Page 120 of Scarlet Thorns

I straighten, my jaw clenched so tight it aches. “Go home, Péter. I’ll be in touch about cleanup and security upgrades.”

“Boss, with respect, I’ve been building things for twenty years. I’ve seen gang hits, mafia warnings, everything inbetween.” His dark eyes meet mine steadily. “This feels personal. Someone has a grudge against you specifically.”

Smart man.

“Just do as I ask, Péter. And keep Dénes away from here until further notice.”

He nods reluctantly, gathering his things. I wait until his truck disappears down the hill before pulling out my phone to take photos.

I walk through the destruction more carefully, noting every detail. The spray paint is still tacky— this happened less than eight hours ago. The equipment damage is precise, designed to cause expensive delays without completely halting the project.

Most telling of all: they avoided the structural supports. Someone who knows construction, who wanted to wound but not kill the project entirely. This is psychological warfare, not business rivalry.

I pull up my contact list and call Radimir. My younger brother answers on the first ring, his voice sharp and alert despite the early hour.

“Brat, what’s wrong?”

“Someone sabotaged Ilona’s car, and last night they hit the construction site. Professional job. I need you to pull all surveillance from the surrounding area— traffic cameras, security systems, anything that might have caught vehicles coming or going between midnight and dawn.”

“Pizdets!Are you hurt? Is Ilona—”

“We’re fine. But I need to know who did this before they make another move.”

A pause, then the rapid clicking of keys as Radimir gets to work. “I’ll have something within the hour. What about physical security? Want me to call Melor?”

“Already on it. I’m doubling security at the house and posting guards at the site around the clock. But Rad…” I pause, staring at the red graffiti that’s already eating into my vision like acid. “Run deep background checks on anyone who might have followed us from Boston. Stanley Morrison, his associates, anyone from the trafficking network who might want revenge.”

“Understood. And Osip? Watch your back. They’re studying you.”

The call ends, and I dial my head of security next, a former Spetsnaz operative named Dmitri who came recommended by some very dangerous people.

“Dima. Double the detail at the house immediately. Nobody gets within a hundred meters without authorization. And I want electronic surveillance on all approaches.”

“Da, boss. What’s the threat level?”

“Assume hostile intent. Someone’s already made two attempts to send me a message. I won’t give them a third chance.”

After ending the call, I stand in the ruined shell of what was supposed to be my legitimate future and feel the familiar taste of violence in the back of my mouth. I’d almost convinced myself I could leave the darkness behind, build something clean with clean money and clean hands.

But the past never stays buried. And now it’s not just me in the crosshairs— it’s Ilona and our unborn child.

I’ve already been down that road once before. It’s never going to happen again.

Whoever’s coming for us picked the wrong fucking target.

Chapter Forty-Eight

Ilona

The silence in this house is suffocating.

I shift on the velvet chaise lounge in the sitting room, pressing my palm against my lower abdomen where a dull ache has been gnawing at me all day. The pain I’ve associated with endometriosis is back with a vengeance, like my body is punishing me for daring to hope. Every muscle feels tender, every breath shallow. Even the act of sitting upright sends waves of discomfort through my pelvis.

“Rest as much as you can.”Dr. Varga’s words echo in my mind, accompanied by the memory of his concerned frown and the way his fingers had drummed against his clipboard while he delivered the news.“If we can get you to week 12, you should be fine.”

Twelve weeks feels like a lifetime away. I’m barely at five.

I glance at the antique clock on the mantle— 7 p.m. The evening light has dimmed to amber, and now the house feels cavernous around me. Osip won’t be back until late. Something about complications at the construction site. I can still remember the tension in his voice when he’d called earlier.