The drive back to the Russo estate was quieter than anyone expected.
No one spoke about the missing photograph.
No one mentioned the traitor.
The convoy moved through the afternoon traffic beneath a sky painted in soft shades of gold, the setting sun reflecting against the windows of Manhattan's skyscrapers as though the city itself was pretending nothing had changed.
Inside the lead SUV, silence settled heavily between Dominic and Scarlett.
Victor Whitmore had been taken ahead in another vehicle under heavy protection. Doctors waited for him at the estate, while Marco coordinated security through constant phone calls.
Scarlett sat beside Dominic, staring out the window.
Her fingers rested absentmindedly over the gentle curve of her stomach.
So much had happened in only a few days.
