Page 110 of Savage Vows

“Work outward. Traffic cameras, storefront security, anything within four blocks of that clinic. Get me a plate or a clear shot of the driver.”

“That’s a lot of footage, Dante.”

“You have ten minutes.”

“Jesus, Dante?—”

“Thirty, then,” I snap. “I need to find my wife. Call the moment you have a name.”

“It’s like looking for a needle in a haystack.”

I breathe through the frustration. “Okay, we still have the other guy. If he was with Adriana, he would know why she was there. You have his face. That can’t be hard. Find that guy.”

He hears the edge in my voice and falls silent. “Understood,” he says, and the line clicks dead.

I turn back into the living room. Bella is still bristling, arms folded. “You have no right to do this now, not after everything you’ve put her through.”

Oleg starts to speak, but I raise a hand, and he falls silent. I step closer to Bella, rainwater dripping from my coat. “I know it’s my fault,” I say, throat raw. “I know about the baby.”

Her expression shifts, part surprise, part hurt. “So you’re here only because she’s pregnant?”

“No.” I draw a breath, every word pulled from the center of my chest. “I’m here because I love her. I’ve loved her since the moment she walked into my life, stubborn and brave and too good for anyone in my world. I was afraid to admit it, afraid of what that love would cost. But every hour without her feels like I’m losing the best part of myself.”

Bella stares at me, tears welling. Oleg lowers his eyes, giving us a moment of privacy.

“I will find her,” I say, voice breaking. “I will spend the rest of my life making her feel safe and loved, if she’ll have me. Not because of the baby, but because she is my heart.”

The room is silent but for my ragged breathing. Bella nods once, wiping a tear. “Then go. Bring her back.”

“I will,” I promise as I start toward the door.

“We should wait until Eddie gets back to us. No sense charging blind,” Liam says, straightening.

I shake my head. “Every second she’s missing, the trail goes cold. We’re leaving.”

Oleg navigates south through slick streets, wipers slapping. Liam rides up front, scanning the route. My phone buzzes again.

Eddie:Match found. Alex Carter. Former Chicago Herald reporter. Address attached.

Liam glances at the message and then at me. “Why would she be with a reporter?”

“That’s her colleague,” I say.

He raises a brow. “Let me get this straight, Adriana Petrova, daughter of a mob boss, is a fucking reporter?”

“Yes. Anything else you have to say?”

“You always pick the easy ones, brother.”

“Focus on the road,” I tell him, but a reluctant smile tugs at my mouth.

Oleg swings the sedan toward Red Hook, warehouses looming on the waterfront. We park outside a converted factory where a single loft light glows.

The third-floor hallway smells of coffee and cold brick. I knock once. Alex Carter cracks the door, sees me, and blanches. He tries to slam it but I block it with a shoulder and enter, Liam and Oleg behind me.

Papers, camera lenses, and half-finished notes litter every surface. Photos of Portello and Bratva faces lie scattered on a light table. Near the center is a grainy telephoto shot of Adriana.

Alex backs against the wall. “Volkov…” His voice shakes.