Chapter 14
Tigran
The call comes through on my encrypted line at three-seventeen in the afternoon a week after my discussion with Dmitri and Viktor, shattering the relative peace of reviewing legitimate business contracts in my home office.
Viktor’s voice cuts through the static with an urgency that makes my blood run cold.
“Boss, we have a problem. Someone just tried to run your wife and Claude Lo Duca off the road near the Chicago River.”
The words stun me, with each one registering separately before combining into a picture that makes my vision narrow with rage. I set down my pen with deliberate care using the same control I use before killing a man. “Details. Now.”
“A black SUV with no plates followed them from the Magnificent Mile shopping district. They forced Claude’s driver onto the sidewalk near Lower Wacker Drive before speeding away.
Our people didn’t get there in time to stop them, and there were no shots fired, but the intent was intimidation at minimum, or possibly a kidnapping attempt. ”
My free hand clenches into a fist and the leather of my chair creaks under the pressure as I grip the arm. “Where are they now?”
“Heading home with a full security escort. Claude’s shaken but unharmed. Your wife…” Viktor pauses, and I hear something like admiration in his voice. “Your wife is demanding we track down the SUV immediately while questioning why our intelligence didn’t predict this move.”
Despite the fury coursing through my veins, there’s a flash of pride at Zita’s response.
Of course, she would react to an assassination attempt by going on the offensive rather than cowering in fear.
It’s what I should have expected from the woman who walked uninvited into my conference room and challenged my authority in front of seasoned killers.
“Get me everything,” I order, already moving toward the door. “Traffic camera footage, witness statements, and any intelligence we have on recent Federoff movements. I want to know who authorized this and why they thought they could touch my wife without consequences.”
“Already in progress, but there’s something else you need to know.”
I pause with my hand on the doorknob. “What?”
“This wasn’t random. The timing, the location, and they knew exactly where to find her. It makes me think someone’s been watching your wife’s movements. Maybe even someone with access to her schedule.”
The implication hits me like a sledgehammer to the chest. He thinks there could be a leak in our security, possibly from someone close enough to our operation to know Zita’s plans shortly after she makes them.
The list of people with that level of access is short, and the thought that one of them might have betrayed us sends a different kind of rage through my system.
“Sweep the house. Check every phone, every computer, and every communication device for surveillance software. If you find the rat, keep them alive until I can question them personally.”
“Understood.”
I end the call and stride through the mansion toward the front entrance, already calculating the security measures that need to be implemented immediately.
We’ll need additional guards, armored vehicles for transport, and updated background checks on every staff member who has been in contact with Zita since our wedding.
If Agvar is behind it as I suspect, he’s breaking all the rules of our world by targeting my wife.
The sound of car doors slamming draws my attention to the circular driveway visible through the tall windows flanking the main entrance.
Three black sedans pull up in formation, their occupants moving with the precise choreography of a professional security detail.
Claude emerges from the middle vehicle first, his face pale and his usually immaculate suit wrinkled from what must have been a harrowing experience.
Then Zita steps out, and I assess her appearance.
Her dark hair is disheveled, her designer blouse is torn at the shoulder, and there is a small cut on her forehead that speaks to how close she came to serious injury.
Despite that, her posture is straight, her chin lifted in that familiar gesture of defiance, and her eyes burn with a fury that matches my own.
She’s magnificent in her anger, and the sight of her alive and whole sends relief through me.
I meet them at the front door, automatically reaching for Zita to check for injuries even as I scan the security perimeter for any signs of continued threat.
She allows the contact for exactly three seconds before pulling away, her expression shifting from relief to irritation.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she snaps, smoothing down her torn blouse with hands that tremble slightly despite her brave front. “I’m fine. We’re both fine.”
“You’re bleeding.” I point to the cut on her forehead.
“It’s a scratch. Nothing more.” She looks past me toward the mansion’s interior, her jaw set in a line I recognize as preparation for battle. “What I want to know is how they knew where to find us.”
