Page 89 of His Son's Ex

Again. Same thing. Fury flashes like lightning behind my eyes.

I’m about to call one of my men when a knock sounds at the door.

“Dante,” my mother’s voice.

I turn. “What?”

“It’s Lombardi. He backed out of the meeting and won’t return my calls. His people are stonewalling. Something’s brewing.”

“Let it brew,” I grit out. “I’ll burn his house down and salt the earth.”

Her tone sharpens with distaste. “Dante.”

“No.” I step toward her. “He wants to play games while I’m gone? He’s done. I’m done. No more diplomacy.”

She purses her lips then says, “We have another problem. There are Russians downstairs.”

My eyes narrow. I came up the back staircase and did not see them. “Abramovics?”

She nods. “They say it’s about Eva. Only they didn’t say Eva Smith. They said EvaPetrova.”

I stop dead in my tracks.

“They saw her with you and now they can’t reach her. They’re here for answers.”

I clench my jaw. “They don’t get to make demands in my house.”

Her voice drops. “Dante. Did you know?”

I don’t answer at first. I take a deep breath in an attempt to calm down. “She’s gone,” I snap. “She left. And yes, I know she’s Eva Petrova. Apparently, the whole damn city knows now, too.”

For once, my mother is speechless.

“I don’t know where she is,” I say, my chest tightening with worry and fear.

“We can’t ignore the Russians,” she says quietly.

“No,” I agree. “We’ll deal with them first. Then I’m going to find Lombardi. After I’m done with him, I will find Eva.”

I stalk out before she can say another word, my fury trailing behind me like smoke.

If anyone hurts her, they won’t live to regret it.

I storm into the study, every stride fueled by anger.

Three Abramovics—two men, one woman—stand against the wall in perfectly tailored suits. Their postures stiff, their eyes cold. As soon as they see me, dark seriousness clouds their features.

The woman steps forward, chin lifted. “Mr. Bellacino. We’ve been waiting.”

I cross my arms, no intention of being polite. “I hear you want to talk about Eva Petrova.” My voice could ice over a volcano.

They exchange glances, then the older man clears his throat. “Da. We heard she was with you, under your protection, yet now she’s vanished. We want to know where she is.”

My jaw clenches. “I don’t answer to you.” I glance toward my mother, hovering nearby, tense. “If Eva left, that’s her decision. She’s not your prisoner.”

The woman’s stare hardens. “She’s not yours, either.”

My temper surges. “I never claimed ownership, just protection,” I correct. “What do you want with her?”

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