Marcello sat in his study, the morning light filtering through tall windows. His coffee had gone cold an hour ago. He hadn't noticed.
He was staring at his phone but his eyes were distant.
There was no call, no message, nothing from Viktor. This in itself was strange.
The other family heads had gone back to their various countries—Lucius to Italy, O'Rourke to Ireland, Kurobane to Japan, Isabeau to wherever she had decided to hide. Just as Kyle had instructed. Just as he had ordered.
Marcello wasn't going to risk anything disrupting any chance he had at seeing his daughter again.
But Viktor was supposed to be watching.
That was the arrangement. Viktor's men reported to him. Viktor reported to Marcello. Clean, simple and professional.
Except Viktor hadn't reported to him.
