Chapter 22 – Ivan #2
Did he really expect us to follow his orders? After everything? “It’s my understanding that the Paraskia wants cooperation with the Salvinis, not antagonism. Am I wrong about that? Holding them against their will is surely not the way to go.”
Grey narrowed his brows, letting me clearly see how fed up he was with me. “Your understanding is irrelevant,” he said.
“And Isabella?” I asked, the name feeling different on my tongue now. I shouldn’t single her out, but it was an opportunity for me to see how Grey would react to her name.
Grey’s eyes snapped back to mine, something dark and possessive flashing in them. “Are you asking for permission now?” He cackled. “I’m sure you’ve got her covered. Just continue what you’ve been doing. Keep her comfortable. Keep her…entertained. Just make sure she stays put.”
The innuendo in his tone made a nerve jump in my jaw and my hand form a fist, before I forced my body to relax.
I smiled while I imagined how it would feel to drive that fist into his face, to watch blood spray from his nose, to hear the satisfying crack of cartilage. Instead, I nodded once. “Understood.”
Grey studied me for a long moment as if searching for something in my expression. Whatever he was searching for, he didn’t find it.
“I’ll be back tomorrow morning at the latest,” he said finally. “Don’t fuck this up, Zotov.” He paused, a malicious smile playing at his lips. “Though from what I hear, fucking seems to be your specialty lately.”
Every muscle in my body tensed. The rage I’d been containing threatened to explode outward. Anton shifted slightly behind Grey, a subtle reminder of his presence, a silent warning to maintain control.
Grey noticed my reaction and seemed pleased by it. “My transport leaves in twenty minutes. We’ll continue this conversation when I return.”
He walked past me toward the door, pausing beside Mila. His hand reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face—a gesture of intimacy that made my sister go rigid despite her neutral expression.
“Always a pleasure to see you, Mila,” Grey said softly, his fingers lingering a moment too long.
I watched him leave, every fiber of my being screaming to follow, to end him now. But tactically, emotionally, this wasn’t the moment. My siblings and Isabella needed me to think clearly.
As soon as the front door closed behind Grey, a tense silence fell over the room, punctuated by Roman’s fingers moving on his keyboard, the soft ticking of the antique clock, and Mila’s controlled breathing as she calmed herself before she shook it off.
Fucking asshole.
“The wise thing to do is maintain our cover and alliance with Grey and bring him down through official channels,” Anton said into the silence.
We could use the time we had to gather evidence with Isabella until we had enough to bring him down. It would be the safest option, but the slowest, as well.
“Or we fuck protocol, follow him, and take him out,” Nina muttered, which was so her. Nobody fucked with my archangel-of-doom sister or her family and got away with it.
“Effective but potentially career-ending and life-threatening for all of us,” Roman said but turned around and high-fived Nina. “A for effort.”
I much preferred Nina’s solution to Anton’s. If they would let me kill him solo.
I thought of Isabella—her fierce determination to fight evil despite the personal cost, her refusal to back down even when facing Grey directly. I knew what she would want me to do.
“Roman,” I said, breaking the silence. “Contact headquarters. Now.”
Roman’s expression tightened, his fingers pausing over the keyboard. “Who exactly? Grey has allies everywhere. This could bring the entire Paraskia down on us.”
“I don’t care,” I said, decision made. “Find someone—anyone—not connected to Grey. We have hours at most before he returns.”
My siblings exchanged glances, a silent conversation passing between them.
“Make it official,” I continued. “Report him as a rogue agent conducting unauthorized operations. Use my clearance if you have to.”
“This crosses a line, Ivan,” Nina said quietly. “There’s no going back.”
“There’s no going back anyway,” I replied. “Not after everything that’s happened. Not after we know what he’s been doing behind the Paraskia’s back. Not after what Isabella told me.”
I quickly briefed them on everything Isabella had told me—Grey’s trafficking operations she interfered with, his demand for her to hack into the Paraskia Syndicate’s database. I watched their expressions shift from disbelief to cold anger.
“Have we been his pawns?” Nina asked.
I shrugged. “We might’ve been, but that remains to be seen. But we’ll deal with whatever consequences we have to.”
Mila touched her cheek where Grey had touched her. “I always felt something was off with him. The way he looked at me sometimes…”
“So we’re really doing this?” Anton asked. “Going against Grey? Against, potentially, the entire Paraskia?”
I met each of their eyes in turn. “I’m doing this. Any of you can walk away. I’ll understand.”
Anton snorted. “Don’t be an idiot.”
“We’re family,” Nina said simply.
“Besides,” Roman added, “I’ve already initiated the protocol. We’re committed now.”
I felt a weight lift from my shoulders—not the full burden but enough to let me breathe more easily. “Then let’s move fast. Grey won’t stay away long if he suspects anything.”
“What about Isabella?” Mila asked.
The question sent a jolt of urgency through me. I’d left her alone, asleep, unprotected. “I’ll go check on her.”
I moved quickly through the corridor. The door to my room was still locked, exactly as I’d left it. I opened it silently, expecting to find Isabella still asleep.
Instead, she was standing by the window, fully dressed, her posture tense. She turned at the sound of the door, her expression guarded, my gun in her hand.
“Where were you?” Her voice carried suspicion and distance, so different from the intimacy we’d shared hours before.
“Grey was here,” I said, closing the door behind me. “He’s got some urgent business and is leaving the island for a couple of hours.”
Isabella’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of business?”
“He didn’t elaborate, and I didn’t ask.”
She studied my face, searching for something. Then her expression shifted, anxiety replacing suspicion. “Someone was here while you were gone,” she said quietly. “Something woke me up.”
