Chapter 18 – Ivan #2
I lifted Isabella from their grip and cradled her against my chest. Her body felt smaller than I remembered, more fragile.
She nestled against me instinctively, her head finding my chest as if she’d done it a thousand times before.
The surge of possessiveness was unexpected.
And the tenderness that followed even more so.
But something broke loose inside me then—a protective fury unlike anything I’d ever experienced. In that moment, I knew with absolute certainty that I would burn down the entire organization for her if necessary. This wasn’t about duty or loyalty or professional obligations. This was about her.
About me keeping her safe.
Which I failed at completely.
Vince stepped forward again, his expression thunderous. “Zotov, that’s my sister. Hand her over. Now.”
I met his gaze, not backing down an inch. He might’ve been family, and he might’ve been able to protect her. But I couldn’t…wouldn’t let her go. She was mine. My expression must have revealed some of the deadly intent I felt because everyone except Vince took an instinctive step back.
“I respect that you’re her brother,” I said, my voice low and controlled. “I respect who you are and your integrity, especially regarding your family. But if you get in my way, I will kill you.”
The words hung in the air between us, a declaration of intent that surprised even me with its ferocity. But I meant every syllable.
Vince studied me for a long moment, something shifting in his gaze as he probably realized I meant every single word. He didn’t back down—men like Vince Salvini never did—but he nodded once, a gesture of temporary truce.
I turned and carried Shorty away from Grey’s men, away from the villa, toward our private quarters. Vince and Cristo followed right on my heels, their presence a constant reminder of the complicated consequences still to come. But right now, my focus was entirely on the woman in my arms.
How did I fail her so miserably?
She stirred against my chest, her fingers curling weakly into the fabric of my shirt. “Ivan?” Her voice was barely a whisper, confusion evident in the single word.
“I’ve got you,” I murmured, tightening my hold on her. “You’re safe now.”
We came across some security personnel who stared at me. I ignored them all, my stride purposeful as I headed for our building. “Anton,” I called over my shoulder, knowing he would be following. “Bring all the guests. Secure our quarters. No one enters but us.”
He moved ahead to open the gate to our private area and made the call to follow my request without question. My siblings’ loyalty was one of the few constants I could rely on in this increasingly complicated situation.
“She’s been drugged,” Anton observed as we passed him. “You think he overdosed her?”
“Maybe,” I replied, gritting my teeth. “Or he mixed shit. Or she might have had a bad reaction. We need to monitor her closely.”
Anton’s expression darkened. “Shit, Ivan. If Grey used one of the new drugs—”
“I know.” I cut him off, not wanting to hear the possibilities spoken aloud. I’d seen the effects of the Paraskia Syndicate’s experimental drug trials firsthand. Some subjects recovered fully. Others experienced lasting neurological damage. A few didn’t survive at all.
The thought of Isabella suffering any of those worse fates made my blood run cold. How did I let this happen? I shouldn’t have let her out of my sight. Not for a single second. Not when I knew Grey had it out for her.
Because if she didn’t make it…I wouldn’t make it.
The thought reverberated inside my skull on repeat. It hammered home what I’d been trying to deny for days.
My feelings for Isabella Salvini had crossed the line from professional interest—had even crossed the line from personal interest to something far more dangerous. Something that could compromise everything I’d worked for, everything I’d built. Could compromise my very being.
I’d sworn I’d never let myself care for anyone like that. Not even for myself.
I’d sworn I’d never let anyone ever have that kind of power over me.
And now, here I was.
And in this moment, with her vulnerable in my arms, I knew it was all bullshit.
Everything I’d told myself was a complete lie.
I cared. I cared about my siblings. I cared about our future. And more than anything, I cared about Shorty.
Vince and Cristo intercepted me again as we entered our building. “This has gone too far,” Vince said, his voice tight with controlled anger. “We’re leaving, and we’re taking Isabella home. Now.”
I didn’t even slow my pace. “You can follow if you want, but she stays with me until the drugs are neutralized. We know what Grey might’ve given her. You don’t.”
“And why should we trust you?” Cristo demanded, moving to block my path.
I met his gaze steadily. Because she was mine. Because I trusted no one but myself with making sure she was okay. “Because right now, I’m her best chance of surviving whatever Grey put in her system.”
The simple truth of my statement seemed to register with both men. They exchanged glances before stepping aside, allowing me to pass but falling into step behind me.
Isabella stirred in my arms again, her eyelids fluttering. “Ivan?” she murmured, her voice stronger this time.
