Chapter 7 – Ivan
IVAN
My phone buzzed twice in rapid succession—Grey’s distinctive pattern.
Fuck. The man had the worst timing.
I glanced back at the Salvini girl, uneasy about leaving her alone.
She was still lying there, with her eyes closed and her heart monitor beeping regularly.
But something about her breathing and the subtle tension in her body when I’d laid her down on the gurney told me she might be feigning her unconsciousness.
She was clever, this one—perhaps too clever for her own good.
I stepped into the sterile corridor and called him back.
The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting a harsh light along the empty corridor.
This section of the hospital didn’t exist on official blueprints.
It had been built decades ago by Alberto Salvini and used exclusively by the Paraskia Syndicate and a select few others with the right connections.
I moved farther from the door and mentally replayed the last conversation with Grey. If Mirabella had been pretending to be unconscious, how much of our plans did I reveal during the conversation?
Not a lot.
Grey didn’t pick up, and familiar irritation bubbled up. What, now he couldn’t even pick up the phone?
My jaw tightened. What was wrong with Grey?
I was almost certain Salvini would call sooner rather than later, and he would demand all of the women back. Including Isabella.
What was Grey’s motivation to demand Isabella? Why did he care about her in particular? Why take unnecessary risks, created purely by impatience or obsession?
Something about this operation had felt wrong from the beginning—the pieces weren’t quite fitting together. And they sure as shit didn’t fit the Paraskia Syndicate’s usual MO.
Just as I pocketed the phone, my phone buzzed again but this time with a different pattern.
I glanced at the screen—Vincenzo Salvini.
Perfect fucking timing.
I straightened my shoulders and took a deep breath, centering myself. This call would determine whether this whole mission succeeded or failed. I couldn’t afford to sound rushed or uncertain.
“I was expecting your call a lot sooner,” I answered, my voice deliberately cool and measured.
“Cut the bullshit, Zotov.” Salvini’s voice came through sharp and controlled, but I caught the undercurrent of rage. Good. Emotional opponents made mistakes.
“What do you want?” he said, and the edge in his voice would have intimidated most men.
I wasn’t most men.
I leaned against the wall, adopting a casual posture even though he couldn’t see me. Body language affected voice tone—a lesson learned through years of interrogations. “Straight to business, I see. Very well—”
A tight smile formed on my lips. His frustration confirmed I held all the cards. I could almost picture him—knuckles white around his phone, that famous Salvini temper barely contained beneath his composed exterior.
Suddenly, a shrieking alarm jolted me into action. I stared up and down the corridor for a split second.
What was going on? Was that the fire alarm?
Staff members rushed past me, their movements precise and practiced despite the chaos. My mind immediately locked onto one thought: the Salvini girl.
I quit the call and sprinted back toward her room, the acrid smell of smoke growing stronger with each step. Smoke seeped through the cracks around the door frame—not from elsewhere in the building but from inside her room.
What the actual fuck?
Did she start a fire?
On purpose?
Clever, resourceful, and absolutely fucking crazy.
Just as I reached the door, it slid open to reveal a room filled with white smoke.
And the girl?
She stood in the middle of the entrance, eyes wide, coughing violently. Her expression shifted from panic to an unconvincing attempt at innocence as soon as she saw me.
“What the hell did you do?” I demanded, grabbed the fire extinguisher that hung just outside the room, then crowding her until she stepped back into the room.
Was this her plan of escape? Setting a fucking hospital on fire and hoping to disappear in the chaos?
Should’ve known she only simulated her unconsciousness. “Fuck, I really don’t care about babysitting brainless bimbos who can’t even think through the consequences to their actions.”
I grabbed her arm. “Where’s the fire?”
She pointed to the back wall.
I pulled her with me to the hospital bed beneath the vent. “You stay put; if you even so much as move a muscle, I’m strangling you to death.” I climbed up on the bed, then directed the nozzle into the vent while staring her down, daring her to move.
The foam smothered the flames, but smoke continued to billow out.
“I didn’t—” she started, then dissolved into another coughing fit.
“Save it.” I jumped down, seized her arm, and pulled her toward the door. “You could have killed yourself.”
Something fierce and uncompromising flashed in her eyes despite the tears from the smoke. “Better than being your bargaining chip.”
The words hit harder than they should have. I recognized that look—the same desperate determination I’d seen so many times, felt so many times. The willingness to risk everything rather than remain under someone else’s control.
“Next time, find a less stupid, less suicidal method,” I growled and dragged her into the corridor where the air was clearer. My grip on her arm was firm but careful, mindful of her injuries. “I need you alive…for now.”
She glared up at me, defiant even as she struggled to breathe properly. “Sorry to inconvenience your plans.”
I studied her face, noting the calculation and pure determination.
This wasn’t just panic or rebellion—she’d had a plan, however poorly executed. And she executed on it.
Grudging admiration mixed with my anger. Not that it would change anything.
I scooped her up before she could protest, one arm under her knees and the other supporting her back. Her slight weight was nothing against my training, but the way she immediately stiffened in my arms told me everything I needed to know about her state of consciousness earlier.
“I should have known you were faking it the whole time,” I growled, navigating through the smoke-filled corridor as hospital staff rushed past us with fire extinguishers.
“Put me down,” she demanded, pushing against my chest. “I can walk.”
“So you can try to disappear in the chaos? Not happening.” I tightened my grip as we approached the emergency exit. “Your little fire stunt just compromised a secure facility and endangered lives. Congratulations.”
