Page 92 of Stolen By the Don

Marco.

I don’t need to connect the dots. Marco got there first. Or someone did. And odds are, the source is dead.

“Fuck,” I mutter, jaw clenched as my fist curls. It takes everything in me not to slam it through the desk. “So we’re left with a needle in a fucking haystack, aren’t we? How many laundromats do you know that double as safe house fronts?”

Billie drags a hand down his face, mumbling something under his breath. When he looks up again, he exhales. “Shit,” he says. “Twenty. There are twenty that I know of.”

Twenty.

Out of those—assuming the intel’s even real—one of them holds Marco.

And I’m running out of time.

“You’re going to make yourself useful, Billie,” I say as I stand, rounding my desk. He takes a tentative step back, but I don’t move toward him. “You’ve been useless so far, but I’ll give you a third chance.”

His head shoots off in an eager nod.

“First off, you’re going to keep your mouth shut. I don’t want anybody finding out what you’ve told me. Unless you want to go the same way your informant did. Two—” I hold up my fingers. “You’ll keep your ears peeled. I can’t trust you to watch the safehouses, so I’m asking you to keep your ears peeled. You hear something, you report to me. You hear?”

“Yes,” he says quickly. “I understand.”

I sigh, leaning against the desk and bracing my arms behind me. “You can go.”

As the door closes, I reach for my phone. “Sergei,” I say as he responds. “I need you on something.”

I don’t care how long it takes for Marco to show up. The moment he does, at any of the laundromats, he’s as good as dead.

27

ISABELLA

“May I help you with something?” I turn away from the rows of onesies to the employee wearing a polite smile.

I shake my head, chuckling softly. “No. I’m fine. I just thought I’d do some window shopping. Thank you.”

She nods. “Alright, ma’am. I’ll be around the corner if you decide to get anything or if you need help.”

She walks away, and I turn to the display again, lifting my hand to the vibrant green onesie in front of me.Shopping for baby things.

I didn’t think I would be doing any of that for a while, but when I woke up this morning, unable to sit still, it was the first thing that came to mind.

“I suppose I could get one thing?” I mutter, my hand drifting to my stomach. I’m not even showing, months away from that, but I’ve never been one to show up unprepared.

And a baby—well, that’s a big responsibility.

I walk out of the store with two bags and a pleased smile on my face. As I near the car, I notice the driver’s seat is empty. My gaze pans my surroundings, but Sergei is nowhere to be found.

Panic floods my chest as my grip on the bags tightens, and I immediately think the worst.He’s been kidnapped.While I was inside, shopping, someone took him.

“Or maybe he stepped away for a moment,” I say, arguing aloud with my thoughts, even as my pulse races. I spent my whole life always thinking about the worst-case scenarios. More than half of them never happened, and I also managed to miss the most obvious ones.

I might also be wrong here.

My senses are on alert as I circle the car, checking the driver’s side to see if the key is still in the ignition. It seems logical enough—if they had kidnapped him from the car, he wouldn’t have had time to take the key.

It’s not there. The door’s locked too.

I was wrong. I sigh in relief as I reach for my phone to locate him, but my fingers never make contact with my pocket. From behind me, I see someone, but I’m too late—a gloved hand clamps over my mouth as a black van pulls up.

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