Chapter 38 – Ivan #2
Fee and Alex existed in their own world, her head on his shoulder, his arm wrapped securely around her. They spoke quietly, seemingly oblivious to the tension—or perhaps simply accustomed to it.
I cataloged these tiny interactions; these men had been irrevocably altered by falling in love. In another life, I would have exploited such attachments as tactical vulnerabilities. Now, they felt like a roadmap for navigating my own unexpected bond with Isabella.
Vince focused back on me, returning to the offensive with the directness I was beginning to appreciate.
“What exactly are your intentions with my sister?” he demanded, eyes locked on mine.
I began formulating a precise, diplomatic response, but before I could speak, Shorty interrupted sharply.
“I’m sitting right here,” she said, irritation clear in her voice. “Why don’t you ask me what my intentions are with him?”
Her defense sent an unexpected warmth through me.
I caught the brothers exchanging glances, Matt hiding a smile at their sister’s fire. The silent communication reminded me of my own siblings—a language of shared history and understanding that transcended words.
“Fine,” Vince conceded after a moment. “Isabella, what are your intentions with this…man?”
Her answer came without hesitation, her voice clear and certain. “To build a life with him. Whether you approve or not.”
Something unfamiliar and warm spread through my chest at her certainty. I’d commanded respect, inspired fear, earned loyalty—but it had never felt like this. It felt more valuable than anything I’d ever experienced. Being chosen.
Taking my cue from her boldness, I faced Vince more firmly. “I’m not asking permission to be with your sister,” I stated clearly. “That’s her choice, and she’s made it.”
I allowed a heartbeat of silence before I continued, choosing my words with precision. “But I am asking for your acceptance. Not for my sake but for hers.”
The distinction mattered—I wasn’t seeking approval but acknowledging the importance of family to Isabella. It was a concession I wouldn’t have made for anyone else.
“She loves you,” I continued, the words feeling strange yet necessary on my tongue. “Having your support would make her happy. And her happiness is what matters most to me.”
It was uncomfortable to reveal my vulnerabilities just like that. Yet it felt right—necessary even—to acknowledge this truth.
Shorty’s happiness was what mattered most.
Vince’s expression betrayed genuine surprise at my sincerity as if he’d expected everything else rather than raw, honest emotion.
I watched him reassess me, his eyes losing some of their coldness as he glanced between his sister and me.
Before he could respond, Fee’s voice cut through the tension. “Are we done with the alpha-male posturing now? Some of us are trying to enjoy this flight.”
Matt added dryly, “You should see Vince at family gatherings. This is him being diplomatic.”
Unexpected laughter rippled through the cabin, breaking the tension that had built during our exchange. Even Isabella chuckled, the sound vibrating against my side where we touched.
She used the moment to lean up and kiss my jaw—a gesture of approval that felt disproportionately significant given its simplicity. The warm press of her lips against my skin sent electricity through my body—a reaction I carefully controlled while in full view of her brothers.
I caught Vince watching this interaction, his gaze measuring the genuine connection between us. Something in his posture relaxed marginally—not acceptance exactly but perhaps the beginning of it.
My chance of survival had just gone up exponentially.
As the conversation shifted to lighter topics, I relaxed fractionally.
Shorty rested her head against my shoulder, and I wrapped my arm around her. The weight and warmth of her against me felt right in a way I was still adjusting to—a belonging I’d never expected to find.
Time to get rid of the tension she was still holding in her body.
I leaned close to her ear, inhaling the subtle scent of her hair—vanilla and something uniquely her. “We could finish what we started in the bathroom on the flight in,” I whispered, my voice low, my lips barely grazing her skin to send shivers down her spine.
Her body tensed, and she pulled back, eyes wide with scandalized shock. “In front of my family and yours?” she hissed, cheeks flushing beautifully. “You’re out of your fucking mind, Ivan Zotov.”
Her voice carried just enough for Roman to call out, “Get a room! Preferably one with soundproof walls.”
Everyone’s laughter only deepened Shorty’s blush, the color spreading down her neck in a way that made me wonder how far it extended.
Her brothers clearly enjoyed her embarrassment, which was inaccaptable.
I glared at them, then pulled her closer against me despite her token resistance. “Never mind, then,” I murmured against her hair. “I’ll just have to wait until Italy.”
“Damn right you will,” she responded but contradicted her stern tone by settling more comfortably against me, her body softening into mine despite our audience.
As the jet began its descent toward Italy, the pilot’s announcement prompted everyone to prepare for landing.
The tentative truce with the Salvinis felt too fragile. And ambiguity created its own risks. I weighed the temporary truce against my preference for clear boundaries and explicit understanding.
Vince’s attention kept returning to Isabella and me despite his conversation with Jemma. The unresolved tension needed to be addressed.
