Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Nico
The surveillance footage plays on loop across three monitors in Pietro's office. Grainy, but clear enough. Two men in a black sedan, parked across from the compound's east gate for the past six hours. They rotate shifts. Take photos. Make calls.
Russians.
"They found her." I slide the tablet toward Pietro, my jaw tight enough to crack teeth. "Baganov's crew. Been watching since yesterday morning."
Pietro leans back in his chair, fingers steepled beneath his chin. The morning light catches the silver at his temples—more than there was six months ago. "How?"
"Best guess? Jack Walker." I pull up the second file. "They're probably searching for an opportunity."
"What kind of opportunity?"
"A housekeeper who's never made a single payment suddenly works for us? And somehow the debt gets cleared through shell companies they can't trace?"
Pietro's eyes narrow. "You made the payment."
"Yes. Anonymously. Multiple layers."
"Clearly not enough layers." He rises, moving to the window overlooking the grounds. From here, you can see the east gate. The sedan is still there. "They think she's connected. That we're using her, or she's feeding us information."
"Or both."
"Which means they're either planning to grab her for leverage, or—"
"Use Jack to get inside." I finish the thought, my stomach churning with something darker than whiskey. "He's desperate. Owes them money he doesn't have. They offer to clear his debt in exchange for information about our operation?"
"He'd take it."
"In a heartbeat."
Silence settles between us. The kind that precedes bad decisions and worse outcomes.
"Security?" Pietro asks.
"Already increased. Doubled the gate rotation, added two men to night patrol. Vittoria's monitoring all external feeds remotely." I pause. "Kristen doesn't know."
Pietro turns to face me. "Why not?"
"Because she'll run." The words taste bitter. "She'll grab Lily and bolt, thinking she's protecting us and Lily by removing themselves. And the second she's off this property—"
"They take her."
"Or worse."
Pietro studies me for a long moment. Too long. I know that look. He's not just seeing the tactical problem. He's seeing me.
"You care about her."
It's not a question.
"We can trust her."
"That's not what I asked."
I don't answer. Can't. Because the truth sits in my chest like a loaded weapon, and I've spent thirty years learning not to pull that trigger.
"Nico." Pietro's voice softens—rare enough that it makes me look up. "Love isn't always a liability."
"In our world, it is."
"Nora isn't."
"Nora is different. She grew up in this life. She knows the rules, the risks." I gesture toward the monitors. "Kristen is a civilian. A mother. She shouldn't be anywhere near this."
"And yet here she is."
"Because I brought her here." The admission burns. "Because I couldn't leave her alone in that apartment waiting for the Bratva to come collecting."
Pietro crosses his arms. "So what's the play?"
I've been running scenarios all night. None of them end well.
"We keep her contained. No leaving the compound until this is resolved. Liam stays on Lily at all times. I handle Jack personally."
"Handle how?"
"Information first. Find out exactly what he told them, what he's promised." I crack my knuckles—old habit, bad tell. "Then we decide if he's useful or a liability."
"And if he's a liability?"
I meet my brother's eyes. "Then he disappears."
Pietro nods slowly. "The Baganovs won't stop at surveillance. They're testing our response, looking for weaknesses."
"I know."
"If they think Kristen is valuable to us, they'll use her. Threaten her. Take her."
"I know."
I find Vittoria in the foyer, pulling on a jacket like she's actually going somewhere. Her phone is in one hand, keys in the other, and she's got that look on her face. The one that says she's bracing for someone to stop her.
That someone would be me.
"Where are you going?"
She doesn't even look up. "Out."
"Out where?"
"To see friends." She finally meets my eyes, her smile sharp enough to cut glass. "You remember what those are, right? People you spend time with voluntarily? Have conversations that don't involve shipping manifests or surveillance footage?"
This girl. Always trying to make my life harder than it needs to be.
"Which friends?"
"The kind who don't interrogate me before I leave the house." She zips her jacket with more force than necessary. "Relax, Nico. I'm taking Marco. I'm not planning to get kidnapped or start a war with a rival family."
I want to push. I want to ask names, locations, estimated return times. But something stops me.
Vittoria hasn't gone out in months. I mean, for a walk with friends.
Not since Riccardo's death. She used to be constantly moving.
Lunches, charity events, coffee dates with people whose names I never bothered to learn.
