Chapter Thirty-Eight
Isabella
The study in Cooper’s villa had become our war room. Maps and documents covered every surface, surveillance photos plastered the walls. Two months of careful intelligence gathering, of pulling threads, of building our case to support Interpol’s investigation.
“How did you put all this together so quickly?” I asked, still amazed at the network of safe houses, medical professionals, and security personnel Cooper had mobilized.
Cooper’s smile was grim. “When I went legitimate, I didn’t burn all my bridges. Just the really illegal ones. The people helping us now? Former clients, mostly. Collectors who owed me favors, security specialists who appreciated my discretion, doctors who treated my injuries without asking questions. I built relationships, not just contacts.”
“And Steele?”
“His network is even better than mine. Between his hotel businesses, clubs and art galleries, he has people in every major European city. Some legitimate now, just aligned with our particular interests.”
I studied another shipping manifest, one hand absently resting on my small but visible bump. Over three months pregnant now, and the changes to my body only made me more determined to end this. My training with Stryker had continued, adapted for my condition, but I refused to stop completely.
“The Rotterdam route is still active,” I said, tapping the paper. “Three shipments in the last month alone. All documented.”
“We’ve identified four key players at the bank,” Cooper added from his position by the maps. “Board members who sign off on the paperwork. All with connections to known trafficking networks.”
“These extraction points,” Stryker said, marking locations on the map. His finger lingered on certain routes. “I chose them carefully. They’re the same shadows, the same paths I found when I was hunting for Madelina. These bastards haven’t changed their methods in over five years.”
A heavy silence fell over the room. My hand tightened on the manifest as Colton’s expression darkened at the mention of Stryker’s sister. Even now, years later, that loss drove Stryker, and I knew his part in this was for the memory of his sister.
“I laid out emergency evacuation routes here, here, and here,” Stryker continued, his voice professional again despite the personal weight behind his words. “Multiple exit strategies for each target location.”
I felt Colton move behind me, his hand joining mine over our child. The warmth of his touch steadied me as I said, “The evidence is solid. We need to make sure Interpol has everything they need to make this airtight.”
“Yes,” Colton agreed. “They have too many officials bought. Too many contingency plans in place. We can’t risk losing a single piece of evidence if we want the entire network to fall.”
“Interpol handles the legal takedown,” I said, my voice hardening with conviction. “But we focus on what matters most.”
“The girls first,” Colton insisted, his voice carrying that protective edge I’d grown to love. “We get them out before the official raids begin.”
Stryker spoke next. “I have teams in position at three holding facilities. Ready to coordinate with Interpol when the time comes.”
“And the bank?” Cooper asked.
“Gets exposed completely,” I said firmly. “Every piece of evidence delivered to Interpol for a thorough investigation.”
“The board meets in London next week,” Stryker said, laying out surveillance photos. “Annual shareholders’ meeting. Every key player will be there.”
“Including Rodger.” Colton’s voice carried old rage. “He’s scheduled to present the art acquisition reports.”
I leaned into Colton’s solid warmth as Cooper laid out his contacts’ preparations. “My people are ready in Rotterdam, Marseilles, and Hamburg. Safe houses set up. Support services standing by for when Interpol moves in.”
There was something else they needed to know. Something I’d been holding back.
“About Sari,” I said, watching Colton’s expression. “Your assistant…she’s not who you think she is.”
Colton’s hands stilled on my shoulders. “What do you mean?”
“She’s been undercover for years,” I explained quietly. “Placed specifically to monitor money laundering at the bank. Her documentation was perfect, it had to be. She’s the one who first noticed the irregularities in Rodger’s compliance reports. The one who started building the case before my father died.”
I watched understanding dawn in Colton’s eyes as pieces clicked into place—Sari’s efficient handling of sensitive documents, her subtle warnings about Rodger’s movements, her precise knowledge of bank security.
“All this time...” His voice held a mix of admiration and chagrin. “Right under my nose.”
“She couldn’t tell you,” I squeezed his hand. “It would have compromised everything. But I figured it out and confronted her. Her Interpol connections are crucial—they’ll handle the legal side, the arrests, the formal investigation. We just need to make sure they get all the evidence they need.”
“You’ve been one step ahead of me since the first day we met,” he said, and the pride in his voice made something warm bloom in my chest.
