Weapons cache in the basement.
Somewhere we could disappear if everything went to hell.
I pulled into the driveway and killed the engine. We climbed out.
"Matteo." Stefan's voice was tight. "Tell me what's happening. Right now."
I pulled out my phone and showed him the message.
He read it. Went pale. Read it again.
"When did you get this?" he asked quietly.
