Chapter 11 – Ivan
IVAN
The jet’s wheels touched down with practiced precision, but my attention was fixed on the twins.
They both looked drained, which wasn’t surprising given our journey halfway around the globe.
They’d slept on and off. But when Shorty finally succumbed to exhaustion after our little run-in in the bathroom, I could barely keep my eyes off of her.
She’d rested her head against her sister’s shoulder, and the vulnerability in her face twisted something inside my chest.
Some kind of completely misplaced protective instinct.
Damn. What the hell was going on with me? Emotional detachment was usually child’s play. It was really time to get out of this job, out from under Grey’s thumb and the Paraskia’s influence.
The plans to go independent had been in place for months.
Now it was high time to set them in motion.
And it shouldn’t be that hard. I just needed Grey and the Paraskia council to agree to and support our decision.
We were willing to cooperate with the Paraskia Syndicate in the future, so not much would change.
Apart from us having our freedom. Not being someone else’s top dog, not having someone yanking my chain, as Shorty had put it.
Shorty.
Earlier, when she’d shut down at my touch, the terror in her eyes had been visceral, raw.
I’d seen that look before—in the fighting rings, in mirrors, in the faces of others who’d experienced and survived things they shouldn’t have had to.
The clinical part of my brain had already cataloged her reaction—added it to the growing list of inconsistencies in her file.
But the rest of me…the part of me that was still thinking about her, that wanted to know more about her, that wanted to know everything…
that part made it harder to compartmentalize.
Through the window, I spotted Grey’s tall figure on the tarmac, his usual pristine suit a stark contrast to the Mediterranean setting.
What the fuck? He was here? In fifteen years, I’d never seen him personally show up to welcome someone, never seen him display such obvious anticipation.
My gaze shifted back to Shorty and her sister. They looked composed now, but I knew they were probably scared.
Not that they had any reason to be. They were only here as leverage against Vince Salvini, right?
I narrowed my brows and looked back at Grey.
Because the Paraskia’s methods of extracting information weren’t known for their gentle nature…
well, they weren’t known at all. Did Grey have a hidden agenda?
What if they separated the sisters…and Shorty wasn’t able to protect her sister?
I’d seen stronger people break under less.
I shook the thought off. That wasn’t the case here.
The plane came to a complete stop.
I should just distance myself, get this handoff over with, and forget about them. But I hesitated.
I didn’t trust Grey. Didn’t trust everything was as black and white as it seemed. Which might be a tactical error—this unwanted protectiveness. Yet I couldn’t quite bring myself to just turn my back.
Through the window, Grey’s impatient shifting caught my eye. His focus seemed locked on the cabin door, like a predator tracking prey. The intensity of his interest felt…unprofessional. Even his presence here was another piece that didn’t fit the mission parameters I’d been given.
The cabin crew opened the door, and I descended first, scanning the tarmac—out of habit—before motioning the sisters to follow. My hand instinctively reached back to steady Shorty as she navigated the steep steps though I quickly withdrew it when I caught Grey’s raised eyebrow.
“Mr. Grey.” I kept my tone neutral, professional. “I wasn’t expecting you personally.”
His pale eyes flickered between the twins, an unsettling hunger in his gaze that made my jaw clench. “I wanted to ensure our guests received a proper welcome.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Won’t you introduce us?”
I hesitated, that protective instinct warring with years of conditioning. “Of course.” My voice came out rougher than intended. “This is Mirabella Salvini.” I gestured to Shorty, hated how Grey’s attention sharpened on her. “And her sister Isabella.”
Grey’s focus shifted between them, studying their faces with an intensity that made my hand twitch. When he extended his hand toward Shorty, I had to force myself not to step between them.
“Mirabella.” He clasped her hand longer than necessary. “I’ve heard so much about you.” Something about Grey’s reaction felt off—like he was enjoying a private joke. The way his eyes lingered on Shorty’s face, calculating something, set off warning bells I couldn’t quite decode.
Shorty pulled her hand back with barely concealed distaste, and I caught the slight tremor in her fingers. She pressed closer to her sister, their shoulders touching in a united front.
