Not that the memory of her body against mine contributed to me being focused.
“Let’s get as far as we can the easy way,” Shorty murmured, her fingers already moving across the keyboard with practiced precision, then she pushed the keyboardtoward me. “Your credentials will get us through the outer layers, but after that…” She glanced at me, all business now—no trace of the woman who had kissed me with such abandon mere hours ago.
“Always here to learn about my limitations,” I said, leaning forward to enter my access code.
My comment might’ve shocked Shorty into freezing because our fingers brushed as I reached past her to the keyboard. A jolt of electricity passed between us—unmistakable and mutual, judging by the slight catch in her breathing, before she caught herself and abruptly moved back.
Nina, stationed at a monitoring terminal to our right, made a snorting sound.
I looked at her, and she raised an eyebrow at me. I shook my head slightly in warning. The last thing I needed was my sister’s, or any of my siblings’, meddling or comments in whatever complicated thing existed between Shorty and me.
Once I put in my credentials, the system moved to secondary authentication. Retinal scan. Fingerprint verification. Voice recognition. Standard Paraskia protocol—each layer required another form of authentication.
“Amateur-hour security theater,” Shorty muttered, already pulling up command prompts I barely recognized. Computers weren’t my specialty, not like they were Nina’s or Roman’s, but even if, I doubt I would be able to follow Shorty.
Her demeanor had shifted completely—gone was any trace of vulnerability or softness. In her place sat someoneelse entirely. A focused, almost predatory, utterly confident spitfire.
“Fucking ridiculous,” she muttered as she bypassed the retinal scan requirement I could’ve easily passed with a few keystrokes. “They’re still using SHA-256 encryption on a tertiary system that interfaces with the main database. It’s like putting a steel door on a cardboard house. They don’t deserve a quantum computer lab if they can’t keep their shit state-of-the-art.”
I watched her work, fascinated by this transformation. This was Iset—the legend who had cost criminal organizations millions, who had exposed trafficking rings and money laundering operations that law enforcement couldn’t touch. She was enjoying this, a half smile playing at her lips as she conquered each security while spouting expletives as if she was playing a video game.
There wasn’t even a glimpse of the soft, vulnerable woman I’d held in my arms.
Nina had come closer and was watching her over the shoulder, utterly riveted.
“You’re enjoying this,” I observed, keeping my voice neutral despite the unexpected twist of something like jealousy in my gut. Jealous of her relationship with technology—ridiculous.
“Like you don’t enjoy putting bullets in people,” she replied without looking up, her fingers never pausing. “Or killing them with your bare hands. We all have our talents, Zotov.”
The next layer of the verification system appeared onscreen—a final barrier before accessing the main Paraskia database. Isabella frowned, studying it.
“This should require a verified security token,” she said, already coding what looked to me like a workaround. “I’m creating a proxy signature that should?—”
She stopped mid-sentence as the system unexpectedly accepted her bypass attempt.
“What the hell?” Her fingers froze above the keyboard. “That should not have worked.”
“What happened?” I leaned closer, studying the screen.
“I wasn’t finished with the workaround. The system accepted an incomplete bypass.” She turned to me, suspicion clear in her eyes. “Is this a trap? Did we trigger a silent alarm?”
I checked the security monitors. “No alarms showing on any channels. Could it be a glitch?”
She shook her head. “This isn’t a glitch. Are we in a sandbox?” She turned to Nina who shook her head.
“It’s like…as if someone’s clearing the path.” Her voice dropped lower. “But who, why?”
Before I could respond, the door opened. Anton entered with Matt Salvini close behind him. Matt’s eyes immediately fixed on Nina, who stiffened visibly before deliberately turning her attention to another monitor.
Matt positioned himself against the wall, arms crossed, stance wide—taking up space deliberately, just like my brother. His eyes swept over the room with calculated casualness before landing on me and the silent question on my mind.
Why the hell was Matt Salvini in here?
“Vince sent me to observe,” he said, not bothering with pleasantries. “My brother doesn’t trust you or your family, Zotov.”
I felt a sarcastic retort rise to my tongue—as if Vince Salvini was the only one with trust issues here. Instead, I gave a curt nod and returned my attention to Shorty.
But Matt’s comment stirred something else in me, something uncomfortably close to doubt. How would the Salvinis ever accept even the idea of Isabella and me together? What was I thinking, allowing myself to lower my walls with her? When this fragile connection between us was doomed to fail from the start.
