Chapter 33 – Isabella
ISABELLA
Salt spray stung my eyes as the speedboat cut through the waves, each impact jarring, but at least the wind wasn’t blowing directly in my face.
And not even the sight of Birdie and Uncle Marcus could penetrate the cocoon of warmth I was in, clinging to Ivan.
I should have been terrified. Should have been falling apart after what had just happened. Instead, I found myself anchored by Ivan’s arm locked firmly around my waist, his body a safe haven against the elements and everything else.
The contrast wasn’t lost on me—how even if everything around us was somehow violent chaos, this zone of stillness between us felt like an eye in the storm.
It was just like that quote I’d read a while ago.
Ships don’t sink because of the water around them; they sink because of the water that gets in them.
And I wouldn’t let any water inside this ship.
Ivan’s lips pressed against my forehead, a gesture so unexpectedly tender that something inside me cracked open. The same man who had been so cold in handling Uncle Marcus just minutes ago now touched me with heartbreaking gentleness.
“Are you hurt anywhere?” His voice was barely audible over the engine’s roar, low and concerned in a way he’d only reserved for me.
I shook my head, unable to form words. The way he behaved was so intimate, so unlike the controlled man who had completely ignored me since our night together. This version of Ivan—worried, gentle—disarmed me completely.
My awareness suddenly shifted to Uncle Marcus, watching us from where he sat, restrained on the opposite bench. Even with his hands bound and Birdie’s weapon trained on him, his gaze made my skin crawl. I deliberately turned farther into Ivan’s chest, burying my face against his rain-soaked shirt.
“You always did like powerful men, Isabella,” Uncle Marcus called over the engine noise, his voice slithering through the space between us. “Just like your mother.”
My entire body went rigid. I felt Ivan’s heart accelerate beneath my cheek, the only outward sign of his rage.
Birdie pressed her gun harder against Uncle Marcus’s temple. “Another word and I’ll throw you overboard. Save us all some trouble.”
Ivan’s arm tightened around me, the muscles of his chest and abdomen tensing beneath my fingertips. His protective instinct radiated from him like heat, his body positioning subtly to shield me from Marcus’s view.
I forced myself to breathe, to focus on the steady rise and fall of Ivan’s chest rather than the memories Uncle Marcus’s voice threatened to unlock. He didn’t deserve my reaction. And I wouldn’t give him that power.
Through the sheets of rain, a distant shape caught my eye—another boat cutting through the waves.
“Ivan—” I started, pointing toward the fleeing vessel.
Grey’s boat. It had to be.
I braced myself for what would come next—Ivan turning our boat to pursue them. I mentally prepared to be set aside, to watch his focus shift away from me toward vengeance. It would make sense. After everything Grey had done to him, to all of us…
To my surprise, Ivan merely lifted his hand while he never loosened the hold of his arm around me.
“Hawk, target vessel heading southwest. Approximately two miles from our position.”
He adjusted our course—more firmly toward shore, not toward Grey’s escaping boat, and didn’t even spare them another glance.
“But shouldn’t we try to catch them?” I asked, confusion evident in my voice.
Ivan’s eyes remained on the treacherous waters ahead, his hands steady on the controls.
“Cristo and Anton will get them. I’ve got my hands full with you.
” He pulled me closer against him, his grip tightening as we navigated through a particularly violent wave.
Water crashed over the bow, drenching us further, but I barely noticed the cold.
He chose me over Grey. Me over everything else. Again.
The realization hit me harder than the waves battering our small boat.
I clung to him and studied his profile. His wet hair was slicked back, his jaw remained tight, his eyes focused on getting us safely to shore, but there was something else there—a softness around his mouth I hadn’t noticed before, or maybe it hadn’t existed.
He glanced down at me and gave me a smile, and I watched the seamless transition from the stone-cold, dangerous, calculating killer to this almost tender man who held me and looked at me as if I were the most precious thing in the world.
If he was so good at compartmentalizing, most likely his distance after our night together hadn’t been rejection after all.
