Chapter 3 – Ivan
IVAN
Ileaned against the wall outside Alfredo Salvini’s office.
This situation had been months in the making.
Months of manipulating Vince Salvini into believing I was the enemy.
Months of manipulating Alfredo Salvini into believing I was actually on his side.
I couldn’t believe Alfredo had been able to hold onto power for so long that he was actually still alive with the kind of ego he had.
Then again, ego, paired with enough power and giving absolutely zero fucks about anyone else, made you excel in our line of business. In this kind of life.
It was actually quite funny. Caring about no one but yourself and caring too much for others—like your family—both made you equally vulnerable.
In a world of monsters, you either become one willingly or through necessity and survival. The transformation happens gradually—imperceptibly—until one day, you look in the mirror and barely recognize what, not who, stares back.
I’d thrived in this world for years, balancing between the monster and whatever fragments of humanity I managed to preserve in the deepest corners of my soul.
I was probably the perfect mixture between Alfredo and Vince Salvini, or maybe I was worse than both.
But at this point, fucking with people really was child’s play.
Child’s play I was ready to be done with.
I focused back on the situation. I didn’t even need the earpiece transmitting every word from the bugged room because the confrontation inside, and the raised voices of Alfredo Salvini and his sons Vince and Hero, were loud enough to be heard on the whole floor.
My fingers traced the edge of my phone as I monitored the security feed.
Jemma Salvini was probably our biggest bargaining chip.
Even though I was pretty sure Vince Salvini would burn down the world to get his sisters back, as well, which would probably throw a wrench into Grey’s demand to keep Isabella Salvini a while longer.
Why was Grey so obsessed with her anyway? And why was I?
Well, obsessed was too strong a word, but every now and then, the image of her defiant stance, of her curvy body and beautiful face, popped into my head. Completely unwelcome and completely annoying.
I sighed. I did not agree with Grey’s and the Paraskia’s tactic to capture the Salvini twins and Salvini’s bride to force Vince and the Salvini family back into the fold.
It was a dangerously stupid plan, and I much preferred a more elegant approach to facilitating cooperation, but Vince Salvini had proved to be a tough nut to crack.
And Grey had run out of patience. So there was nothing I could do but play my part and play it well.
Before I started my approach, I switched to the livestream of Alfredo Salvini’s office. We’d had him under surveillance for months, but watching the old man’s theatrical performance made my stomach harden.
The casual cruelty in Alfredo’s voice when he spoke to his son transported me back to another time, another place. The dank smell of the fighting rings. The sharp crack of a belt. The cold eyes of men who viewed us children as their property, as replaceable, as animals, and nothing more.
My jaw clenched. Some wounds never fully heal—they just get buried deeper.
I shifted my attention back to the security feed.
Vince stood rigid, controlled, while his brother Hero vibrated with barely contained rage.
The dynamic reminded me of my own early days after being rescued, before I learned to channel rage into calculated action.
Maybe it wasn’t the smartest tactical choice by Vince—allowing Hero’s loss of control to resurface.
Or maybe it was brilliant. Let the younger brother be the emotional one, which would distract his father while Vince could maintain his own composure—and the upper hand.
I could appreciate that kind of strategic thinking.
Hero vibrated with righteous anger—the kind I recognized from my own experiences defending the younger kids in the ring.
But it was Vince’s controlled stillness that drew my attention.
The way he positioned himself, ready to intervene if Hero lost control completely, spoke of years of watching over his family.
Maybe the Paraskia was right to want his cooperation.
I watched as Hero and Vince asked Alfredo Salvini where he’d taken his daughters and Salvini’s bride.
Now this would be interesting.
It took Alfredo a moment to rein in his surprise, but then he leaned back in his chair, appearing all relaxed, and smirked.
Smirked.
This asshole didn’t even care that his own daughters had been kidnapped and instead tried to pawn it off as his own doing, just to keep the upperhand?
What a fucking asshole. But it only confirmed everything I already knew about the man. He viewed his children as assets, nothing more. No love, no loyalty, not even respect.
Having been in his presence, it still made my skin crawl.
