INICIAR SESIÓNI couldn’t believe they actually did it. They really brought me here. To the middle of nowhere. To a ranch. With dirt. And animals. And no city for hours. I wasn’t a country girl. I wasn’t built for this. I was supposed to be in the city, in heels, in nice clothes, with people who mattered. Not… here. And the worst part? I didn’t even know Russian.Mama tried to teach me when I was little, but why would I need it? I lived in America. I wasn’t planning on running off to some frozen farm in the middle of Russia. I tuned her out every time she tried to talk. Now, I wished I hadn’t. Now I was sitting at a long wooden dinner table, surrounded by people speaking a language I barely understood, pretending I wasn’t dying inside.And Babulya was gushing over Marco. Marco...The man who stole my brother from the life he was supposed to have. “Oh, Roc,” she said, patting Marco’s hand like he was made of gold. “He is so handsome. Such kind eyes. You chose well.”I stared at her in disbelief. “Why
I hated packing. Not because it was hard. Not because I didn’t want to go. But because every folded shirt, every zipped bag, every checklist reminded me that this trip wasn’t a vacation. It was damage control. Marco sat on the edge of my bed, watching me shove another sweater into the suitcase. “You’re going to break the zipper,” he said gently.“I’ll buy a new one,” I muttered. He didn’t argue. He knew better. The lockdown being lifted should’ve felt like freedom. Instead, it felt like a countdown. The sooner we got Letta to Russia, the sooner I could get back here and help Salvatore and Matteo deal with Juan. I wasn’t leaving them to handle that alone. Not after everything. From the hallway, I heard my parents talking in low voices, my mother switching between English and Russian as she double‑checked flight details. My father reminding her to pack warm clothes even though it was summer there too.Marco leaned back on his hands. “You’re nervous.”I froze mid‑fold. “About what?”He ga
I folded the last of Gabe’s shirts and set it gently into the suitcase. It felt strange packing again, not in fear this time, not in a rush, not with my heart in my throat. This time… it felt like relief. Salvatore stood near the dresser, helping me gather the last of his things. He kept glancing toward the door, toward the hallway, toward the basement, his mind split between two worlds. “Once we’re home,” he said, tucking a stack of folded shirts under his arm, “I’ll drive back and forth to deal with Juan. Matteo and Wolf will rotate with me. You won’t be alone.”“I know,” I said softly.He set the shirts down and turned to face me fully. “I’m still putting men with Abuela. And her nurse stays with her at all times. Most of Juan’s men ran, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t a few idiots still loyal to him. They might try to find him. Or free him.”I nodded. “Whatever you think is safest.”He stepped closer, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “I’ll talk to the school too. Make s
The silence was the worst part. Not the ropes. Not the cold concrete. Not even the throbbing in my knee from where she...No. I wasn’t thinking about that. It was the silence.The room was empty now. No tools. No table. No threats hanging in the air like smoke. Just a chair bolted to the floor and a cot shoved against the wall. They’d taken everything else. Including the illusion that someone might come for me. My men weren’t coming. My allies weren’t coming. No one was coming. They’d betrayed me. Or abandoned me. Or decided I wasn’t worth the trouble. I wasn’t sure which was worse.I leaned my head back against the wall, breathing through the pain, trying to piece together how everything had gone so wrong so fast. Footsteps echoed in the hallway. Voices. I stiffened, listening. Not Ricci men. Not Matteo’s cold command or Wolf’s heavy boots. These voices were softer. Familiar. Roc. And… Letta? No. Not the Letta I knew. This voice was steadier. Older. Tired.“…it’s a good choice,” Roc w
Breakfast was almost done by the time the kitchen settled into its usual morning rhythm, loud, warm, and full of women who could run a small country if they felt like it. Abuela sat at the table peeling oranges, humming under her breath. Nonna was rolling dough for fresh biscuits. GreenLee stirred a pot on the stove, the smell of cinnamon and vanilla filling the air. Kat and Ciara had just come back downstairs after changing and feeding the babies.Gabe sat on the floor with Koda and Jace, the three of them building some tower out of wooden blocks. Koda kept knocking it over. Jace kept rebuilding it. Gabe kept laughing like it was the funniest thing in the world. It was peaceful. It was safe. It was home.Kat walked in first, Liana balanced on her hip, her curls wild and her tiny fist clutching Kat’s shirt. Ciara followed with L.C., who was babbling happily and reaching for anything within grabbing distance.“Breakfast smells amazing,” Ciara said, kissing Abuela’s cheek before heading
I was still staring at the stairs long after Sara disappeared up them. My wife My sweet, soft‑spoken, gentle‑hearted wife… Just shattered Juan’s knee with a hammer like she was cracking a walnut. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to chase after her, drag her back into my arms, lock her in our bedroom and have my way with her. That was sexy as fuck.Behind me, someone snorted. Then Matteo’s laugh broke the silence. “Holy shit, Sal. You’re done.”Wolf joined in, shaking his head. “Man’s officially pussy‑whipped.”Roc leaned against the wall, smirking. “Hard.”I blinked, still half in a trance. “I... what?”Matteo clapped me on the shoulder. “She kissed you, handed you a hammer, and told you to be home in time for breakfast. That’s not a wife. That’s a general.”Wolf added, “And you listened.”Roc shrugged. “To be fair, we all would.”I finally snapped out of it, rubbing a hand over my face. “You idiots are whipped too.”Matteo raised a brow. “By who?”“Ciara,” I said.He opened his mouth...Clos
The moment Sara left my office with Talia’s promise ringing in her ears, I felt the weight of what was coming settle onto my shoulders. Not fear. Not doubt. Responsibility.I’d failed to protect my family once. I wouldn’t make that mistake again. My lawyers spread out across the conference table. f
Sara sat on the couch in my office, shoulders shaking, face buried in her hands. I’d seen fear before. Panic. Grief. But nothing hit me like seeing her like this. And knowing I hadn’t protected her. Or our son.I wanted to pull her into my arms, tell her I’d fix everything, swear that nothing would
My phone buzzed on the desk. Kara. Right on time. I answered with a lazy swipe. “This better be good.”Her voice came through sharp and eager, like a dog waiting for a treat. “It’s done. The boy has been placed in a group home.”A slow smile pulled at my mouth. “Good.”“And,” she continued, lowerin
The CPS worker stepped into my living room like she already knew the ending. Her eyes swept over everything, the clean floors, the tidy shelves, the framed school photos, Abuela’s crocheted blankets, but she didn’t see any of it. She only saw what she wanted to.“Ms. Vega,” she said, flipping open







