Chapter 29
Chapter Twenty Nine
Luca
I wear a path between the windows and the mantel, the tick of the clock too slow for my liking. The house has its own noises—the filter of the pool, the AC running, the fountain whispering as water falls—but every sound makes me more impatient.
“Anything?” I call toward the hall.
Giovanni steps in from the office, phone to his ear.
He shakes his head once and keeps listening.
He’s already spinning plates—exterior cams at her building, traffic cams on the block, our own eyes on the surrounding streets.
I ordered the loops tighter after the ultrasound.
I didn’t think we’d need them this soon.
Vito appears in the doorway, restless as a storm front. “Gate detail’s doubled. Perimeter’s clean. I’ve got a spotter at the turnoff.”
It’s not enough. It never feels like enough.
On the sideboard, her ultrasound prints sit where I left them after lunch. I can still hear that fast little rhythm if I let myself.
“Where are they?” I say again, like repetition might get me answers faster.
“Nico said they’re on the way, and we’ve got her phone on the move,” Giovanni says, covering the receiver. “Left her garage ten minutes ago. We picked it up on city cams two blocks later.”
Some of the pressure vents, not enough. “Is she hurt?”
“Nico said she’s fine, but that’s all I know. Three minutes out,” he adds, listening. “Maybe two.”
Two minutes is forever.
I turn, cross to the window. The lawn is alight with the strong afternoon sun. It feels wrong. Beyond the hedges: walls, gates, men I trust with my life.
Vito rubs his thumb hard over his knuckles. “Do we know who it was?” he asks.
“Find out,” I bark out.
He nods once, jaw tight. He wants to already be out there with his hands around someone’s throat. So do I.
I want to call, just to hear her voice. But there’s no use for that right now.
Giovanni ends his call. “Gate in one,” he says.
I walk toward the foyer and make myself slow down before I hit the marble so I don’t scare her with what’s in me right now. Vito flanks my right, Giovanni on my left, the three of us falling into a familiar formation.
“Security knows it’s them,” Giovanni says. “Front stays clear. Cameras rolling.”
“Keep cars off the drive,” I add. The last thing she needs is a show.
We reach the door just as the lock buzzes on the outer gate. The warm air slides in first with a hint of rosemary from the pots by the steps. Tires whisper up the gravel.
I put a hand on the door, breathe once, twice, then pull it open as the sedan stops.
The driver’s side door swings wide. Nico steps out first, tall, composed, scanning. He rounds the hood before I can descend the steps, and opens the passenger side.
Elena unfolds from the seat, head down for a heartbeat, then up. Even from here, I can see the shock in her eyes, the way she’s keeping her spine straight by force. She’s here. She’s standing.
That’s as far as I let myself think before I move forward to meet them.
Then she’s in front of me, alive, upright, but pale. Nico’s hand is a firm grip at her elbow; he only lets go when mine replaces it.
“Elena.” It comes out a rasp. “Are you hurt?”
She shakes her head once, too sharply. “No. I—” Her voice thins. “I don’t think so.”
Nico answers what she can’t yet. “Parking garage. Black SUV came in hot. Aimed for her. I grabbed her, we moved. Driver bounced a pillar and kept going. Partial plate; front end’s scraped to hell.”
Every muscle in me goes tight. “Inside,” I say, already turning her toward the door. “Now.”
She lets me guide her, one hand in mine, the other still clamped around her bag like it’s a lifeline. In the foyer, the cool air hits, and she wavers a fraction. I angle us toward the living room, to the corner of the sofa that faces the garden. The pool throws soft silver across the ceiling.
“Sit,” I tell her, and it’s as gentle as I can manage right now. She sinks down, back straight, palms flat to her knees. Her hands are trembling.
Vivian appears with a tray—water beading on glass, a folded cool cloth, a steaming mug. No questions, no fuss. I take the cloth and press it to the nape of Elena’s neck. “Breathe for me,” I say, and I keep my voice steady and calm.
Nico stands at my shoulder, quiet, waiting. I look up at him. “Make and model?”
“Late-model Tahoe. No plates up front. Rear was taped—came loose when he clipped the pillar. I got three digits. We’ll scrub the cams.” He glances down. “She didn’t hit the ground. No contact.”
“Good.” It doesn’t feel good. “Giovanni,” I call, and he’s already in the doorway.
“I want the footage from her building and everything within two blocks. Work the plate with what we’ve got.
Flag every shop that can do body work on short notice within fifty miles.
Put cash in the right hands. I want the car before dawn. ”
“No need,” Vito says, coming in hot, phone in his palm. “We’ve got chatter,” he says. “Russo channels. They’re tossing around ‘the prosecutor’ and ‘the Conti heir.’ They know she’s pregnant.”