The feed showed Vince leaning forward, his voice dropping low. “I’ll step back. Give you full control again, leave the Salvini family, organization, and business completely. In exchange, you make sure the women return safely, right now.”
Interesting.
I hadn’t expected him to show his hand so clearly. His love for Jemma Donnelly made him vulnerable—and played directly into our hands.
I checked my watch. The timing was perfect. Soon Alfredo would make his final mistake, driven by his ego and hunger for power. And I would be here to witness it, to use it. One more nail in the coffin of Vince Salvini’s resistance.
The raised voices inside drew my attention back to the feed. Hero had snapped, slamming his hands on Alfredo’s desk. I straightened and prepared to enter.
Everything was proceeding exactly according to plan.
It was scary how easily people could be manipulated. How their motivations, their human instincts could be used against them.
And I was aware that it was the same for me. My brothers and sisters, my family, the path we were on, the things we did—the Paraskia had used my loyalty to make me into the high-functioning monster they needed me to be.
But not for long.
I just needed to play my part well and keep my cards close to my chest for a while longer.
A ghost of a smile touched my lips as I watched the scene unfold. Alfredo had no idea he was performing his final act. The old guard was about to fall, making way for the new. And I would ensure the pieces landed exactly where I needed them.
The timing was perfect. I pushed off from the wall and approached the office, opened the door, then paused in the doorway, assessing the scene.
Alfredo sat behind his desk, radiating smug authority while his sons stood before him.
Vince’s dismissive voice cut through the air. “You’re pathetic, and I pity you,” he said, his voice carrying the weight of years of disappointment. He turned away from his father but stopped as his gaze met mine.
He narrowed his eyes slightly as I entered. Good. Let him see me as a potential wild card in this game.
I kept my expression neutral as I positioned myself strategically—close enough to appear involved but maintaining enough distance to observe.
The tension in the room shifted with my presence. I could feel Vince reassessing the situation, factoring me into his calculations. Perfect. The first step in positioning myself as a potential ally was ensuring he saw me as someone worth considering.
My mind raced through contingencies. If Vince walked away now, my carefully orchestrated plan would need significant adjustments.
But watching him handle this confrontation had only reinforced my initial assessment—he’d be valuable to the syndicate.
His controlled rage, strategic mind, and ability to prioritize family over power were all useful traits.
The slight movement behind Vince caught my eye. Alfredo reached for his desk drawer where I knew he kept a Beretta. Shit.
My muscles tensed instinctively, but I forced myself to remain still.
This wasn’t my fight. And I wasn’t the target.
Hero’s reaction was instantaneous—the fierce need to protect, to shield others from harm, emanated from Hero’s posture in waves as he drew his own weapon.
It was fascinating how similar he was to teenage-me—how he stepped up to protect his brother like I’d stepped up to protect my siblings.
I watched him aim and Vince spin around. Why was I even thinking about shit like that in this situation?
A shot cracked through the air. Clean. Efficient. Almost anticlimactic compared to the wet crunch of bone, the slick warmth of blood coating a person’s hands when they killed someone with their own hands.
Guns made everything so…sterile.
I watched dispassionately as Alfredo slumped forward, a perfect center mass shot.
Hero stood with his weapon still raised, shock warring with determination on his face. This moment would reshape the Salvini family dynamics completely. And I was here to witness it, to use it.
The syndicate would be pleased. This would make the Salvinis more vulnerable, more likely to agree to new alliances.
And in the end, it was just an abusive father falling at the hands of those he’d tormented.
I approached Alfredo’s body with practiced detachment, checking his pulse more out of habit than necessity.
The shot had been clean—Hero had good instincts.
My gaze swept the office, cataloging details while appearing casual.
“Seems like I’m on the market for a new business partner,” I said, meeting Vince’s eyes.
“Are you in the market for a little barter?”
The words tasted bitter. Using family against family felt wrong. But orders were orders, and as long as the syndicate’s goals aligned with my own, this was the path I’d chosen. They wanted Vince Salvini, I wanted a clean exit, and closing this mission would bring me closer to my goal.
I held Salvini’s gaze, saw realization sink in about what barter I was talking about.