Chapter 25 – Ivan
IVAN
Ishut the door and blocked out the humming of the rest of the communications center. Banks of monitors cast blue light across Isabella’s concentrated face as she settled into the chair in front of one of the terminals.
The whole building was deliberately isolated from the rest of the compound—no windows, reinforced walls, a single entry point—completely self-sufficient.
Designed for security, not comfort.
I positioned myself beside her, close enough to assist but maintaining a professional distance that felt almost unnatural after last night. But I needed her focused.
Not that the memory of her body against mine contributed to me being focused.
“Let’s get as far as we can the easy way,” Shorty murmured, her fingers already moving across the keyboard with practiced precision, then she pushed the keyboard toward me.
“Your credentials will get us through the outer layers, but after that…” She glanced at me, all business now—no trace of the woman who had kissed me with such abandon mere hours ago.
“Always here to learn about my limitations,” I said, leaning forward to enter my access code.
My comment might’ve shocked Shorty into freezing because our fingers brushed as I reached past her to the keyboard. A jolt of electricity passed between us—unmistakable and mutual, judging by the slight catch in her breathing, before she caught herself and abruptly moved back.
Nina, stationed at a monitoring terminal to our right, made a snorting sound.
I looked at her, and she raised an eyebrow at me. I shook my head slightly in warning. The last thing I needed was my sister’s, or any of my siblings’, meddling or comments in whatever complicated thing existed between Shorty and me.
Once I put in my credentials, the system moved to secondary authentication. Retinal scan. Fingerprint verification. Voice recognition. Standard Paraskia protocol—each layer required another form of authentication.
“Amateur-hour security theater,” Shorty muttered, already pulling up command prompts I barely recognized. Computers weren’t my specialty, not like they were Nina’s or Roman’s, but even if, I doubt I would be able to follow Shorty.
Her demeanor had shifted completely—gone was any trace of vulnerability or softness. In her place sat someone else entirely. A focused, almost predatory, utterly confident spitfire.
“Fucking ridiculous,” she muttered as she bypassed the retinal scan requirement I could’ve easily passed with a few keystrokes.
“They’re still using SHA-256 encryption on a tertiary system that interfaces with the main database.
It’s like putting a steel door on a cardboard house.
They don’t deserve a quantum computer lab if they can’t keep their shit state-of-the-art. ”
I watched her work, fascinated by this transformation.
This was Iset—the legend who had cost criminal organizations millions, who had exposed trafficking rings and money laundering operations that law enforcement couldn’t touch.
She was enjoying this, a half smile playing at her lips as she conquered each security while spouting expletives as if she was playing a video game.
There wasn’t even a glimpse of the soft, vulnerable woman I’d held in my arms.
Nina had come closer and was watching her over the shoulder, utterly riveted.
“You’re enjoying this,” I observed, keeping my voice neutral despite the unexpected twist of something like jealousy in my gut. Jealous of her relationship with technology—ridiculous.
“Like you don’t enjoy putting bullets in people,” she replied without looking up, her fingers never pausing. “Or killing them with your bare hands. We all have our talents, Zotov.”
The next layer of the verification system appeared on screen—a final barrier before accessing the main Paraskia database. Isabella frowned, studying it.
“This should require a verified security token,” she said, already coding what looked to me like a workaround. “I’m creating a proxy signature that should—”
She stopped mid-sentence as the system unexpectedly accepted her bypass attempt.
“What the hell?” Her fingers froze above the keyboard. “That should not have worked.”
“What happened?” I leaned closer, studying the screen.
“I wasn’t finished with the workaround. The system accepted an incomplete bypass.” She turned to me, suspicion clear in her eyes. “Is this a trap? Did we trigger a silent alarm?”
I checked the security monitors. “No alarms showing on any channels. Could it be a glitch?”
She shook her head. “This isn’t a glitch. Are we in a sandbox?” She turned to Nina who shook her head.
“It’s like…as if someone’s clearing the path.” Her voice dropped lower. “But who, why?”
Before I could respond, the door opened. Anton entered with Matt Salvini close behind him. Matt’s eyes immediately fixed on Nina, who stiffened visibly before deliberately turning her attention to another monitor.