I made my decision, let go of Isabella, and leaned toward Vince.
Isabella’s eyes widened briefly before understanding dawned, and she gave me a slight nod of approval.
“When we land, before anything else, I want us clear on one thing,” I stated firmly, watching Vince’s expression shift to guarded attention. “Isabella isn’t a negotiation point between us. She’s her own person who’s chosen to be with me.”
I extended my hand toward him—not a gesture of submission but an offer of alliance. “I’m asking if we can move forward with respect, for her sake.”
The cabin fell silent, and everyone’s attention was on us. This was a pivotal moment. I maintained steady eye contact, neither challenging nor submitting—equal to equal.
After what felt like eternity, Vince took my hand in a grip that was more challenge than welcome, his fingers tightening fractionally beyond what would be considered polite.
“Hurt her, and there won’t be a place on Earth you can hide,” he said in a low growl—low enough to show it was meant for my ears alone.
I matched his grip strength precisely. “If I hurt her, I’ll save you the trouble,” I responded with equal intensity.
The handshake didn’t mean we were friends or that there wasn’t enough friction between us to cause a wildfire in pouring rain. But it was an understanding—a foundation to build on.
The jet landed smoothly, and most of the tension dissipated as we prepared to disembark. Shorty slid her arm around my waist and leaned into me with a familiarity that still surprised me. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” she asked, her lips quirked in amusement.
I raised an eyebrow, experiencing the unfamiliar urge to smile. “Your definition of ‘not bad’ needs work, Shorty.”
Her laughter lightened something in my chest, easing the tension I’d been carrying since we boarded. As we prepared to leave the jet, I noticed the subtle shift in positioning—no longer Zotovs versus Salvinis and Falcones but intermixed as we gathered our belongings.
Anton had engaged Fee in conversation while Roman helped Jemma with her bag—a small but significant change in battlefield arrangements.
Apart from Nina who was still maintaining maximum distance from Matt.
We exited the jet to find a tall, imposing man waiting on the tarmac with a blonde woman holding a newborn.
I’d never interacted with Gabriele Falcone—Cristo’s older brother and head of the Falcone family—but his reputation, especially as Hawk’s most proficient assassin, preceded him. The woman beside him would be Sophie and their child, their newborn son.
I automatically assessed potential threats—Gabe’s stance showed military training, his eyes constantly scanning despite his relaxed posture. A whole army of security personnel and a fleet of black, unmarked, most likely armored Mercedes SUVs blocked every strategic point around the airfield.
A show of force—Italian Mafia style.
Introductions were made with practiced politeness. I assessed Gabe with professional respect while his scrutiny of me showed the protective brotherhood that transcended bloodlines. His eyes moved between Shorty and me, measuring and calculating much as I would have done.
“Welcome to Italy, Zotov,” Gabe said finally. “I’m eager to meet the man who tamed Isabella Salvini.”
Shorty snorted beside me, the sound both inelegant and endearing. “Bold of you to assume I’m tamed.”
The laughter that followed felt genuine and established a new dynamic I hadn’t expected.
Sophie’s warm smile as she shifted her newborn in her arms reminded me strangely of Mila—a gentleness that existed alongside strength.
As we moved toward the waiting vehicles, Vince, Gabe, and I naturally fell into step—a formation that would have been unthinkable days ago.
The women who had clustered around Sophie followed behind, their animated conversation drifting forward.
“We’ve caught Grey,” Gabe said, his tone professional. “He’s secure but uncooperative. Hasn’t said a word since capture.”
Grey’s name sent a familiar coldness through me while images flashed through my mind—the man who shaped me, used me, betrayed me. My expression remained impassive, but internally I felt the predator in me stir.
“He’ll talk to me,” I stated with quiet certainty.
Shorty inserted herself between us at that moment, her hand sliding into mine with natural ease. “We’ll visit Cara in the hospital first,” she stated, her tone brooking no argument despite addressing three men accustomed to command.
I exchanged glances with Vince and Gabe, seeing my own resigned acceptance mirrored in their expressions.
This, too, was new—allowing someone else to direct my movements, to prioritize their wishes over mine.
I kissed her hand. “Of course.” Grey had to wait. Because we would do whatever my beautiful future wife wanted.
The thought of “wife” should have triggered immediate rejection—a lifetime of avoiding attachments, of avoiding feeling too deeply.
Instead, I felt an unexpected rightness to it, a certainty that surprised me with its intensity.
I glanced at Vince. Would that be the next fight, after Grey’s reckoning?
Isabella looked up at me, her expression questioning my sudden stillness. I squeezed her hand in reassurance, receiving her smile in return.
Whatever came next, Shorty was worth it. And we would face it together.