“I’ve got you, Shorty,” I promised, the nickname slipping out naturally. “No one touches you again. No one.”
The professional distance I’d maintained was shattered completely with those words. They were a vow, a promise I intended to keep regardless of the cost.
I raised my head and locked eyes with Vince.
No one would ever touch her again. Hurt her again. Force her to be anything but herself.
No one but me.
We reached my private quarters, and Anton moved ahead to open the door. The space was Spartan but comfortable—one big room doubling as a living area with a sofa and chairs, and a bedroom. I carried Isabella directly to the bed, laying her down with utmost care.
Her skin felt feverish under my touch as I brushed her hair from her face.
She opened her eyes, struggled to focus on me. “Grey,” she whispered, her voice breaking on the single syllable. “He’s—”
“Shh,” I soothed, pressing my lips to her forehead in a gesture that felt shockingly intimate but right. “Don’t talk now. Just rest.”
Anton appeared at my side with a medical kit. “I’ve got the standard antidote for the truth serum,” he said, voice low. “But if he gave her some experimental version…”
“We have to try,” I said, already preparing the injection. “Her system can’t process this on its own.”
Anton hesitated, watched me with an unreadable expression. “Are you sure you want to risk it? We don’t know what Grey gave her exactly.”
I paused, the syringe ready in my hand. The antidote could help—or it could make things worse if Grey had modified the formula or given her something else. It was a gamble but one I had to take.
I caressed her forehead gently, monitoring her pulse with my other hand. Her heartbeat was too fast, erratic. Her temperature was too high, and her breathing had gone shallow. We were running out of time.
Isabella’s fingers suddenly grasped my wrist, her grip surprisingly strong given her condition. “Ivan,” she whispered, her eyes clearing momentarily. “Truth serum…muscle relaxant…brain enhancer.”
I froze, understanding the significance of what she’d just told me.
She’d been aware enough during her ordeal to identify the compounds Grey had used on her.
The combination was dangerous—the muscle relaxant could slow her breathing to dangerous levels while the brain enhancer—which was still in its trial stages—would accelerate her heart rate.
So she could be experiencing those side effects but what was with her high temperature?
Fuck, wait. They’d tranqued her just a couple of days ago. Could there be a cross-reaction with the tranquilizer she’d been given? Was that why her body was overreacting?
“Shh,” I soothed, pressing my lips to her forehead again, no longer caring who might witness this display of affection. “I got you. We’ll fix this.”
Anton swore under his breath. “The brain enhancer is still in trials. He shouldn’t have mixed them.”
I nodded but maintained my composure, years of training allowing me to compartmentalize the rage I felt toward Grey. “Get Mila. She’ll know which antidote will work best for this combination.”
Mila might not have been a doctor, but she’s been studying, and over the years, she’d gotten enough experience treating all of us.
Anton disappeared immediately, leaving me alone with Isabella and her family, who had maintained a watchful presence just inside the doorway.
Isabella drifted back into semi-consciousness, her breathing growing more labored. I sat beside her on the bed, my one hand holding hers and the other checking her pulse regularly. Each beat against my fingertips was a reassurance—she was still fighting.
“Stay with me, Shorty,” I murmured, my thumb tracing circles on her palm. “Just hold on for a little while.”
My other hand moved to my weapon, checking it instinctively. If Grey appeared now, I wouldn’t hesitate. The man had crossed a line I couldn’t forgive. Using experimental drugs on Isabella, risking her life for his own agenda—it was madness and unforgivable.
And I bet it wasn’t something the Paraskia Syndicate would let fly.
I felt Vince’s eyes on me, assessing, calculating. When I looked up, our gazes locked across the room. Something passed between us—a silent understanding. He nodded once, his expression grave.
“I’ll go check on my wife,” he said quietly. “Bella seems to be in competent hands.”
The statement was loaded with meaning—an acknowledgment of my commitment to his sister’s well-being, a temporary trust extended despite our adversarial positions.
I nodded in return, accepting both the responsibility and the implied warning should I fail to protect and save her.
As the door closed behind them, I allowed myself a moment of complete honesty.
This woman had changed everything. Had wormed herself into my life, into my heart and mind.
My carefully constructed walls, my professional detachment, my unwavering loyalty to the organization that had saved me—all of it had changed because of her.
Isabella’s fingers twitched in mine, and I tightened my grip, a silent promise that I wouldn’t let go. I’d chosen my side, and it was with her, whatever that meant, whatever the cost.
“I’ve got you,” I whispered again, pressing my lips to her knuckles. “And I’m not letting go.”