2. Alexei #2
Ivy pushes herself upright, half-tangled in the blanket, tears filling her eyes again. “Please don't leave me.”
I take one step closer, but Maggie is already moving, pulling Ivy back into her arms. My daughter clings to her while Maggie rubs small circles on her back.
“I won't go anywhere,” Maggie promises. “I'm staying right here.”
Ivy trembles against her. “All night?”
“All night,” Maggie assures her. “You don't have to worry about that.”
I remain near the foot of the bed with my hands at my sides, unable to do anything but watch.
There are problems I can solve with money, power, men, information, or violence.
This isn’t one of them. My daughter is frightened, and the person holding her together is a woman who should never have been pulled into this life.
Maggie's eyes lift to mine. For once, there’s no teasing in them. No humor. No attempt to lighten the moment. Only exhaustion, grief, and fear she’s trying to hide.
“Are you alright?” I ask quietly.
She lets out a breath that nearly breaks before she swallows it down. “No.”
I rub a hand across my jaw. The honesty of her answer is harder to hear than reassurance would have been. “I didn't think you were.”
“I'm worried about her,” she says.
“I am too.
“She's so little, Alexei.” The strain in her voice is impossible to miss. “She shouldn't have seen any of that.”
“No,” I agree. “She shouldn't have.”
Maggie looks toward the window where the curtains hang closed against the night. Beyond them, guards patrol the grounds and cameras watch every entrance. None of it changes what happened. None of it brings Irina back.
After a moment, Maggie looks at me again. “Why would anyone try to take her?”
“I don't have all the answers yet,” I admit. I move closer to the side of the bed, lowering myself near the edge without disturbing Ivy. “We'll talk more in the morning. For tonight, you stay with her and rest.”
Maggie studies me with red-rimmed eyes. “Are you going to rest?”
“No.”
Her mouth tightens as if she expected the answer and dislikes it anyway. “Alexei.”
“There are things I need to handle.”
A shiver passes through her, subtle but visible.
“Maggie,” I whisper, “no one will reach this house tonight. You’re safe.”
“I believe you.”
The certainty in her reply stays with me. She’s seen enough tonight to fear my world, but she still trusts me to stand between her and whatever comes next. I reach out and brush my knuckles along her cheek. Her skin is warm beneath my hand. She closes her eyes, leaning into the touch.
“Thank you,” I tell her.
Her throat moves as she swallows. “For what?”
“For not letting go of her.”
A tear slips down her cheek, and this time she doesn't wipe it away. “I couldn't.”
“You saved her.”
I lean in until my mouth finds Maggie's. The kiss is brief, but it isn’t casual. Nothing about this woman has ever been casual. My hand remains on her cheek for another heartbeat after the kiss ends.
Maggie's breath trembles against my mouth. I pull away before leaving becomes infinitely more difficult.
“Sleep,” I tell her.
She nods, though I doubt either of us will manage much of that.
I walk to the door and glance back once. Maggie has curled carefully around Ivy, protective without smothering her. My daughter sleeps with her face tucked against Maggie's side, one hand closed around the woman who saved her.
Downstairs, the mansion has changed into a fortress. My men move through the halls, speaking low into earpieces and monitoring feeds. The staff has withdrawn to the rear wing unless needed. Luka waits outside my office door, phone in hand, his mouth set in a grim line.
“Roman is expecting your call,” he informs me.
I nod and enter without stopping. The office door closes behind me, shutting out the muted activity beyond it.
The grounds beyond the tall windows disappear into darkness.
Security lights burn along the perimeter, turning the oaks silver and black.
Usually, the view offers clarity. Now it only reminds me how many places danger can hide.
I cross to the desk and reach for the secure phone. Roman answers on the second ring.
“Brat.” Brother.
His voice is calm, but I hear the anger beneath it. My brother has always been at his most dangerous when he sounds reasonable.
“Did you get anything from him?” I ask.
Roman pauses, which gives me the answer before he speaks.
“No.”
My hand tightens around the phone. “He died too quickly.”
“He bit down before we got far enough. Cyanide capsule hidden in a back molar,” Roman answers.
There’s little room for interpretation. He was professional and prepared, sent here knowing exactly how this would end.
“He never spoke?”
“Not once,” Roman confirms. “He smiled when he realized he wasn't leaving alive. Then he made sure he took every answer with him.”
Rage moves through me, cold enough to bring clarity and absolute enough to leave room for nothing else. “Whoever sent him anticipated capture.”
“Yes,” Roman agrees. “There was a tattoo on his wrist,” Roman adds. “Distinctive. Black crown above crossed daggers.”
I move to the window and stare toward the dark grounds. “Recognize it?”
“Not yet. My people are checking old crews, Italian contractors, private soldiers, and anyone connected to Enzo DeLuca's eastern operations.”
“It's too clean for Enzo alone.”
“I agree.”
The confirmation doesn't comfort me. It makes the problem worse.
I close my eyes quickly and see Irina's body beneath a white sheet. Maggie's hands covered in blood. Ivy screaming for someone who will never answer again.
“What about Clara?” I ask.
Roman's silence returns, and this time it’s heavier. “We're still working through the communication.”
“The message told her to keep Ivy hidden.”
“Yes.”
“From whom?” I stare out into the darkness beyond the windows.
“We don't know yet.”
I turn from the window, anger burning in my veins. “That answer is no longer acceptable.”
“Yes.”
The restraint in his voice tells me he’s holding back his own fury with effort. Roman loved Clara in his way. He respected Irina. But Ivy is Agapov blood, and someone put hands on her tonight. There’s no forgiveness for that.
“She knew more than she ever told me,” I mutter.
“Maybe.”
“Not maybe.”
Roman exhales slowly. “Alexei.”
I stay silent.
“You were grieving when she died. You were recovering from a shooting that almost killed you. Don’t rewrite history tonight.”
A muscle ticks in my jaw. “I should have looked harder.”
“You looked at everything you had.”
“Not everything,” I bite out. “Because if I had, my daughter wouldn’t have been dragged through this nightmare.”
Silence follows. Roman lets it sit because he knows there’s no argument capable of touching that kind of guilt. It lives too deep, and tonight it has teeth.
Finally, he speaks again. “We continue at first light. I have men pulling every archived file connected to Clara, Italy, and Enzo. If there’s a name buried somewhere, we’ll find it.”
“And the tattoo?”
“I'll have an answer.”
“Good.”
Roman lowers his voice. “Get some rest, brat.”
A humorless breath leaves me. “You called to give orders?”
“I called because you sound like a man about to burn the city down before sunrise.”
“Would that be a problem?”
“Only if you do it without me.”
The response earns the closest thing to a smile I've managed all night. Then the grief returns.
“I owe Irina. Blood for blood.” My hand tightens around the phone. “The longer they breathe, the harder this becomes.”
“No,” Roman counters. “The longer they breathe, the more mistakes they make.”
That much is true.
We end the call a minute later, after confirming details. Men, files, routes, names, and every possible connection between Clara's hidden messages and the attack. When the line goes dead, I remain by the window with the phone in my hand.
The mansion sleeps around me while I remain awake. My daughter sleeps because Maggie stayed. Irina is dead because someone wanted Ivy. And somewhere, the person responsible believes they’re beyond my reach.
They’re wrong.