Matt positioned himself against the wall, arms crossed, stance wide—taking up space deliberately, just like my brother. His eyes swept over the room with calculated casualness before landing on me and the silent question on my mind.
Why the hell was Matt Salvini in here?
“Vince sent me to observe,” he said, not bothering with pleasantries. “My brother doesn’t trust you or your family, Zotov.”
I felt a sarcastic retort rise to my tongue—as if Vince Salvini was the only one with trust issues here. Instead, I gave a curt nod and returned my attention to Shorty.
But Matt’s comment stirred something else in me, something uncomfortably close to doubt.
How would the Salvinis ever accept even the idea of Isabella and me together?
What was I thinking, allowing myself to lower my walls with her?
When this fragile connection between us was doomed to fail from the start.
Shorty hadn’t even acknowledged Matt’s and Anton’s arrival, already diving deeper. Until she encountered another encryption protocol that made her curse under her breath.
“This looks like quantum-resistant lattice-based cryptography.” Her fingers flew across the keyboard. “I’ve never seen this used in regular operations. They’ve partitioned the network. I need to find another entry point.”
She tried several approaches, each more creative than the last, but the system held firm. Frustration tightened her features.
Nina leaned forward hesitantly. “Try a Kerberos TGT override with the domain admin credentials you’ve given yourself. Maybe there’s a maintenance service account with unrestricted access for emergency system recovery,” she suggested.
Shorty gave Nina an appraising look before implementing the suggestion. She overcame the barrier and opened another layer of the database.
“Good call,” Shorty acknowledged. “How did you know that?”
Nina shrugged. “I keep my eyes open.”
The brief moment of cooperation eased the tension in the room slightly.
Shorty resumed the magic she was doing, and soon she was navigating through the Paraskia Syndicate’s extensive personnel files. A familiar name flashed across the screen as she sorted through classified records—Nina Valentini.
Matt, who had progressively come closer, suddenly leaned over, and his attention snapped to the screen. “Valentini.”
This close, his sudden interest was palpable.
Nina moved with unusual haste, reaching past Shorty to scroll past the file. “That’s not what we’re here for,” she said, voice tight while staring down Matt as if he was nothing more than an annoying mosquito on the wall.
Matt’s jaw clenched, but he said nothing and backed off. Whatever history existed between them crackled in the air like static electricity. So Matt knew Nina’s last name before we all became Zotovs? What the fuck?
Shorty didn’t let the moment deter her concentration. Her technical abilities were impressive and obvious—even to someone with my limited experience. She wasn’t just good—she was exceptional.
“Got it,” she announced, pulling up Grey’s personnel file. “Heavily modified. Recently, too—timestamps show modifications even within the past week.”
She navigated past a couple of number-named files. “Bingo,” she whispered, as a hidden directory suddenly became visible. A lot of files appeared. Shorty scrolled until she found one, then opened it. As the documents loaded, her expression hardened.
“If all of these files are operations, he’s been quite busy.”
She opened a couple of them and scrolled through them.
“He’s been running parallel operations for years—trafficking, weapons, even experimental drugs.
” She scrolled through a file with financial records.
“And these aren’t low-level operations. We’re talking millions diverted and funneled through official Paraskia funds. ”
My hands clenched involuntarily as I read the figures. These weren’t just unauthorized side projects—they were full-scale criminal enterprises operating right under the Paraskia’s nose. Or worse, with their knowledge.
“The Paraskia knows,” Isabella said as if reading my thoughts. Her voice contained an unmistakable accusation. “Look at these. They know everything. At least those with high-level clearance.”
Matt stepped closer, examining the screen. “If they know, why haven’t they stopped him?”
The question hung in the air, uncomfortable and damning.
I felt oddly hollow at the discovery. The organization I’d dedicated my life to. The organization I believed in. Either I’d been kept in the dark deliberately, or I’d been used as an unwitting pawn. Neither option sat well.
Yes, the methods were questionable. Yes, nothing about the Paraskia Syndicate was above the law.
But the organization worked on a strict moral code, nevertheless—at least that’s what they’d indoctrinated into me.
But the evidence before me suggested otherwise—either incompetence or complicity. Neither option sat well.