Claude speaks up from behind her, his voice shaking from how close he came to losing his daughter. “Zita insisted on going to that particular boutique. She said she needed a dress for some charity function you’re both attending next week.”
“Which means someone was either watching the house or had access to our internal communications.” I turn to Viktor, who’s just arrived from securing the perimeter. “What did the traffic cameras show?”
“The SUV appeared on Michigan Avenue at two-forty-five, right after they left Nordstrom and followed at a distance until they turned onto Lower Wacker, then accelerated aggressively. The driver knew the route and blind spots where cameras couldn’t capture many details.
I personally confirmed the vehicle didn’t have a license plate. ”
I nod grimly. “This wasn’t some random intimidation tactic but a targeted operation designed to send a message.”
“What kind of message?” Zita steps closer to our conversation despite Claude’s attempts to guide her away from the dangerous details.
I meet her gaze directly, seeing no point in sugarcoating the reality we’re facing. “That you’re vulnerable, and I can’t protect you. They want me to think our marriage makes you a liability I can’t afford.”
“Or,” she counters, her voice sharp with intelligence and anger, “Our enemies are getting desperate enough to target civilians because they can’t touch you directly.”
The observation is astute, and Viktor nods his acknowledgment of her point.
“The Federoffs have been testing boundaries since Nicky’s death, but attacking family members represents a significant escalation.
They’re either supremely confident in their position or running out of conventional options. ”
“Which is it?” I ask, though I suspect I already know the answer.
“Intelligence suggests the latter. Agvar’s been meeting with the Torrino family from New Jersey and the Sarkov Bratva from Detroit, trying to build a coalition against us. Both families are demanding proof that he can deliver results before they commit resources.”
“So, he decided to make my wife his proof of concept.” The words come out flat and cold, but underneath them burns a rage that threatens to consume everything in its path. “He’s just made the biggest mistake of his very short remaining life.”
“Tigran.” Zita’s voice cuts through my planning like a blade. “I want to be involved in whatever response you’re planning.”
“Absolutely not.” The response is immediate and non-negotiable. “You’ll remain in this house under full protection until this threat is neutralized.”
“You can’t be serious.” She steps closer. “I’m not some helpless ornament to be locked away while you handle the dangerous work.”
“You’re my wife, which makes you a target for anyone seeking to hurt me. That means your safety takes precedence over your desire for independence or even your status as my partner.”
“So, you can just rescind my status as partner whenever you feel like it, and for whatever reason…like my safety?” Her voice rises with indignation. “Or your need to control everything and everyone around you?”
The accusation hits its mark because there’s truth in it.
The thought of Zita in danger makes me want to wrap her in bulletproof glass and never let her out of my sight.
That instinct comes from something deeper than mere control.
It comes from the terrifying realization that she’s become essential to me in ways I never anticipated.
“This isn’t about control.” I hear the strain in my own voice. “This is about keeping you alive long enough for us to eliminate the people who want you dead.”
“What happens next time, or the time after that?” She gestures toward the windows where armed guards are visible positioning themselves around the property. “Do I spend the rest of my life as a prisoner in my own home because you refuse to trust me with my own protection?”
“It’s not a matter of not trusting you, but I can keep you safe here, and I’ll do so by whatever means necessary—even if I have to fight you on it.
” The words come out harshly, but I can’t take them back.
The truth is, the thought of Zita exposed to the kind of danger that surrounds my world makes me feel sick with panic.
I’ve seen what happens to the women who get caught in the crossfire of Bratva politics, and I won’t allow her to become another casualty.
“You hypocrite.” Her voice drops to a dangerous whisper. “You talk about building a partnership and treating me as an equal, but the moment things get difficult you want to lock me away like every other Mafia wife who has no agency in her own life.”
“This is different—”
“This is exactly the same.” She turns to Claude, who’s been watching our argument with growing alarm. “Papa, tell him exerting too much control and refusing to listen is why Mama left.”