As the others discussed tactical details, I pulled up my laptop, showing them the digital weaknesses I’d identified. “Their system has gaps—small ones, but exploitable. When Interpol accesses their network, they’ll need these entry points to secure the evidence before anyone can destroy it.”
“The timing has to be exact,” Stryker warned. “Once the operation starts, we’ll have maybe twelve hours before they realize the full scope. Before they can move assets or destroy evidence.”
“Or kill the girls,” I added quietly, remembering the faces behind those shipping manifests. The women who had been trapped like I was. My hand curved protectively over our child, drawing strength from Colton’s steady presence behind me.
We spent the next hours refining details. Escape routes. Contingencies. Every possible scenario planned for with precise documentation. My father’s old notes lay among our new plans, his investigation now finally reaching its conclusion through my hands.
“Your role is the most dangerous,” I said to Colton, my eyes meeting his. “Maintaining your cover until the very last moment, making sure Interpol has access to everything they need. If they suspect you before Interpol can move...”
“They won’t,” he said with quiet confidence. “I’ll play my part perfectly until Interpol is ready to act.”
As the others left, I turned in Colton’s arms. “Ready to help expose it all? To end this nightmare?”
“More than ready.” He pulled me close, and I breathed in his strength, drawing resolve from his fierce protectiveness.
And the promise of justice to come.
We would end this…for the girls trapped in shipping containers, for my father who died asking the wrong questions, for our child who would grow up in a world with one less horror in it.
The evening was warm, but I still pulled Colton’s sweater closer as I stood on our bedroom’s terrace. A couple of months of nutritious meals and sunshine had begun to restore what captivity had taken. My reflection in the window showed someone closer to who I used to be—though changed forever in ways that mattered.
Knowing the baby was Colton’s had transformed everything. Each morning, I woke to his hand curved protectively over my stomach, his touch gentle but possessive. The doctor had cleared me physically, but we’d both needed time—me to feel whole in my body again, him to trust that I was truly ready.
Tonight felt different. The air was heavy with the scent of fresh lavender from Allegra’s garden, and Colton’s earlier kisses had carried an edge of carefully restrained need. I knew he wanted me; knew he was struggling in this long period of abstinence. From the rumors I’d heard before I truly knew him, he was a sexual being in nature, entertaining most of the available and willing corporate lawyers in London and beyond. But his restraint had been touching, endearing him to me even more. We’d been building to this, each touch growing more heated, each moment of intimacy stretching longer before one of us pulled back.
The door opened behind me, and I felt him before I saw him—that subtle shift in the air that always accompanied his presence. His hands settled on my shoulders, thumbs working the tension from my neck.
“Cold?” His voice was soft and intimate in the gathering darkness of dusk.
I leaned back against his chest, feeling the steady thud of his heart. “Not anymore.”
His arms slid around me, one hand splaying across my stomach where our child grew. The gesture was familiar now, reassuring. But tonight it felt different, charged with desire rather than just protection.
I turned in his arms, needing to see his face. He’d changed too in these past weeks, the haunted look in his eyes replaced by something warmer, deeper. His hair was longer, falling over his eyes, making him look young and vulnerable. I swept it off his forehead gently, and he turned his head into my hand. His hands settled on my waist, thumbs stroking me through the cashmere of his borrowed sweater I was wearing.
“You’re sure?” he asked softly. “We can wait—”
I stretched up to kiss him, cutting off his words. This kiss was less careful, more wanting. His hands tightened on my waist as he deepened it, and I felt the tremor of restraint in his muscles.
“I want this,” I whispered against his mouth. “I want you. We’ve done this backwards, it seems. Here we are, expecting a baby together, in love…yet we’ve hardly been intimate.”
He froze for a second, almost as if some kind of deep revelation flashed before his eyes. “It’s been better this way. For the longest time…I hadn’t had any intimacy. Sex was just…sex. But what we’ve shared…it’s been so much better. What we have…it’s what’s going to make this utterly amazing.”
“I want you, Colton Moreau. Now.”
Something fierce crossed his handsome features. Then he was lifting me, carrying me to the bed we’d shared chastely these past weeks. He laid me down with infinite care, hovering over me carefully.
“Let me see you,” he murmured, hands going to the hem of the sweater. “Please.”
I lifted my arms, letting him pull it over my head. The night air kissed my bare skin; I’d stopped wearing anything underneath his sweaters days ago since my breasts were sore. His deep intake of breath made heat pool low in my belly.