I shift without thinking, my body between her and the room. Her fingers catch my wrist and hold.
“How?” Giovanni asks, already dialing. “Tail? Building? Clinic?”
“Don’t know yet,” Vito says.
“My boss,” Elena whispers hoarsely.
I crouch to her level. “What about him?”
“He got an anonymous tip,” she says, eyes on my wrist where she’s holding on. “About the doctor. About me being here. About New York—Antonio and Nico on the sidewalk.” She swallows. “He pulled me off your case this morning.”
That’s why she wanted to be alone.
I tell myself that’s not the point right now.
“Anonymous how?” Giovanni asks, already moving to the edge of the rug where he can hear and dial at the same time. “Email? Call? Packet?”
“Didn’t say,” she answers. “But there were photos. Grainy, long-lens. My building. A hotel awning.” Her mouth twists. “You couldn’t see anything, though. Not really. It was enough for doubt. Not enough to prove anything.”
“Someone fed them to him,” Vito says.
Nico’s jaw works. “Clinic,” he says, clipped. “Building staff. Garage. Or a tail we didn’t burn.”
Elena shakes her head once. “The doctor. You said she was careful. But someone knew.” Her eyes flick to me. “They knew about the appointment. He knew what it was about but wanted me to tell him. It’s why he didn’t fire me. He couldn’t know for sure.”
“’For sure’ wouldn’t matter to the Russos,” Vito says, anger vibrating off him. “They don’t need proof.”
“Lock down the doctor’s office,” I order no one in particular. “All of it. Doctor, office, staff.”
“I’ll start with the clinic IT,” Giovanni says, already texting. “If a record was opened, someone looked. Access logs.”
“And the garage,” Nico adds. “Get copies of the security pulls before they ‘overwrite.’”
“I’m on it,” Giovanni says, leaving the doorway.
“What about the test?” I ask Elena.
She furrows her brows.
“Before Dr. Bianchi, you said you bought a test, then went to a clinic out of town,” I clarify. “Do you remember where?”
She nods and rattles off the name of a random convenience store, then the clinic.
“I’ll look into those,” Vito says and disappears as well.
Elena draws a breath that shudders in the middle. “He asked me if I had anything to disclose,” she says. “My boss. I said no. He reassigned me to arraignments. Said it was about optics.” Her laugh is short and dry. “He’s not wrong.”
“It was always going to be optics,” I say. “That’s their game. We’ll handle ours.”
“I had a job,” she says, low. “A reputation. It’s ruined—” Her eyes fill with tears, and she cuts herself off, squeezes her eyes shut, opens them again.
“Don’t think about that right now,” I say and brush her hair away from her wet cheek. “We’ll worry about that later, okay? As long as you’re all right.”
Elena’s fingers loosen on my wrist and slide down to my hand. “I should report the attempt,” she says, voice stronger. “To the marshals. To my office. If I don’t, and it gets out—”
“Reporting pulls you into rooms we don’t control,” I say, keeping my tone even. “Cameras. Logs. Questions you can’t refuse.”
“That’s my world,” she says, meeting my eyes. “You know that. It’s what I do.”
I hold her gaze. “And this is mine. We move faster. We can’t wait for red tape.”
A beat. She looks away first, toward the glass, toward the yard she walked yesterday. “I hear you,” she says. “But I’m not hiding.”
“You’re not,” I say. “You’re choosing timing. I won’t have them put you behind a door I can’t open, Elena.”
Her hand tightens, then eases. She nods once. No agreement. Just acknowledgment.
For now. I can feel the discussion coming back around later, as she eases away from the shock of it all.
Giovanni reappears, eyes on his screen. “Antonio’s five out. Roberto and Caterina behind him.”
Elena’s jaw ticks, but she schools it fast.
“They’re my family, Elena,” I say evenly. “And you are now too.”
I press my hand to her stomach.
Elena drags the heel of her hand down her face once. “I’m so tired,” she says quietly, like she’s surprised to hear it out loud.
“Sit back,” I say, shifting the cushion behind her. I tip my chin at the tray. “Drink. Food’s on the way.”
She makes a face at the word “food,” but obeys without arguing, which tells me more than her words could. She takes a long pull, sets the glass down, and looks up at me.
“You’re staying here tonight,” I say, leaving no room for argument.
She studies me, the line of my mouth, the certainty I’m not going to apologize for. Then she nods. It’s small, but it’s a nod. “Okay.”
The word loosens something in my chest I hadn’t noticed cinching tight. I set the mug down, take her hand again, and let the house be what it’s meant to be: shelter and men at gates, and, for tonight, a place where the woman I love can be safe and breathe easy.