The hesitation I’d seen when he chose to send Cristo and Anton after Grey instead of pursuing him himself—that hadn’t been doubt. It had been the moment a man who had spent his entire adult life being single-mindedly goal-oriented, cold, and lethal decided to put something—someone—else first.
Had anyone ever done that for me before? Put me before their wants, their goals, their duty?
Had I ever been more important than anything else to anyone?
The realization created a warm glow in my chest that spread outward, melting the last of my resistance. I allowed myself to believe in his choice—in my choice—to believe that I had fallen in love with the right man.
I focused back on Grey’s boat, barely visible between the towers of waves, then I spotted the helicopter drop down through the rain, until it hovered directly above Grey’s boat.
I tapped Ivan, who followed my gaze. “They’ve got them.”
I watched anxiously, silently praying for Cara’s safety. The rain made it difficult to see clearly, but the helicopter’s searchlight illuminated Grey’s boat.
Suddenly, there was movement—a small figure appeared to stand at the edge of the boat. Even from this distance, I could tell it was Cara.
And then she hurled herself over the side and disappeared into the churning water.
I straightened. “Oh my God,” I gasped, trying to get off of Ivan’s lap.
His arm tightened around me like steel.
“She can’t swim!” I cried out, remembering her confession at the pier about her fear of water, about nearly drowning as a child. “She can’t swim, Ivan!”
Ivan immediately spoke into his comms again. “Cara went overboard!”
A figure plunged from the helicopter into the water where Cara had disappeared.
I clutched him tighter, horrified yet impressed by Cara’s desperate courage. She’d chosen the storm-tossed sea over whatever awaited her with Grey—the same water she feared more than anything.
Damn.
My heart was in my throat.
“Will they get her?” I asked, voice cracking with fear.
“They won’t stop until they do,” Ivan assured me without even turning to look, his confidence absolute.
As we neared the shore, I spotted several figures waiting at the dock. The imposing silhouette of Vince, front and center, flanked by Matt and other men.
“Your brother doesn’t look happy,” Ivan observed dryly.
I tensed, anticipating the confrontation to come. Vince would demand explanations, would try to separate us, would assert his authority as my brother and head of the family. I’d seen that thunderous expression enough times to know what followed.
“I’m not leaving your side,” I stated firmly, my fingers tightening in the wet fabric of Ivan’s shirt.
His response was a small, almost imperceptible smile—just a slight upward curve of his lips that somehow transformed his entire face. “Good. Because I’m not planning to let you go.”
Ivan skillfully maneuvered the boat alongside the dock despite the rough conditions. Birdie secured Marcus, hauling him to his feet with professional efficiency.
“Move,” she ordered, prodding him forward to where several men waited to take him.
Ivan helped me onto the dock, but instead of setting me on my feet, he immediately scooped me back into his arms. The gesture felt both protective and possessive—and like a statement to everyone present.
Vince approached immediately, his expression thunderous.
Rain plastered his dark hair to his forehead but did nothing to diminish the fury radiating from him.
“Isabella, come here. Now.” My brother’s voice carried the authority of the Salvini patriarch, with a tone that demanded instant obedience.
Instead of setting me down, Ivan held me tighter against his chest.
“She stays with me,” Ivan stated, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Vince stepped closer, his height nearly matching Ivan’s, and his presence was equally intimidating. “Like hell she does. She’s my sister.”
The tension crackled between them like the lightning overhead—two apex predators facing off, neither willing to back down.
My heart hammered in my chest even though I’d seen those alpha-male clashes before.
Time to step in.
“I won’t ask again, Zotov. Hand her over,” Vince demanded, reaching toward me.
Ivan took a deliberate step back. “Do I need to repeat myself? She’s mine.”
The possessive declaration hung in the air and shocked me despite everything we’d already shared.
The Ivan Zotov I’d first met would’ve never made such a public claim, would’ve never risked exposing this vulnerability.
A strange thrill coursed through me at being claimed so definitively.
Followed by a slight tinge of annoyance at the possessiveness—the independent, feminist part of me should have objected to being declared anyone’s property.
