“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’tcapture 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 SarkovBratvafrom 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 ragethat 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…likemy 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 positioningthemselves 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 ofBratvapolitics, 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.”
Claude’s face goes pale at the comparison; he’s clearly struggling with the parallel she’s just drawn. I’m trying to protect Zita. It’s not the same situation as why Lucianna left—Claude tried to protect Lucianna, but I’m getting the same resistance that ultimately drove her away.
“Zita,” Claude says carefully, “Your mother left because she didn’t like certain…mergers in which I participated. She was never threatened like this, and your husband’s concerns are justified. Until this immediate threat is resolved?—”
“Not you too.” She spins back to face me, her eyes blazing with betrayal and fury. “This isn’t about protection, Tigran. You’re unable to tolerate anything you can’t completely control.”
“You think I orchestrated this attack?” I’m offended at the idea. “You think I arranged for someone to try to kill you so I’d have an excuse to restrict your movements?”
“No, I don’t think you planned it, but you’re seizing an opportunity to solve a problem that’s been bothering you since our wedding.” She steps closer, lowering her voice. “I think you never wanted a wife who challenges you, and now you have a convenient excuse to lock away the inconvenient parts of my personality along with the rest of me.”
The accusation is so far from the truth that for a moment I can only stare at her. Does she really believe I’d risk stifling everything about her to make my life more convenient? Does she not understand that the thought of losing her makes me feel like I’m drowning, and treating her that way would guarantee she leaves me?
