Chapter 91: Chapter Thirty-Six

Phoenix

His damn phone was off, which meant she was either alive or dead.

Perfect.

I tapped my fingers against the black folder and weighed my options as I sat alone at the kitchen table, drinking a glass of wine, wondering when the other shoe was going to fall.

If the De Langes were the ones locating the girls and dropping them off at the clubs, then the world finally made sense again.

We would need to send in Chase. Fast.

And we would need the FBI to raid the club in a way that made it look like the Italians and Russians weren’t ratting each other out or working with each other.

Shit.

I stared into my wine glass as the sound of feet hitting the hardwood gave me pause.

“Junior.” I smiled as I said his name. “You were supposed to be in bed.”

“I was in bed.” Smart ass. He was wearing Spiderman pajamas and had a shit-eating grin on his face. “I just wanted a drink of water.”

“You have a glass by the bed.” I pointed out.

“It’s not my Batman one.”

Patience. Patience. Patience. “Oh, I’m sorry, does the water taste different depending on the cup?”

“YUP!”

Dear God.

“So, your dinosaur cup?”

“Poop.” He laughed. “It tastes like poop!”

I grabbed him and pulled him onto my lap while he fell into a fit of giggles.

Three children were out there waiting to be pulled into the protective fold of our family.

The only problem was the name associated with them.

The only problem was the De Langes wanted them as much as we did, and Andrei didn’t even know they existed.

The grandfather clock chimed midnight.

There was only one thing we could do.

After all, Andrei would need his family. He would need people he trusted, people he could rely on.

Fucking hell.

I kissed my son on the head. “Off to bed, Junior, I’ll be in there in five minutes.”

“All right.” He skipped away.

I grabbed my phone.

I was creating more chaos.

We were supposed to be at peace.

I was inviting more war.

But if it helped us destroy what was left of the De Langes, if it gave Andrei the support he needed, the family that he never had the chance to have.

I would do it.

I dialed the number to Italian royalty.

The purebloods.

I called in the Sinacore Family.

“Yes?” A heavily accented voice said smoothly into the phone. “What is it, Nicolasi?”

“The missing Sinacore heirs.” I bit down on my lip. “I have one, as well as the location of the other two.”

He was silent and then, “In the States?”

“Chicago.”

“How long have you known this?”

“Long enough.”

His sigh was long, hard. “You risk war bringing the children into this. They are the rightful heirs.”

“We risk war either way. It’s their birthright.”

“Where is the boy?”

“Man.” I grinned to myself. “He’s a man… You know him by the name of Andrei Petrov.”

I will never forget the amount of cursing that occurred before arrangements were made.

Or the feeling of sickness in my chest that I was about to make life for him a hell of a lot harder.

“Strap in, Andrei, strap the hell in.”