She stopped struggling for a moment, her eyes meeting mine with unexpected directness. “I wasn’t trying to hurt anyone. Just wanted to get the damn door to open.”
“Next time, consider the consequences before you play with fire,” I snapped, shouldering through the exit door into the cool night air. “There are a lot of vulnerable people here.”
“There won’t be a next time if you’d just let me go,” she shot back, then coughed again, her body shaking against mine.
Great, fucking great. Now, on top of her head wound and possible concussion, she suffered from smoke inhalation. Talk about damaged goods. At least it wasn’t Isabella because Grey would sure as shit lose it if I damaged his current obsession.
I carried her swiftly to the car parked in the secure lot. “Not an option.”
Once at the vehicle, I set her down but kept a firm grip on her arm while opening the passenger door. “Get in.”
She hesitated and looked around—was probably calculating her chances.
I could practically see the gears turning in her head. “Do not test me,” I warned. “I’m not above using violence, trussing you up like a turkey, and throwing you in the trunk if you push me any further.”
She glared at me, then with a resigned huff, she climbed in.
I secured her seatbelt myself, not trusting her to stay put otherwise, then rounded the vehicle and got behind the wheel.
We pulled away from the hospital, leaving the commotion behind even before the fire trucks arrived.
The confined space of the car was filled with tension.
Mirabella Salvini had her arms crossed and was silently stewing and glaring at me from across the car.
The roads were clear, and it was completely dark once we entered the mountain road.
Good. Just with the headlights cutting through the night, she wouldn’t remember the road.
“Where are you taking me now?” she demanded after several minutes of silence.
“Somewhere you can’t harm others,” I replied, my knuckles white on the steering wheel. “Somewhere I can keep you in my line of sight.” And hopefully I can give her back to Salvini or Grey, or whoever, come morning.
I called Grey. “What’s next?”
“Hello to you too,” Grey answered. “We’ve lost the bride, but we still have Isabella Salvini. Both sisters will be transported out ASAP. Wait for instructions.” He ended the call, and I put my phone back into my pocket.
Good.
I was really done playing babysitter. Her recklessness infuriated me despite the small part of me that couldn’t help but respect her resourcefulness.
She’d used what little she had available to create an escape opportunity—it was exactly what I would’ve done in her situation. But her method had been beyond stupid, reckless, and was a testament to her lack of self-preservation skills.
That was what made her dangerous.
Fascinating but dangerous.
I pushed that thought aside. My job was to deliver her to wherever, then let Mr. Grey deal with her and her sister, whom he seemed so fixated on.
The sooner I got rid of her, the sooner I could return to setting my own plans in motion, and finally get out from the Paraskia’s thumb.
I drove us back toward the hunting lodge in silence while I worked through every contingency plan. The road was rough, each bump jarring her in her seat. I glanced at her occasionally, noting how she stared out the window. She was probably trying to memorize the route. Smart.
“Stop looking at me, and focus on the road,” she muttered without turning her head.
“Just making sure you’re not planning to throw yourself out of a moving car,” I replied.
She finally faced me, eyes narrowed. “I’ll do whatever it takes to get away from you.”
I couldn’t help the slight twitch of my lips. “I’ve noticed.”
As we approached the clearing, the small hunting lodge came into view—weathered and rundown, nestled among tall pines, isolated, and perfect for staying hidden.
I parked beside the structure, positioning the car to block her view of the tarp-covered helicopter.
But she noticed anyway.
“Nice tarp job,” she said as I helped her from the car, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Very subtle. Did they teach you in evil henchman school, or is that natural talent?”
I should have shut her down immediately—maintained the professional distance that had kept me alive all these years. But something about her quick wit broke through my usual reserve.
“I graduated top of my class,” I replied dryly. “The subtle art of effective interrogation technique, maximum impact with minimal blood loss, was my thesis project.”
Her eyes widened fractionally—surprise at my response—before she recovered. “Let me guess, you also minored in kidnapping and creepy cabin selection?”
“Actually, those were just electives.” I guided her toward the lodge, one hand firmly on her elbow.
A small, reluctant smile played at the corners of her mouth before she caught herself and replaced it with a scowl.
Inside, the lodge was basic—one main room with a stone fireplace, a small kitchenette, and a door leading to a bathroom with a surprisingly comfortable tub—even though getting enough heated water took a while.
No electricity, no modern comforts, and most importantly, nothing that could trace it back to the Paraskia Syndicate.
I released her arm, locked the door, pocketed the key, lit a couple of gas lamps, then moved on to light the fire, keeping her in my peripheral vision. “Sit down. I need to check that head wound.”
“I’m fine,” she said, remaining stubbornly in place near the door while taking everything in.
I straightened, went into the kitchen to get the first aid kit, and moved toward her. Maybe I should tie her up, just in case she tried to make a run for it again. Even though she didn’t look like she would make it far. “That wasn’t a request.”
“Well, tough luck, since I don’t fucking care.” She lifted her chin defiantly.
I stepped closer and used my height advantage to crowd her space. I leaned in until my nose touched her hair and I could inhale her scent.
Her sharp intake of air was music to my ears. Not so cool now.
I shifted my weight until my lips were a hairsbreadth from her ear. “We can do this the easy way, or I can make you. Your choice, Bella.” I knew her family usually called her Mira, but somehow that name didn’t fit her at all.
She turned her head until her nose touched mine. “Well, if it’s my choice, then I’d rather you make me,” she said while staring straight in my eyes, while hers burned with the challenge.
Of course, she wouldn’t make this easier for us.