I frowned. “That’s impossible. The kids had the building locked down.
Grey’s men waited outside, and only Grey was inside—” I stopped myself, seeing the certainty in her eyes.
Was I still believing in anyone or anything more than in her?
I’d done that once before; I wouldn’t make that mistake again. “Tell me exactly what happened.”
She moved to the door, pointing to the frame with my gun. “It was subtle. Just a faint scraping sound, like someone was doing something very carefully, maybe trying to unlock the door?”
I opened the door, examined the area methodically, checking the door frame, the hinges, the lock, and the surrounding wall. Nothing seemed out of place. I expanded my search, moving systematically through the room, checking everything.
Then a lightbulb went off. “A scraping sound?”
I turned back to Isabella, who finally put my weapon back on the nightstand, then nodded.
“Like someone did something to the electrical wiring?”
She cocked her head. “I don’t know how it sounds if someone does something to the electrical wiring,” she said.
I grabbed my little toolbox, then went back to the door, the light switch, and the outlet right next to it. “But you located the noise to the area of the door, right?”
“Yep.”
“Okay.” I unscrewed the cover and sent in my endoscope.
To most eyes, it would be invisible, but years of training had taught me to spot even minute details.
And sure enough, there it was. I didn’t touch it; instead, I took out my phone and captured the screen of the endoscope.
The image wasn’t super clear but detailed enough.
“Maybe it was just a mouse,” I said quietly, showing her the screen.
“They’re everywhere on the island, nearly undetectable.
” I pulled my endoscope back, then screwed the cover back on.
The listening device was military grade.
Custom work. Expensive. And whoever was monitoring would hear everything we said.
“What now?” she asked, her voice dropping to match mine.
I shook my head.
“I don’t—” Before Shorty could continue, I covered her mouth with my hand, pressing a finger to my lips. “There’s not much we can do against these buggers.”
I led her to my desk, took out a pen and paper, and wrote: Room compromised. Don’t talk. Trust no one. Stay within my sight at all times.
My handwriting remained precise despite the rage coursing through me. Years of training had taught me to eliminate all emotional tells in even this most basic of actions.
Shorty read the note, then looked up, her eyes meeting mine.
In that moment, something passed between us—a silent communication built on the intimacy of the previous night, on shared danger, on mutual understanding.
She nodded once, decisively. “I’m not scared of mice.
But does that mean there are snakes, as well? ”
I tore the paper into tiny pieces and flushed them down the toilet. “Not that I know of,” I said for the benefit of whoever was listening. “But we can ask Anton over breakfast.” Then I took Shorty’s hand and led her from the room, my movements casual as if nothing was wrong.
In the hallway, we passed Anton and Roman. I made eye contact with each of them and pointed back to my room.
They both stared at me as if I’d lost it, until I showed them the photo on my phone before deleting it.
Understanding dawned on their faces.
I gave them a subtle signal to check the whole building. And they acknowledged with the slightest nods.
Then I continued to lead Isabella outside, away from potential listening devices. “Grey’s gone until tomorrow. I’ve initiated the process to expose him.”
“Then what are we waiting for?” Isabella’s response was fierce, her eyes burning with determination. “Let’s take this dirtbag down.”
I studied her intensity with concern. “We wait until he’s actually left the island. Don’t be hasty. Emotional decisions get people killed.”
The way she straightened her spine, put her hands on her hips, and narrowed her eyes, I knew a lecture was imminent.
But before she could argue, Nina and Mila approached us, their movements deliberately casual despite the tension in the air.
“We need to borrow Isabella for girl talk,” Mila said, but her eyes communicated more—a warning, perhaps, or information I wasn’t meant to hear.
I hesitated, reluctant to let Shorty out of my sight. Grey had grabbed her when she was with Mila and Nina before. I wouldn’t risk it happening again, not when everything was heating up.
Nina read my hesitation perfectly. “He just arrived at the airport. He won’t catch us off guard again,” she said quietly. “Trust me on that.”
I opened my mouth to refuse, a list of specific safety instructions already forming on my tongue.
Before I could speak, Cristo, Matt, and Vince, followed by Jemma, Fee, Cara, Alex, and Dom, appeared out of nowhere and physically positioned themselves between me and the women, their movement so synchronized, it had to be pre-planned.
“We need to have a little chat, men to men,” Cristo said, his stance subtly threatening despite his casual tone.
I noticed something in Cristo’s eyes—knowledge, suspicion, or perhaps both. Whatever he knew or thought he knew, he wasn’t friendly about it.
As Shorty left with the rest, she glanced back, her expression a mixture of concern and determination. Our eyes locked for a moment, and I realized the fragile new trust between us was about to be tested in ways neither of us had expected.
“Let’s talk somewhere more private,” Vince suggested while glancing up to one of the surveillance cameras, his tone leaving no room for refusal.
I nodded once, acutely aware that while Isabella was moving farther away with each step, at least she was surrounded by people who would die to protect her. That would have to be enough for now.
I caught Roman’s eye. He and Anton had silently joined our little huddle. He gave me an almost imperceptible nod—he would keep track of Isabella and the girls while I dealt with this situation.
“After you,” I said to Vince, my voice betraying none of the calculations running through my mind or the turmoil I was feeling leaving Shorty out of my sight.
The balance had shifted. Grey was making moves. The Salvinis were making theirs. And I had placed myself—and my siblings—directly in the crossfire by choosing Isabella over everything else.
But if there was one thing I’d learned in this life, it was that loyalty to people mattered more than loyalty to institutions. Grey had violated that fundamental truth, and he hadn’t even been loyal to the institution, only to himself. Now he would pay the price.