Grey’s gaze slid to her sister, and his attention locked onto her.
“And, Isabella.” The way he said her name was almost reverently, like an exhale after holding your breath for too long.
He crept closer to Isabella, and it set my teeth on edge.
“My dear, welcome.” His cultured voice carried across the tarmac as he extended his hand to her.
“I trust everyone has taken excellent care of you?”
I watched Shorty’s sister hesitate before accepting his greeting. Her hand disappeared into his grip as he raised it to his lips, holding the kiss a beat too long. Everything about his behavior felt wrong—this wasn’t the calculated, distant man I knew.
I could feel Shorty stiffen beside me. Would she kick Grey’s shin, as well, for touching her sister?
“You must be exhausted from your journey.” Grey’s tone dripped honey. “I’ve arranged private quarters for you both. Anything you need, just ask…since your company is highly honored.”
The word “company” triggered a barely audible scoff from Shorty. “My idea of good company is the company of clever, well-informed people who have a great deal of conversation; that is what I call good company,” she whispered under her breath.
My head snapped toward her, recognizing another Austen reference. Our eyes met briefly before she looked away, but that moment of shared understanding lingered.
Grey continued fawning over her sister, touching her elbow, guiding her toward the waiting car while barely acknowledging Shorty’s presence. His behavior was completely out of character—I’d never seen him personally escort anyone, let alone act like this.
Gross.
The contrast between his excessive attention to one sister and dismissal of the other made my instincts scream. Grey was many things, but he was never obvious. This display felt too over the top.
I kept my face neutral, but my mind raced. What game was Grey really playing? And why did I have the growing certainty that I was missing a lot of crucial pieces to solve the puzzle? Right now, I was nothing more than a dog on a leash.
Shorty subtly maneuvered herself between Grey and her sister, her movements so fluid, they seemed casual to anyone who wasn’t trained to notice such things…
or maybe to anyone who wasn’t as obsessively aware of her every move.
But I caught the calculated precision, the way she used her body as a shield while maintaining an air of indifference.
Smart girl. Too smart.
I found myself drifting closer. Then made the conscious decision to position myself between Grey and both women.
A tactical choice, I told myself—just maintaining control of the assets and the situation.
But the realization that bordered on relief in Shorty’s eyes when she noticed made something twist in my chest.
“What exactly are your plans for us?” Shorty’s voice carried that perfect blend of boredom and disdain as we walked toward the Jeeps; only the rest of her sentence she said so silently, nobody but I and her sister could hear: “Not that I give a flying fuck about your plans.”
I leaned closer, pitching my voice low enough that only she could hear.
“There could have been no two hearts so open, no tastes so similar, no feelings so in unison.” The quote hardly made sense in this situation, not in its intended meaning.
But if you took it literally, it was quite fitting, what with both of us not wanting to be part of Grey’s plans.
Her step faltered, and she snapped her head toward me. For a moment, confusion replaced her careful mask—then understanding flickered in her eyes, followed by a raised eyebrow and the ghost of a smile she quickly suppressed.
I could throw out Jane Austen quotes just as much as she could.
Grey smiled graciously at Shorty, which showed he hadn’t heard the latter part of her statement. “Let’s discuss everything over welcome drinks.”
Welcome drinks? Was he pretending this was a beach vacation or something? Movement at the entrance to the small airport caught my attention.
My sisters approached, their expressions a mix of curiosity and wariness. Nina’s analytical gaze swept over the twins while Mila’s hand rested casually near her weapon. Even from this distance, I could read the questions written all over their faces.
Grey’s presence here was already unusual.
Now my sisters were here, as well? Their presence sent warning signals through my brain.
Nina and Mila weren’t part of this mission, apart from Anton, whose job it was to get the Falcone family on board; none of them should’ve been anywhere near this operation.
Did Grey involve them on purpose and keep me in the dark about it on purpose? But why?
The Jeeps waited in a neat row, their dark paint gleaming under the Mediterranean sun. On our way over to the compound would be the perfect opportunity for me to ask them what was going on.
My stomach tightened. I hated this. Hated to not know every detail, hated surprises, good or bad. And surely this was bad.