"Pull every camera feed within ten miles of that street. Every traffic cam, even the dead ones. Dig them all up."
My voice came out flat.
"Yes, sir."
I dropped back into the chair, face calm.
But then—
Crack!
Sharp snap. The solid gold pen shattered in my fist, jagged edges slicing through my palm. Black ink mixed with bright red blood, dripping through my fingers onto the carpet.
I didn't feel a thing.
My heart was hammering at a near-uncontrollable rate.
Images I couldn't stand flashed through my head—
Her tied to a chair, eyes full of terror.
Someone beating her, blood at the corner of her mouth.
Her being...
Fuck.
A savage need to tear all of Washington apart, bone by bone, roared through my marrow.
The study door opened again.
Sophia rushed in, file in hand.
"Sir, we found a problem with Ms. Cole's personal maid Natasha's background."
My head snapped up.
"Talk."
"Her employment record from three years ago with the Volkov family is fake." Sophia set the file before me. "Real identity: Marchetti plant. Gathering intel. And according to phone records, she made a call to an encrypted number today at two p.m.—half an hour before Ms. Cole left the house."
My pupils contracted.
"Whatdid she say?"
"We cracked it." Sophia's voice trembled. "She told them, 'Target will pass Fifth Avenue at three p.m.' And... she mentioned 'pregnant.'"
The world went silent.
I stared at Sophia, throat seized like someone's hand was crushing my windpipe. Breathing turned hard.
"What did you say?"
"Pregnant," Sophia repeated, eyes full of worry. "Natasha said on the call, 'The woman's pregnant, but she hasn't told Pakhan yet.'"
My brain detonated.
Vivienne... pregnant?