Now she haunts the compound like a ghost, hiding behind her screens and her sarcasm.
Seeing her actually leave is...
Unexpected.
"Fine," I say, the word scraping against my throat. "Text me when you get there."
Her eyebrows shoot up. "Did you just—"
"Don't make me regret it."
She laughs, and for a second, she looks like herself again. The sister I remember from before everything went to shit. "Noted. Don't burn the house down while I'm gone."
She's halfway out the door when I call after her. "Where's Kristen?"
"I don't know. Try her room?"
She's gone before I can respond.
Her room.
I haven't seen Kristen since last night. Since I had her in my lap on that sectional, her mouth soft and hungry against mine.
I've been thinking about it ever since.
That's the problem.
Kristen.
Kissing her was—
I don't have words for what it was.
I just know I want to do it again.
My feet carry me toward her room before I make the conscious decision to move. The compound is quiet. Lily's probably with Sophia. The staff knows to stay out of my way. There's nothing stopping me from knocking on her door and seeing if the heat from last night still burns in her eyes.
Her door is closed. I raise my hand to knock, then stop.
Voices. From inside.
No—one voice. Kristen's. She's on the phone.
I shouldn't listen. This is a violation of the tentative trust we've built.
But I'm Nico Sartori.
I always listen.
"—don't care what you think you're entitled to," Kristen is saying, her voice tight with barely controlled fury. "You lost the right to make demands when you—"
A pause. She's being interrupted.
"No. No, Jack. I'm not doing this with you again."
Jack.
She's talking to him.
"I don't care if you miss her. You had three months to see her and you chose your girlfriend in New York instead. That's not my fault—"
Another pause. Her voice wavers, then hardens.
"Don't you dare threaten me. I'm not the same woman you married, Jack. I'm not scared of you anymore."
My hand is on the doorknob before I realize I've moved.
I don't turn it.
Because an ugly feeling is spreading through my chest, a thing that feels like jealousy mixed with doubt.
I never considered this.
I tracked her finances, her employment history, her medical records. I knew about the debt, the custody battle, the years of manipulation. I cataloged every bruise, every flinch, every way that bastard broke her down.
But I never asked the most important question.
Does she still love him?
She stayed with him for years. People don't stay that long unless something keeps them tethered. Unless some part of them still believes in the person they married.
Maybe she's not talking to Jack because she hates him.
Maybe she's talking to him because she can't let go.
The thought makes me want to put my fist through the wall.
I've watched men in my world destroy themselves over women who couldn't choose them. Soldiers who compromised operations because their girlfriends were still texting their exes. Made men who turned informant because the women they loved went back to the men who hurt them.
I swore I'd never be that pathetic.
But here I am, standing outside a woman's door with my jaw clenched so tight my molars ache, listening to her say another man's name while I imagine all the ways I want to kill him.
This is exactly what you were afraid of.
This is why you don't let people in.
Kristen
The audacity of this man.
Jack's voice slithers through the phone like poison, asking questions he has no right to ask. "How did you even get a job there, Kristen? Did you sleep with someone? Is that your new thing now?"
My fingers tighten around the phone. The old Kristen would have stammered. Would have apologized. Would have shrunk.
That Kristen died somewhere between the third loan payment Jack stole and the moment I watched my daughter's face light up in this compound.
"Fuck off, Jack."
The door swings open.
I spin, phone still pressed to my ear, and there's Nico. Dark eyes blazing. Jaw carved from granite. He heard. Of course he heard.
"I have to go," I say into the phone, but Jack's still talking, still demanding, still being Jack—
I hang up.
Nico steps into the room. The door clicks shut behind him with a sound that feels final.
I back up instinctively. One step. Two. My calves hit the bed frame and I lose my balance, tumbling backward onto the mattress. Before I can scramble up, Nico is there, hands planted on either side of my head, body hovering over mine.
Oh.
His cologne wraps around me. His breath is warm against my face, and his eyes, God, his eyes are searching mine like he's trying to crack open my skull and read my thoughts directly.
"Do you still love him?"
The question hits me like a slap.
"What?"
"Jack." Nico's voice is low. "Do you still love him?"
I stare up at him, genuinely confused. Why would he—why does he care—
"Answer me, Kristen."
His tone brooks no argument. This is the Nico who gives orders and expects them followed. The Nico who probably makes grown men piss themselves in fear.