Chapter 27 – Ivan
IVAN
My muscles tensed, and I looked at my watch before I entered the conference room.
Marcus Moretti’s cologne hit me first. Too strong. Too familiar.
Money, Power, Darkness.
Wasn’t it amazing how men like him always smelled like this? It turned my stomach like rotting meat. He was like every power-hungry, sleazy type I’d ever encountered. Or was my instant repulsion because of Shorty’s reaction to him?
Nonsense.
The first raindrops pattered against the windows, matching the drumming of my fingers against my thigh. The storm was here, but it was nothing compared to the one building in my chest, a savageness I kept barely in check.
I’d wanted my family and Shorty gone before Grey returned.
My weapon pressed against my side. A familiar weight. A comfort, usually. I could just end this fucking meeting in under ten seconds and five different ways—all of them bloody—be done with Grey, grab Shorty, and demand to know what was going on.
Of course, I’d expected a reaction from her seeing Grey again—especially since we didn’t expect him to return so soon.
I did not expect her to not even acknowledge Grey and instead stare at Marcus Moretti as if she’d seen a ghost…or her greatest nightmare.
What the fuck was going on?
I scanned the meeting room, cataloging everyone’s state of mind by habit.
Vince sat rigidly next to me, his brothers and Alex flanking him.
None of them looked happy. Cristo stood by the window, his stance casual but eyes alert.
My brothers were strategically positioned throughout the room—everyone in their place.
Everyone except Shorty.
The image of her face—pale, terrified—wouldn’t leave me.
Something about seeing her uncle had broken through her tough composure completely.
That didn’t happen to someone like Shorty without reason.
And whatever that reason was, it made me want to peel the skin from Marcus Moretti’s face, strip by strip.
I locked eyes with Vince. He looked like he had similar thoughts.
Grey cleared his throat, which drew my attention back to the present situation.
“As I mentioned before, I’d like to introduce my good friend and partner, Marcus Moretti,” Grey announced with unexpected deference. “He’s joined us to sit out the storm.”
I studied Marcus Moretti with fresh eyes, giving myself time to dissect him like a specimen under glass.
I’d encountered his name before, but this was the first time I’d met him in person.
He was just another billionaire playboy with strong Mafia ties.
Living off his family’s fortune without meaningful contribution to society.
He’d never been more than a blip on Paraskia’s radar.
Strange for someone who was a “good friend and partner” of Grey’s.
So who was this Marcus Moretti, who apparently knew Grey well enough to be invited onto the island and knew the Salvini men as boys?
Marcus Moretti carried himself with the arrogance of old money. But the way he looked at Grey was slightly off. Something told me he wasn’t considering Grey as an equal but as someone useful. A tool.
Moretti looked fit for his age, attractive, with salt-and-pepper hair and weathered skin.
His clothes were tailored and expensive, and I bet my ass off that his shoes cost more than my outfit and Vince Salvini’s combined.
And we were not even talking about the yacht he arrived on.
He had a pleasant smile, straight, white teeth, and a jovial expression.
He looked like he’d never fought for his life, so I could probably kill him in under thirty seconds.
But what if all of that was just a facade?
And given Shorty’s reaction, that facade might hide quite a lot. What did she know about her uncle that I didn’t?
I side-eyed Vince Salvini, who didn’t even show an ounce of warmth. Not the happy family reunion one would expect.
“Uncle Marcus,” Vince acknowledged coldly.
Alex, next to him, did the same. Wait. Moretti. Alex Falcone had taken over as the head of the Moretti family. Marcus was part of that family, wasn’t he?
I watched the interaction between them. But Alex didn’t give Marcus any attention; instead, he was very much focused on Grey, silently plotting his slow death or so it looked.
Grey’s connection to their women’s kidnapping wasn’t something that led to a long, happy life.
I could only imagine. Grey had Shorty for half an hour tops; how would I feel if it had been Shorty in the hands of those people for days? What would I feel if it were Shorty being trafficked, or abused, or traumatized?
I would probably not have the restraint Vince Salvini, Alex, and Cristo were showing right now.
But who was I kidding? I just needed Grey to take one more look at Shorty, and I couldn’t guarantee anything.
I’d never taken Grey to be the sleazy type. Not before now.
But the way he’d touched Mila, and the way he looked at Shorty, made my skin crawl.
Predatory. Possessive. Creepy.
