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“Rest then, little pet,” he murmured, his voice rumbling against my ear. “Daddy’s got you.”
I melted against him, my body molding to his, my mind drifting in a hazy, post-orgasmic fog. I felt safe, protected and cherished. And I knew, with a certainty that settled deep in my bones, that I was exactly where I was meant to be.
* * *
The first phone began ringing before the sky had even considered turning gray the next morning. A second phone rang from across the room almost immediately, vibrating against the wooden surface of Sergei’s nightstand.
One moment, Sergei’s body was warm and heavy beside mine. The next, he was sitting upright with his phone against his ear.
“What is it, Ivan?” he asked into his phone.
I reached for my own cell and pressed it to my ear.
“Alessia.” Matteo’s voice came through beneath shouted Italian, alarms, and something that sounded like metal being dragged across concrete. “Tell Sergei that a harbor facility outside Palermo has been hit.”
I pushed myself upright, holding the blanket against my chest. “Was anyone inside?”
“Morning crew. We have them moving now. Two guards were injured, one badly.”
Across the bed, Sergei swung his feet to the floor.
“One of our New York warehouses was attacked too,” he said, not to me but loudly enough that I could hear. “There was an armed team with explosives.”
“When did they hit Palermo?” I asked.
“Four fourteen your time,” Matteo replied.
Sergei looked toward me. “They hit New York at four eleven.”
Three minutes apart was not a coincidence.
Matteo muttered something to someone near him. In the background, another voice shouted that the west tank had been isolated.
“Levon has already claimed responsibility openly enough that every family in Sicily will know. His message to Raffaele arrived thirty seconds before the first explosion,” Matteo explained when he returned to me.
“What did he say?”
“Give him access to the ports, and the fires stop.”
“Is my father safe?”
“Yes. He’s fine.”
The relief came before I could really stop or acknowledge it. I still didn’t know what I wanted Raffaele to be in my life. Apparently, I did know that I didn’t want him dead.
After a brief exchange, I ended the call and found Sergei already dressing. He pulled on black trousers, then reached for the shoulder holster resting inside the nightstand safe. His movements were fast without becoming rushed. I slipped from the bed and reached for the clothes folded on the chair, and Sergei turned toward me.
“Do you want to come with me to Maxim’s estate?” he asked.
“Yes.”
He nodded once. “I want you to wear armor beneath the sweater. Flat shoes. No heels. We leave in four minutes.”
* * *
By five in the morning, Maxim’s estate looked less like a family home and more like a place preparing to withstand a siege.
Vehicles filled the circular drive as guards moved between the front gate, the garages, and the command room beneath the east wing. Every exterior light had been turned on, painting the wet lawns and clipped hedges in pale gold. Riley met us in the entrance hall, wearing leggings and one of Maxim’s shirts, and led us toward the dining room, where the rest of the family had already gathered around a table covered with tablets, radios, maps, and food no one had touched.
