Chapter 16 – Ivan
IVAN
The Salvini jet started its approach and descended toward the landing strip, a sleek, black speck growing larger against the clear blue sky.
“ETA two minutes,” Roman, who, along with Nina, had taken overwatch near the control tower, reported through the comms. “And Grey’s jet is right behind them.”
I nodded, grateful for Grey’s absence until now. The call from Italy had bought us precious time—time we needed to prepare.
With the noise of the engines cutting through the morning air, my gaze drifted to Isabella. She stood next to her sister, both of them tense but composed.
Last night’s revelation still echoed through my mind. This woman—this fierce, brilliant woman—had saved us all those years ago without even knowing it. With a child’s scribbled note that had changed the course of our lives.
How many times had I wondered how different our lives would’ve been?
How many nights had I lain awake, grateful to Grey and the Paraskia Syndicate for rescuing us?
Never had I thought our real savior had been a little girl.
And now, here she was, standing mere feet away, completely unaware of our connection.
Isabella Salvini…Shorty caught me staring and raised an eyebrow. “Take a picture, Zotov. It’ll last longer.”
Back to Zotov, were we? She’d called me Ivan yesterday, hadn’t she? “Maybe I will,” I replied, my voice steadier than I felt.
Mila snickered beside me. “You two should just get a room already.”
I shot her a warning glance, but it was too late. The damage was done. My siblings had essentially adopted the Salvini twins in the past twelve hours, treating them more like family than anything else. It complicated things but also provided additional layers of protection for Isabella.
“Been there, done that. I’d rather stab myself with a nail file,” Shorty retorted, but there was less venom in her voice than before.
“Why not use a knife?” I countered.
A hint of a smile played at the corners of her mouth. “Why not use the gun you’ve been trying so hard to hide?”
Anton let out a low whistle. “She’s got you in the quick wit department, bro. Just surrender already.”
I ignored him, focusing instead on the approaching jet.
The Salvini and Falcone families were powerful, dangerous players in their own right.
Thank God we’d reestablished the relationship with Gabe Falcone a while ago.
And Anton and Cristo Falcone had almost become friends over the last couple of months.
So it was more the Salvinis and, in particular, Vince I was wary of.
He was probably pissed and out for blood, on top of being hypervigilant.
But who wouldn’t if your sisters were used as bait and you were forced into a trap?
“Ready for the family reunion?” I asked Isabella quietly as the others turned their attention to the landing aircraft.
She met my eyes, and for a moment, I saw past her defenses—the fear, the determination, the fierce protectiveness for her sister.
“Are you?” she countered.
The jet’s door opened, and they descended like a dark invading force. Vincenzo Salvini led the way, his face carved from stone, eyes scanning the tarmac with lethal precision until they locked onto Isabella and Mirabella.
He was flanked by Matteo Salvini, intense and silent, and Domenico “Dom” Rossi, his best friend. They were followed by Cristo Falcone, with his deceptive charm he used to hide his lethality, and Alex Falcone—or Moretti—with his quiet but raw intensity.
The women emerged last—Jemma Salvini, Vince’s new wife, held her head in a defiant posture; Cara Donnelly, Jemma’s sister, took the steps with calculated grace, but I was pretty sure she quietly took in everything and everyone.
Cara’s reserved, almost timid appearance was similar to Mirabella Salvini’s.
And was quite the contrast to that of her cousin, who was the last woman who descended from the jet.
Fee Falcone’s fiery presence was a joy to experience—from a distance.
Only a maniac like Alex Falcone would ever touch or tame a woman like that. And yet I had a soft spot for her.
Eight people. Eight threats. All heavily biased against us.
I found myself moving closer to Shorty, my body reacting before my mind could catch up. My hand hovered near her elbow, a protective gesture I had no right to make. When I realized what I was doing, I forced myself to step back and schooled my features into professional detachment.
Too late. Anton had noticed, his eyebrow raised in silent question. Mila’s knowing smile didn’t help either.
Grey’s jet touched down behind us, adding another layer of tension to an already volatile situation.
Perfect timing, as always. The old bastard knew exactly how to make an entrance.
Shorty stood rigid beside me, her breathing controlled but shallow. I could almost feel the war raging inside her—relief at seeing her family, fear for what might come next, and determination to protect her family at all costs.
