“Get back here first.”
He ends the call.
I just cut the wheel hard and make the U-turn so sharp Ayla’s hand braces against the door.
“Valentina is Luciano’s sister right?” she asks.
I press harder on the gas.
“Yeah.”
The warmth in the car dies so fast it feels like someone cracked a window straight into winter.
By the time we reach the mansion, most of the guests are gone.
The place looks wrong now. Too bright. Too empty. Wedding flowers still crowding the entryway. Champagne glasses abandoned on side tables. Staff moving quickly with tight faces, clearing the remains of a celebration that died in the span of one phone call.
I kill the engine and we’re out of the car fast.
Luciano’s men are already moving with purpose, murmurs snapping through earpieces, shoes striking marble, hands near weapons. I barely make it three steps inside before I spot Angelo.
He turns at the sound of us coming in, his expression hard and flat in that way that means whatever softness existed earlier left with the wedding.
“Damn,” I say, not slowing. “You got here fast.”
Angelo’s gaze flicks past me once, toward the open doors behind us. “It’s my wife’s sister.”
That’s all he says.
It’s what we dohangs in the air anyway.
Only then do I see Adriana.
She’s sitting on one of the pale couches near the center of the room, one hand pressed low over her stomach, the other twisted tight in the fabric of her dress. Her face is drained of color. Eyes red-rimmed. Like someone sat her down before her legs gave out and she hasn’t moved since.
Ayla sees it too. I feel the shift in her beside me, that small tightening in the air around her.
Then more footsteps hit the marble behind us.
I turn and find Santo coming through the door with Vasilisa at his side, one hand braced at her lower back while the other carries a bag big enough to survive a fucking war. She’s so pregnant at this point she looks like she could go into labor out of pure spite, but there’s nothing soft or hesitant in the way she walks in. Deteremined. Her face is tight, eyes already scanning the room.
Ayla glances at the bag. “What’s with that?”
Vasilisa barely looks down at it. “This baby could drop at any time.”
Then she sees Adriana. Everything in her changes at once.
Whatever else she was about to say dies as she crosses straight for the couch, and Adriana looks up just in time to catch her before she folds into her. Vasilisa crouches awkwardly as hell with that stomach, one hand going to Adriana’s shoulder, then her cheek, speaking low enough I can’t hear it from here.
Santo watches for half a second, jaw hard, then looks at Luciano.
“Where?”
As he enters, Luciano jerks his chin toward the hallway. “Downstairs.”
I glance at Ayla. “You wanna stay with them?”
She looks at me like I’ve lost my fucking mind.
