Chapter 13 – Ivan #2
“As soon as you’re ready, we’ll video-call him,” I said, watching their reactions carefully.
The quieter twin reached for Shorty’s hand, squeezing it tightly. Shorty squeezed back, and I caught the calculating look in her eyes—wheels turning, planning something—not the behavior of someone who’d been dragged unwillingly into her sister’s schemes.
“Can we speak to him privately?” Shorty asked, her tone casual but her eyes sharp.
I couldn’t help the slight curl of my lips. Clever girl, testing boundaries even now. “No. I will be present for the entire call.” I studied her face, looking for tells. “Why? Got something you don’t want me to hear?”
“Duh. Of course I’d rather speak to my brother in private.” The eye roll that accompanied her words was pure attitude, nothing like the shy twin Grey was so fixated on and currently staring at.
“Well, tough luck, Shorty. No way I’m letting you weasel yourself into doing anything reckless again.” I thought of our little episode on the plane, her nighttime swimming, her constant pushing against every constraint. This woman was a natural-born con artist.
“Weasel myself? You’re the weasel, actually,” she said.
The unexpected retort in front of everyone triggered something primitive in me. I moved toward her, deliberately using my size to my advantage.
Her pupils widened, and she instinctively stepped back.
The memory of last night flashed into my mind—her naked body pressed against mine in the pool, water droplets clinging to her skin, the challenging tilt of her chin even then. The way she’d looked at my lips…
She stopped retreating and rose to her tiptoes, glaring up at me with those fierce eyes without a trace of fear—just pure defiance and something else. Was she enjoying this weird dance we were dancing as much as I was? Hell if her defiance wasn’t sexy as hell.
My blood heated despite my best efforts to remain professional.
I wanted her out of here, away from too many eyes, out from under Grey’s thumb—because he sure as shit was monitoring everything—preferably just me and her alone in a room, naked.
Which was pure madness.
I pulled my mind back out of the gutter. “No funny business, Shorty. I mean it. Just say you’re well and alive, and we’ll end the whole thing.” I kept my voice low, aware of the other twin watching our interaction with wide eyes.
“You don’t tell me what I can or can’t say to my brother, got it?” She raised her chin up in defiance, reminding me of a tiny warrior princess preparing for battle.
Her sister made a noise that sounded like a deer in distress.
She glanced at her sister, whose face had paled noticeably during our confrontation, and something shifted in Shorty’s expression—a flicker of concern, a protective instinct, or maybe just the awareness that whatever we were doing was not nothing.
She sidestepped me and squeezed her sister’s hand reassuringly before settling into the chair facing the monitor.
“We’re ready,” she announced, all business now.
I nodded, then made the split-second decision to use my phone rather than the facility’s equipment. I positioned the phone in front of her and initiated the connection while I watched her and her twin carefully.
Shorty’s body language shifted subtly as she waited—she squared her shoulders and clenched her jaw doggedly.
The screen flickered to life, revealing Vincenzo Salvini’s hard features, tension radiating from him even through the digital connection. Beside him sat his new wife, Jemma, her green eyes alert and watchful.
“Hey, bro,” Shorty said, her inflection changing slightly. Something about her pronunciation seemed deliberately altered.
I leaned in closer, wanting to control the interaction. “Get it on, girl. No pleasantries, no small-talk. Understood?”
She turned to glare at me, our faces inches apart. “Yes, I understand perfectly, you Russian weasel; just give me a second to say hello.”
The fire in her eyes was magnetic. I pulled her back slightly, my hand firm on her shoulder as I leaned into the frame, acknowledging Salvini with a nod. The movement brought my face alongside hers, close enough to catch the faint scent of her hair—something citrusy and clean.
She rolled her eyes dramatically. “Do you mind? This is a family moment,” she muttered, her breath warm against my cheek.
“And I’m ensuring it stays a moment,” I countered, equally quiet. The proximity was affecting my focus more than I cared to admit.
“God, you’re insufferable,” she hissed, then stared at me, momentarily forgetting the camera.
“Behave yourself, Shorty,” I warned, pitching my voice low enough that only she could hear.
“Make me, Zotov,” she shot back, then flicked her eyes down to my lips again before she locked eyes with me again.
Her challenge sent an inappropriate surge of heat through my body.
I looked down at her lips, then back at her.
Our eyes stayed locked in silent combat before we both remembered our audience.
She turned back to the screen where Salvini and his wife were watching our interaction with obvious confusion. Their expressions nagged at me—recognition, calculation, assessment.
“We’re just calling to tell you that Bella and I are okay,” Shorty said, emphasizing every word in a way that seemed deliberate.
I watched Salvini’s reaction closely. His eyes widened slightly before narrowing, processing something beyond the obvious message. His wife glanced at him, then back at the screen.
“That’s great to hear…Mira,” Jemma said, pausing before she said the name while giving Salvini a meaningful look.
Something passed between them—an unspoken communication I couldn’t quite decipher.
Shorty’s face broke into a small smile, a moment of genuine relief that I found myself wanting to preserve rather than interrupt.
Instead, I leaned closer, partially blocking her from view, asserting control over the situation. Her response was immediate—a sharp elbow to my ribs.
“You’re hogging the camera,” she complained.
Her casual disrespect sparked something possessive in me. I grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at me, our faces close enough that I could count her eyelashes. “You’re the bossiest, most annoying young woman of all of them,” I growled.
She chuckled, the sound vibrating through my fingers. My eyes dropped to her lips involuntarily, then back to her challenging gaze.
Something electric passed between us, a current I couldn’t—shouldn’t—acknowledge. Just like last night.
Her grin deepened, the expression transforming her face.
