Chapter 25 #2
She linked her arm in mine and steered me to the dance floor. The band began a waltz, slow and warm.
"That felt good, didn't it?" she whispered, on her toes, arms around my neck, smiling.
My hand found her waist, and we moved together. She was light, like a feather.
"Yeah." My voice stayed taut. "But I wanted to break that bastard's hand. Did you see him? He looked at you like you were a cake he wanted to swallow."
"He was a businessman trying to do business," she said, though her smirk betrayed her. She enjoyed my jealousy.
I pulled her closer until I could feel her breath against my chin. "If you hadn't stopped me, I would've hit him."
"You're a savage." She teased, fingers at the back of my neck. "But thanks for holding back. I didn't want our night to turn into a boxing match."
"Then stay away from men who stare like that," I warned. "I have a short fuse, Elena — especially when you look like this."
"You're dramatic." She batted innocent eyes.
"You know what you do." I watched the curve of her shoulder and collarbone. "You look like trouble. Every man wants to possess you."
"But I belong to one person." Her voice turned serious.
I froze. "Who?"
"You." She reached up and kissed me. "Igor Vorontsov. My date. My boyfriend. the father of my daughter."
I held her like she was everything, and finally had the confession I wanted.
Voices murmured around us; I didn't care. I kissed her until she was breathless, then we kept dancing.
The music wound down, and the band finished. Applause rippled through the room. Ms. Rossini clapped with a bright smile. Paul applauded, though his expression was complicated. Michael had already turned away, talking to someone else — reality had set in.
"Let's go," Elena said. "We still have people to greet."
For the next two hours, we moved through the crowd. Elena was astonishing — remembering names, knowing each company's angle, finding the right topic for everyone.
By 10:30, the party was winding down. Ms. Rossini pulled Elena aside to arrange a meeting in Milan next week to discuss long-term cooperation. After the last guests left, we finally left.
On the drive back, Elena rested her head on my shoulder, eyes closed.
"Tired?" I asked.
"Yeah." She breathed. "Two hours in heels — my legs are killing me."
I looked at those silver shoes — beautiful, ten-centimeter heels that had tormented her.
"I'll give you a massage when we get back," I said.
"Really?" She opened one eye.
"Of course." I added, "I'd prefer other things, but massage first."
She smiled and closed her eyes. "You've changed, Igor."
"How?"
"Before…" Her voice dropped. "You never did things like this. You were possession and control more than care."
My fingers tightened. She was right. Five years ago, I'd been proud, cold, selfish. I'd treated her like property — to own, to command. I hadn't learned to love her equally.
"Losing you taught me what matters." My voice roughened.
"Igor…" she began.
"I'm trying to be the man who can care for you, protect you, love you. I'm not perfect, but I'm trying."
Her eyes glistened. "You're doing well."
I kissed her — soft, sincere.
The car pulled up at our hotel. In the suite, Elena went straight to the sofa and kicked off those lethal heels, massaging her sore ankles. She sat there, wincing.
I knelt in front of her.
"Is this how you're going to massage me?" she asked, surprised.
"Relax. I've got this." I cradled her feet.
She watched quietly as my thumb pressed into the swollen spots, easing the pain without causing her to wince.
"Better?" I asked.
"Yeah." She sighed contentedly. "Where did you learn?"
"Online," I said. "There are tutorials."
She laughed. "You learn everything."
I worked from ankle to instep to heel. Her feet were small enough to fit in one hand. Just as warmth spread through her tired muscles my phone buzzed. I wanted to ignore it, but the ring kept going.
Elena nudged me. "Answer. It might be important."
Artyom's name lit the screen.
"What is it?" I answered sharply.
"Don, it's urgent." Artyom's voice was taut. "Natasha Ivanova has gone missing."
My body went rigid. "When?"
"Three hours ago," Artyom said. "Our Rome source saw her leave with a few bodyguards, then lost her. GPS cut out — it looks planned."
"Anything else?" I stood and walked to the window.
"Yeah. A few of Salvatore's men disappeared at the same time." Artyom's tone grew heavier. "Our intel points to a coordinated move. They might be planning something big."
I shut my eyes and the pieces spun. Someone was moving against us. Maybe against me.
"Reinforce Tuscany's security," I ordered, my voice flat as ice. "Every place Elena and our daughter might be — the apartment, the studio, the daycare — double the guards. I want 24/7 surveillance. Any suspicious approach, neutralize."
"Understood, Don."
I hung up and turned to see Elena pale as paper.
"What's happened?" she asked, voice trembling.
I took her hand; it felt cold. "Natasha's missing. Along with some of Salvatore's men."
Her face drained further. "Do you think they're moving?"
"Yes." I nodded and pulled her into my arms. "But don't be afraid. I'll protect you."
She looked up at me with complete trust. "I believe you."
"Sorry." My voice cracked. "I'm sorry I dragged you into this."
"Don't apologize." She pressed her palm to my cheek. "I chose this, Igor. I knew loving you meant accepting danger. Don't blame yourself. We face it together, okay?"
I kissed her palm and left a mark in its center. "Okay. Together."
Tuscany's night was gentle and starry, but I knew danger prowled in the dark. Natasha's disappearance with Salvatore's men meant blood was coming. A war was being set in motion — and I had to be ready.