Instead, I felt a rush of something primal and satisfying.
Being claimed by Ivan Zotov felt nothing like the controlling possessiveness I’d witnessed growing up.
It felt like being valued, chosen, protected—not simply owned.
Or maybe I was deluding myself.
Vince’s eyes narrowed. He assessed Ivan’s seriousness before flicking to me.
“Bella?” My brother’s voice softened slightly, giving me the chance to object, to return to the family fold.
I pressed closer to Ivan, wrapping my arms more securely around his neck. The choice was clear even without words, but I needed to say them anyway.
“I’m staying with him, Vince,” I said firmly, my voice steady despite my exhaustion.
I softened slightly and gave him a smile. “I’m okay, and we’ll talk later, I promise. But right now, I want to be with him.”
The combination of firmness and respect probably struck the right balance.
Ivan subtly exhaled against my hair—was it relief that I had chosen him, that I hadn’t undermined what he’d just declared?
Vince’s jaw clenched, but he stepped back. He knew me well enough to know I wouldn’t allow him to push me around.
“We’ll talk in the morning. All of us.” The threat in his tone was clear but so was his reluctant acceptance of my choice. For now.
Something shifted inside me in that moment—confidence replaced vulnerability, certainty washing away doubt. I had spent my life making carefully calculated decisions, weighing risks and benefits. But ultimately hiding behind a persona.
This wasn’t that. This was me standing up for what I wanted without pretense, without hiding. This was choosing with my heart despite all logical complications.
I’d never felt this way before—both protected and strong, claimed and free. The contradiction should have bothered me, but instead it felt like finding a missing piece of myself I hadn’t known was missing.
Ivan carried me past the gathered crowd, our soaked clothes sticking together. No one spoke, but the significance of this public declaration hung heavy in the air.
“What about Cara?” I asked suddenly, looking back toward the churning sea.
Our speedboat was already heading out, packed with people.
I spotted Nina’s distinctive silhouette and beside her—Matt.
I still didn’t know what beef those two had with each other, but when all of this was over, I would ask Nina.
“I’m pretty sure they’ve got this,” Ivan answered, his certainty reassuring.
As we moved away from prying eyes and ears, I gathered my courage to ask the question burning in my mind.
“Did you mean that?” I asked softly. “That I’m yours?”
Ivan’s response came without hesitation: “Every word. Unless you object?”
I smiled against his neck, breathing in the scent of rain and sea and him. “No objection. I just hope you realize this means you’re mine too.”
His arms tightened around me, the gesture speaking volumes.
As he carried me through the compound, we passed Mira, Fee, and Mila.
My twin’s eyes met mine, a silent question passing between us.
I offered the smallest nod—yes, I’m okay.
Better than okay. Fee’s eyebrows shot up, but her lips curved into an approving smile.
Mila simply looked pleased as if a plan had come together perfectly.
Our progress was interrupted by an imposing older woman in a tailored suit who stepped directly into our path.
She said something in sharp Russian, her tone and the way she looked at Ivan making it clear this was someone accustomed to instant compliance.
Ivan didn’t even slow down. “No, we don’t,” he said, then he simply sidestepped her and continued toward his quarters as if she hadn’t spoken.
“Who was that, and what did she say?” I asked.
He looked down at me. “She’s the new director of the Paraskia, and she wanted to debrief you and me,” he said, then focused back on the walkway.
Well, this again spoke volumes about his priorities.
As he carried me away, I allowed myself to relax against him. We still had so much to face—Grey, Cara’s rescue, the Paraskia, my family—but for now, just for tonight, nothing mattered.
We entered Ivan’s building, wetness still dripping from our clothes and the taste of salt on our skin.
I closed my eyes and surrendered to the certainty that had been building since the moment he’d appeared on that yacht.
I loved Ivan Zotov. And against all odds, he had chosen me over every other priority, over everything else in his life.
Sometimes, the universe had strange ways of bringing people together. But whatever came next, we would face it together.