How had he hidden this side of him for so long? Or had I chosen not to see it?
Shorty’s terrified face flashed through my mind again. I’d never seen her so scared. Not like that. Not her—the woman who went against me from day one, fearless and defiant.
I suddenly understood exactly what Vince, Cristo, and Alex must’ve felt when their women had been threatened.
The urge to destroy, to rip apart, to annihilate anyone who threatened what was yours was so different from dealing with someone in cold blood.
So how was Grey still alive?
I was done with this entire charade. All I wanted was to grab Shorty and leave this island behind. As long as I had my family and her, I didn’t care if everything burned to ash in our wake.
“I understand you’ve been hosting my nephews and nieces,” Marcus said, examining me with cold calculation. “I hope they’ve been sufficiently…cooperative.”
The way he emphasized “cooperative” sent an instinctive warning through my system, like the click of a mine beneath my boot. The visceral dislike I felt for this man, the hunger to hurt him, rose up in me with frightening speed.
“The Salvinis and Falcones are guests on this island,” I replied flatly, my voice dropping to that dangerous register that made my siblings tense.
I caught Anton’s raised eyebrow telling me to calm the fuck down.
Grey turned to me. “So then why the arrangement to leave?”
My mind went momentarily blank. I should’ve thought of a cover story instead of obsessing over Shorty. So what if all I could see was Isabella’s face, the way she’d paled at the sight of Marcus? The panic in her eyes—it shouldn’t turn off the rest of my brain.
“We’ve been dealing with some issues at the airfield,” Anton intervened smoothly, shifting slightly closer to me. A subtle warning. He knew the signs of when I was close to snapping. “Otherwise, we were just waiting for your arrival, sir.”
Grey raised an eyebrow. “Are you feeling unwell, Zotov? You seem…distracted.”
I forced myself to focus, drawing on years of experience to reassemble my mask. “The storm just needed some preparations,” I said simply.
Fuck Grey and his subtle digs.
Marcus moved to the window, watching the rain intensify. “I didn’t expect to see the women here. Mirabella and Isabella have grown up very nicely. They look just like their mother; don’t they, Grey?”
The statement ignited something darker than rage in my chest. A cold, calculating hatred.
Precise. Patient. Deadly.
I imagined my hands around Marcus’s throat, watching the life drain from his eyes for putting the fear I had witnessed in Shorty.
Vince and Matt exchanged dark looks. I wasn’t the only one not happy about Marcus’s interest in their sisters.
My hands wanted to form fists, but I forced them to remain flat against my thighs though every muscle in my body coiled tight, ready to spring.
Vince looked down at my hands, then up into my eyes. I held his gaze, and he stared back at me. Observing. Thinking. Reading me too well.
Roman shifted subtly toward me, bridging the space unconsciously.
Even Cristo Falcone—dangerous in his own right—adjusted his stance.
Did they all sense the shift in me, or was it their natural instincts, just like mine, that sensed something was about to explode?
“Let’s discuss the proposed cooperation,” Grey continued.
He probably sensed it, as well. He’d been one of the top operatives within the Paraskia Syndicate for years, and to pull off what he’d been pulling off for years, he wasn’t some cardboard villain.
“How is Mr. Moretti qualified to sit in on this meeting?” I asked.
Not that I wanted Moretti to roam around on his own, but as far as I knew, he was not privileged to listen in on Paraskia business.
Silence fell over the room. Grey looked at me with exasperation.
Vince suppressed a chuckle, and Cristo’s eyebrows rose. The tension in the room tightened another notch.
Grey laughed coldly. “I think our Ivan has lost his manners, along with his mind.”
I tensed.
Anton shot me a warning glance. Roman subtly shifted his position, ready to take over the conversation or restrain me if necessary. They’d seen me let go of control before. They knew what I was capable of. Even if it had been decades.
Not that I was anywhere near losing control.
“Interesting to see you here, Uncle,” Vince addressed Marcus directly. “Especially since we did not know the Paraskia Syndicate even existed until recently.”
Tension crackled as Marcus responded with practiced ease. “Some things are better kept secret, nephew.”
I recognized the power play happening. “What exactly is your relationship to the Paraskia, Mr. Moretti? I don’t recall seeing your name in any official capacity.” My voice had gone soft, almost gentle. Those who knew me well knew this was when I was most dangerous.
But both of my brothers relaxed.
Alex and Cristo exchanged evaluating glances.