It was the first time he’d seen me naked with my permission. Now I was in charge, and I was controlling my own desires and his, and the power of that made me feel bold again.
“Beautiful,” he breathed, hands just barely grazing my skin. “So beautiful.”
When his fingers finally traced my collarbone, the touch was radioactive. He explored me slowly, reverently, learning every inch with careful dedication. His mouth followed his hands, soft kisses pressed to my shoulders, my breasts, the barely-there curve of my stomach where our baby grew.
I reached for him, needing to feel his skin against mine. He shed his clothes quickly, then stretched out beside me. Moonlight caught the ridges of his abs as he moved, highlighting the new hardness there. His arms, once accustomed to designer suits, now rippled with strength capable of carrying me through hell. Yet his hands remained the same—those elegant fingers that had once flipped through legal documents now traced my skin with exquisite gentleness, as if I might break under a firmer touch.
The first brush of his bare chest against my breasts made us both gasp.
“Tell me if anything’s too much,” he said, voice raw with emotion. “We’ll go as slow as you need.”
In answer, I pulled him down for another kiss. He responded with careful hunger, one hand tangling in my hair while the other explored my every curve. Every touch felt like healing, like coming home, like everything I’d been missing.
His mouth moved to my neck, finding spots that made me arch and gasp. My hands roamed his back, tracing the lines of his muscles. When his fingers brushed my inner thigh, I spread my legs in wordless invitation.
“Look at me,” he commanded softly.
I opened my eyes, finding his eyes intense with love and need. His fingers stroked higher, and my breath caught at the first intimate touch, his fingers finally reaching my clit.
“Still okay?”
“More than okay.” I rocked against his hand, showing him what I needed.
He took his time, learning my body’s responses with the same thoroughness he applied to everything. When his fingers finally slipped inside, I clutched his shoulders, overwhelmed by sensation and emotion.
“That’s it,” he murmured, pressing kisses to my face. “Let go for me. Let me see you.”
The orgasm built slowly, unlike anything I’d experienced before. This wasn’t just chasing physical pleasure…it was connection, trust, love. When it finally crested, I cried out his name like a prayer.
He held me through the aftershocks, whispering words of love against my skin. When I could focus again, I found him watching me with raw tenderness.
“Inside me,” I whispered. “Please.”
He moved over me carefully, bracing his weight on his forearms. The first press of him against me made us both tremble.
“Sure?”
“Always.”
He pushed in slowly, giving me time to adjust. The stretch was exquisite—fuller, deeper than our hurried encounter in the library or the tunnels below the Mayfair. When he was fully seated, he pressed his forehead to mine, breathing raggedly.
“You feel like heaven,” he groaned. “Like…I’ve finally found my home.”
I wrapped my legs around his hips, drawing him impossibly closer. “Move. Please.”
He started slow, each thrust measured and deep. One hand supported my head while the other stayed on my hip, thumb stroking my skin in time with his movements. The pleasure built again, different this time—fuller, richer, more complete.
“Look at me,” he said again. “Bella. My beautiful Bella. Stay with me.”
I held his gaze as we moved together, letting him see everything I felt. Love. Trust. Healing. Home. His rhythm faltered as I tightened around him.
“Close,” he ground out, his jaw tight. “I’m so close.”
“Together,” I whispered, and he groaned, driving even deeper.
The orgasm took us both by surprise, stronger than the first, pulling us under in waves of pleasure and emotion. I felt tears on my cheeks as he buried his face in my neck, his whole body shaking. This time, his release stayed inside me where it belonged.
Afterward, he gathered me close, one hand stroking my hair while the other returned to its familiar place on my stomach. The silence was peaceful, full of unspoken understanding.
“Thank you,” I murmured eventually.
He shifted to look at me. “For what?”
“For waiting. For being patient. For making our first real time together so...”
“Perfect?” His smile was tender.
“Real,” I corrected. “This wasn’t just sex. This was...”
“Everything,” he finished. “This was everything.”
He kissed me again, soft and sweet, before pulling the covers over us both. Outside, cicadas sang in the garden and stars appeared in the Tuscan sky.
And then we started again.
Finally, we were both worn out.
“Sleep,” he whispered, tucking me closer. “Both of you. My babies. You’re mine, Isabella.”
I drifted off in his arms, feeling whole for the first time since the rescue. Since before, really. This was what making love should be…tender and healing and transformative.
Colton was right, like he was right about most things. This was what coming home felt like.