Chapter 36 – Ivan #2
“Isabella, really.” Marcus affected a wounded expression. “You should really show some respect to your family elders. Our relationship has always been so special.”
She scoffed. “There was nothing special about what you did to me,” she replied, her voice taking on a dangerous edge.
Marcus’s expression hardened slightly. “I don’t know what you’re implying, but—”
“Stop,” I interrupted. “We both know exactly what she’s talking about.”
The dance of denial was tedious and fruitless.
I’d conducted enough interrogations to recognize the pattern—start with firm denials, then shift to minimizing, then bargaining. I wasn’t interested in giving him the time to work through his agenda.
Moretti must have sensed the shift in atmosphere because he changed tactics immediately.
“Listen, if there’s been some misunderstanding, I’m willing to clear the air.” He focused away from Shorty and back on me. “In fact, I have valuable information that is of value to the Paraskia.” His eyes gleamed with desperate calculation. “About Grey. His operations.”
Shorty tensed beside me but remained silent, letting me lead this part.
“Grey has bases all through Europe,” Moretti continued quickly. “Secret installations the Paraskia doesn’t even know about. I can give you everything—locations, personnel, access codes.”
I regarded him with cold detachment. “Not good enough.”
“What?” Moretti’s composure slipped. “Do you understand what I’m offering? Grey’s entire unauthorized infrastructure. His trafficking operations. Financial records that would bring down half the Paraskia leadership.”
“And yet,” I said softly, “still not good enough to buy your life.”
Real fear flickered across his face for the first time. “This is about Isabella? A childhood misunderstanding? She was always such a dramatic child, making up stories—”
“Don’t,” Isabella warned, her voice like ice. “Don’t you dare try to rewrite what happened.”
Moretti’s mask slipped completely, his expression twisting with something ugly and entitled. “You should be grateful for the attention, you little bitch. I taught you things your mother never would. Made you special.” He looked at me with a sneer. “She was old enough to know—”
I moved before he could finish the sentence, my hand closing around his throat, slamming him back against the wall. The sound of his head hitting concrete was viscerally satisfying.
“Last words,” I said, my voice deadly calm. “Choose them carefully.”
Moretti’s eyes bulged, his wounded shoulder forgotten as his hands scrabbled at my grip. I eased the pressure just enough to allow him to speak.
“The council will have your head for this,” he gasped. “I’m a valuable asset.”
“The council isn’t here,” I replied simply. “It’s just us now.”
With my free hand, I drew my weapon and pressed it to his temple. Then I let him go, moving back without looking away from his face.
I reached toward Isabella, tucked her into my side, and covered her eyes.
Her hands intercepted mine, pulling my hand away.
“No,” she said firmly. “I want to see this. I need to see this.”
I met her gaze briefly, seeing the resolve there. Then, something even more powerful happened—Isabella stepped forward and placed her hand over my hand on the gun.
In that moment, we were truly partners in every sense of the word. United in purpose, in justice, in the elimination of a monster who had preyed on an innocent child. Her hand was steady over mine, her presence unwavering at my side.
But as I began to apply pressure to the trigger, I felt her hand tremble slightly. Her eyes fluttered closed at the last second, unable to watch despite her determination.
In that moment of vulnerability, I understood something essential about Isabella Salvini. As tough as nails, as badass as she was, there remained a softness inside her worth protecting. A part of her that refused to become as ruthless as her family legacy, as monstrous as those who had hurt her.
I squeezed the trigger.
The sound was surprisingly muted in the small room. Moretti slumped to the floor, the expression of disbelief frozen on his face. No dramatic speeches, no cinematic last words—just the clean, decisive end he deserved.
The silence afterward felt heavy but not oppressive—no regret, no celebration, just completion.
I put my weapon back at the small of my back and turned to Shorty, scanning her face carefully. “You okay?”
She looked at Moretti’s body, then back at me, her expression surprisingly calm. “I thought I’d feel different. More…something.”
I understood completely. “Sometimes, justice just feels like closing a door.”
She nodded slowly, processing. I watched her closely, searched for signs of shock or distress but found none. Instead, she seemed lighter somehow, as if a shadow had been lifted from her shoulders.
We exited the cell together. Roman nodded at me, then followed us. He probably had manipulated the video feed for me.
The two guards stationed at the end of the corridor looked up as we approached.
“The prisoner attempted escape,” I stated flatly. “I had no choice.”
The guards exchanged glances, then nodded. Hopefully nobody would question too deeply. In the chaos of everything, Moretti’s death would hopefully be a footnote at best.
And if not, I was ready to deal with the consequences.
We were halfway down the corridor when Nina intercepted us, her expression tense but unsurprised.
“Kozlova is furious,” she said without preamble. “She’s waiting in the comms center. Says if you’re not there in ten minutes, she’ll have the entire security team looking for you.”
I felt a grim smile tug at my mouth.
Nina’s eyes flicked to Isabella, then back to me. “I’ll tell her you’re on your way.”
As she departed, I took Isabella’s hand in mine. It felt right there, perfectly sized to fit against my palm. We walked away from the cells together, our linked hands symbolic of everything that had shifted between us, within us.
“What now?” Isabella asked as we stepped outside into the early morning light.
“Now we face Kozlova. Then your brothers. Then we get off this island. Preferably with your family and mine intact.”
She squeezed my hand. “And after that?”
“After that,” I said, meeting her gaze, “we figure out how and where to live without anyone else dictating our every move.”
A small smile touched her lips. “Sounds terrifying.”
“Terrifying, yes. But also…” I searched for the right word. “Free.”
We walked in silence for several moments, the rising sun casting long shadows across our path. When Isabella finally spoke again, her voice was quiet but steady.
“Thank you,” she said simply—no need to specify what for.
I stopped, turned to face her fully, and framed her face with my hands with careful gentleness. “No one will ever hurt you again, Shorty. That’s a promise I intend to keep.”
Her eyes searched mine, finding whatever reassurance she needed there. Then she rose on her toes and pressed her lips to mine in a kiss that felt like sealing a deal.
A deal called forever.
We resumed our walk toward the comms center and whatever consequences awaited.
I felt the weight of my decision—and the lightness of it, too.
I’d never been free. I’d been a caged animal; I’d been the Paraskia’s most effective weapon. Now I was simply a man walking beside the woman he loved, making choices based on what was right rather than what was ordered.
The sun continued its ascent, casting everything in the golden light of a new day. Fitting, I thought, for what felt distinctly like a beginning.