Before I can fully register either one, Angelo’s name flashes across my screen.
I answer. “Yeah.”
“Where’s your woman?” he asks without preamble. “Adriana is worried, and I don’t like when she’s worried.”
My throat turns to glass. “She’s not with me.”
Angelo goes quiet for half a beat.
Then he curses under his breath. “I’ll call Santo. Send me everything you have.”
The line goes dead.
I dial Ayla. Straight to voicemail.
My eyes lift. Vaska meets my gaze.
“What are we doing, Pakhan?”
I push to my feet so fast the chair legs scrape hard against the floor.
Every voice in the room cuts off.
“Ayla left the house alone,” I say. “With a bag.”
Something ugly settles over the table.
Dimitri straightens. “What?”
I look at Pietro. “Call Katya. Find out which car.”
He’s already moving, phone at his ear before I finish.
“Vaska.”
He’s on his feet immediately.
“Go back to the estate. Take Demyan. I want every camera, every guard, every inch of that fucking place checked. I want to know when she left, what she took, who saw her, and why no one stopped her.”
Vaska nods once. Demyan is already reaching for his keys.
I look at Ivan. “Townhouse. Then my apartment. Check both.”
Ivan pushes off the wall. “You think she ran?”
The word hits the room wrong. Sharp. Immediate.
My gaze cuts to him.
“No.”
Nobody says anything to that. Good. Because it can’t be true.
Across the table, Pietro turns slightly, still on the phone. “Yeah. Which one?” A beat. “Got it.”
He lowers the phone. “Black sedan. She took the black sedan.”
“Track it,” I say.