“That would imply you met ‘all of them’, and I’m really sorry to say”—she pulled my hand from her chin, her small fingers surprisingly strong as she gave me a deliberate once-over—“you’re not handsome enough to have had more than you can count on both hands. ”
The audacity of this woman. No woman had ever spoken to me this way—not even my sisters. I should’ve been angry, but instead I found myself fighting an inappropriate surge of amusement. I grabbed her neck, leaning close enough that my lips brushed her ear.
“Keep pushing me, Shorty, and I’ll show you exactly how I handle bossy little girls who don’t know when to shut up,” I whispered, the threat emerging more sensual than intended.
I felt her sharp intake of breath, the pulse at her throat jumping beneath my fingers. Her skin flushed where my lips had touched her ear. Not fear—something else entirely.
She pulled away, pushed me out of the frame with surprising strength, and focused back on her brother and his wife.
“It would be dope if you’d come, but if you’d rather not, that’s okay, too; I can handle the weasel,” she said, throwing me a sidelong glance that promised further defiance.
“Where are you?” Salvini asked, his voice tight with controlled emotion.
She smiled enigmatically. “In paradise.”
Salvini’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Paradise?”
Enough of this. I grabbed the phone and stood, deliberately blocking her view of the screen. This exchange had already gone on too long, revealed too much.
“Tell me where to meet. And it better be a five-star resort—Jemma and I are on our honeymoon, after all,” Salvini said, his tone shifting to something harder, more calculating.
I glanced down at Shorty, noting the smug satisfaction in her expression before looking back at the screen. Frustration built in my chest—this entire situation was spiraling beyond my control.
“All you Salvinis are actually a giant pain in the ass,” I muttered, running a hand over my face.
I wasn’t accustomed to having my authority so blatantly challenged, especially not by someone who should be intimidated by their circumstances.
“I’ll send a jet; make sure to bring swimwear as there’s a strict no-nudity rule—” I turned to glare pointedly at Shorty, then ended the call before Salvini could respond.
“Did something happen between the two of you?” the quiet twin asked, her voice hesitant, her gaze darting back and forth between us.
Now that would be interesting. I waited for Shorty’s answer to that question.
Shorty’s expression flickered with momentary guilt. “No, nothing happened,” she said quickly.
I raised an eyebrow at the obvious lie. The memory of her naked body rising from the pool, water streaming down her curves, flashed unbidden through my mind.
“Can we go back to our room then?” her sister asked, shifting uncomfortably. “I really need to go.”
I studied her for a moment, recognizing the subtle signs of discomfort. Three seconds was all it took to make my decision. I turned and opened the door.
“Nina, we need you real quick,” I called.
Nina appeared immediately, and the quiet twin followed her without hesitation, leaving Shorty and me alone in the small room. The silence stretched between us, charged with unspoken tension.
“You do know women,” she finally said, leaning back in her chair with studied casualness. “The way you just knew my sister needed to use the bathroom. Most men wouldn’t catch on to something like that.”
I couldn’t help the slight smile that tugged at my lips. “I’m not most men, Shorty.” I moved closer, deliberately invading her space. “I notice everything about the people in my care.”
“Is that what we are? In your care?” She tilted her head, challenge written across her features. “You’ve got a funny way of showing it.”
“Would you prefer I treated you like actual prisoners?” I lowered my voice, the question emerging more intimate than intended. “Because I can arrange that if you’re feeling neglected.”
She snorted, unimpressed. “No, thanks. I prefer my current accommodations.”
I studied her for a moment, struck again by how she fit exactly what Grey had described. “I know that look because of Nina and Mila. Women have tells when they need something but are too polite to say it out loud.”
“So you’re some kind of women whisperer now?” A teasing note crept into her voice, surprising me with its lack of hostility.
“Only when it matters. And for someone who matters.” The words slipped out before I could censor them. I shifted topics quickly. “Your family is…interesting. The way Vince looked at you—can all of your brothers immediately tell you apart?”
Her body tensed momentarily before she forced herself to relax. A tell. “Of course they can. We’re family.”
I nodded, filing away her reaction. “And Vince, as the oldest, is always protecting everyone,” I stated.
“Vince has always been protective. But after our mother died, he stepped up even more.” Her expression softened when speaking about her brother—genuine affection there.
“Jemma seems fine,” I observed, watching her reaction carefully.
She nodded, a genuine smile transforming her face. “She’s good for him. Makes him less…intense.”
I absorbed this information, struck by how easily we’d shifted from antagonism to something approaching a normal conversation. Her ability to adapt was remarkable.
“You were at La Dimora before the wedding—you already know—so what’s up with the questions?” she asked suddenly, those sharp eyes missing nothing.
“Just trying to figure things out,” I replied honestly.
She snorted. “Well, whatever. At the end of the day, we’re all Salvinis. Family comes first, always.”
Family first. A sentiment I understood all too well. I extended my hand to help her from the chair. “Time to go.”
When our fingers touched, something electric passed between us. Her small hand fit perfectly in mine, her skin soft against my calloused palm. I pulled her to her feet, bringing us momentarily closer than necessary.
For a moment, we stood too close, my eyes searching hers for answers to questions that had popped up after Grey’s information.
Who was she really? Was she only the fierce fighter I’d come to know, or was she the real digital phantom Grey was obsessed with?
And why did I care so much about the answer?
“What?” she asked, her voice carrying a breathiness that sent heat through my veins.
I traced a small circle on the inside of her wrist with my thumb before releasing her. “Nothing. Just wondering who you really are.”
She stared at me and I at her, and the question hung between us, loaded with more meaning than either of us was ready to acknowledge.