Then she moved.
Without warning, Isabella stepped forward and crossed the invisible line between our groups.
I fought the instinct to grab her arm, to pull her back to safety—my safety—and watched instead as she walked directly into Vince Salvini’s embrace with Mirabella directly on her heels.
His arms closed around them, protective and possessive, and Matt and Dom moved in, as well.
Something twisted in my gut, sharp and unexpected. I had no claim on her. No right to the jealousy that surged through me at the sight of her pressed against her brother’s chest, his hand cradling the back of her head as he whispered something in her ear.
Idiot. I was a complete idiot. Bringing Vince Salvini here was my mission, and Isabella was just part of the mission, not my—what? What exactly did I think she was to me?
I forced myself to look away, focused instead on Grey’s approaching figure. Whatever I felt needed to be buried, controlled, eliminated. I might feel attracted to Isabella Salvini. And she might’ve saved me as a child, but that changed nothing about our present reality.
Shorty stepped out of her brother’s embrace, squeezing his arm once before moving slightly to the side and toward the other women. Her eyes locked with Jemma’s, a silent communication passing between them.
I’d seen that look before—in the garden of La Dimora. When Isabella handed Jemma her laptop. So those two shared some secrets? Did Jemma know about Shorty’s alter ego? Did Vincenzo Salvini know?
Grey approached with measured steps, his smile too wide, too practiced. I found myself moving before I could think, positioning my body slightly between him and Isabella and the other women.
The movement was subtle, almost unconscious, but Salvini noticed and raised a brow. And Grey did, as well. His eyes flickered to mine for a fraction of a second, amusement dancing in their depths.
“Vincenzo Salvini.” Grey extended his hand, his voice dripping with false warmth. “What a pleasure to finally meet you in person. I’ve heard so much about you and your family’s…operations.”
Vince didn’t take the offered hand. His face remained impassive, carved from marble. “Let’s cut the bullshit. I want my sisters released. Now.”
Grey’s smile didn’t falter, but something cold slithered behind his eyes. “Released? My dear boy, this isn’t a prison. Your sisters are our honored guests, as you all are. You’re free to leave whenever you wish.”
The lie hung in the air between us. I knew it. Vince knew it. Grey knew we knew it.
“We’ll be taking our leave then,” Vince replied, reaching for Isabella’s hand.
Grey’s attention shifted to Isabella, his gaze lingering too long, too intensely, before he switched back to Vince. “Ah, but we’ve barely had time to get acquainted. I was hoping we might have a private conversation before your departure.”
My jaw clenched, and I took another step, which brought me right next to Shorty.
Bullshit. His words were utter bullshit.
Yes, bringing Salvini here and securing his cooperation was—or should’ve been—the real reason for this entire meeting. Grey’s interest in Isabella was clear as day.
Vince Salvini was here following the Paraskia’s agenda, but Isabella was the one on Grey’s personal agenda.
Grey cocked his head and chuckled. “Your good friend Gabriele Falcone might not have mentioned why we’ve invited you, but I’m quite sure you want to hear what we have to offer,” he said, and his tone of voice gave me the ick.
Which was new. I’d always felt loyal to Grey, as well as the Paraskia; was that why I never looked at him too critically?
But right now, I bet my left arm that he never cared about the Salvini crime family or their operations.
Getting their cooperation was the Paraskia’s agenda.
For him, this was all about Isabella. About getting his fingers on Iset.
I stood at the crossroads. Duty and lifelong loyalty pulled me in one direction; something else—something unfamiliar and dangerous—pulled me in another.
My plan had always been to follow through.
Complete this mission. Maintain my position and reputation within the organization that had given me purpose for over a decade.
And then, once that was done, start our—hopefully—peaceful exit.
Or protect the woman who had unknowingly saved me as a child.
The woman who, with her sharp wit and fierce protectiveness, had somehow wormed her way in and carved a space in my carefully controlled existence.
But protecting her meant quite possibly triggering Grey’s and the Paraskia Syndicate’s antagonism. Which would not end well.
Grey stared at me, waited for me to step aside, to play my role in his game. Isabella’s gaze burned into my side; she was unaware of the turmoil inside of me.
I took a calculated half-step turn, placing myself slightly off-center of the triangle between Grey, Vince, and Isabella.