Money, Power, Darkness.
Wasn’t it amazing how men like him always smelled like this? It turned my stomach like rotting meat. He was like every power-hungry, sleazy type I’d ever encountered. Or was my instant repulsion because of Shorty’s reaction to him?
Nonsense.
The first raindrops pattered against the windows, matching the drumming of my fingers against my thigh. The storm was here, but it was nothing compared to the one building in my chest, a savageness I kept barely in check.
I’d wanted my family and Shorty gone before Grey returned.
My weapon pressed against my side. A familiar weight. A comfort, usually. I could just end this fucking meeting in under ten seconds and five different ways—all of them bloody—be done with Grey, grab Shorty, and demand to know what was going on.
Of course, I’d expected a reaction from her seeing Grey again—especially since we didn’t expect him to return so soon.
I did not expect her to not even acknowledge Grey and instead stare at Marcus Moretti as if she’d seen a ghost…or her greatest nightmare.
What the fuck was going on?
I scanned the meeting room, cataloging everyone’s state of mind by habit. Vince sat rigidly next to me, his brothers and Alex flanking him. None of them looked happy. Cristo stood by the window, his stance casual but eyes alert. My brothers were strategically positioned throughout the room—everyone in their place.
Everyone except Shorty.
The image of her face—pale, terrified—wouldn’t leave me. Something about seeing her uncle had broken through her tough composure completely. That didn’t happen to someone like Shorty without reason. And whatever that reason was, it made me want to peel the skin from Marcus Moretti’s face, strip by strip. I locked eyes with Vince. He looked like he had similar thoughts.
Grey cleared his throat, which drew my attention back to the present situation.
“As I mentioned before, I’d like to introduce my good friend and partner, Marcus Moretti,” Grey announcedwith unexpected deference. “He’s joined us to sit out the storm.”
I studied Marcus Moretti with fresh eyes, giving myself time to dissect him like a specimen under glass. I’d encountered his name before, but this was the first time I’d met him in person. He was just another billionaire playboy with strong Mafia ties. Living off his family’s fortune without meaningful contribution to society. He’d never been more than a blip on Paraskia’s radar. Strange for someone who was a “good friend and partner” of Grey’s. So who was this Marcus Moretti, who apparently knew Grey well enough to be invited onto the island and knew the Salvini men as boys?
Marcus Moretti carried himself with the arrogance of old money. But the way he looked at Grey was slightly off. Something told me he wasn’t considering Grey as an equal but as someone useful. A tool.
Moretti looked fit for his age, attractive, with salt-and-pepper hair and weathered skin. His clothes were tailored and expensive, and I bet my ass off that his shoes cost more than my outfit and Vince Salvini’s combined. And we were not even talking about the yacht he arrived on. He had a pleasant smile, straight, white teeth, and a jovial expression. He looked like he’d never fought for his life, so I could probably kill him in under thirty seconds.
But what if all of that was just a façade?
And given Shorty’s reaction, that façade might hide quite a lot. What did she know about her uncle that I didn’t?
I side-eyed Vince Salvini, who didn’t even show an ounce of warmth. Not the happy family reunion one would expect.
“Uncle Marcus,” Vince acknowledged coldly.
Alex, next to him, did the same. Wait. Moretti. Alex Falcone had taken over as the head of the Moretti family. Marcus was part of that family, wasn’t he?
I watched the interaction between them. But Alex didn’t give Marcus any attention; instead, he was very much focused on Grey, silently plotting his slow death or so it looked.
Grey’s connection to their women’s kidnapping wasn’t something that led to a long, happy life.
I could only imagine. Grey had Shorty for half an hour tops; how would I feel if it had been Shorty in the hands of those people for days? What would I feel if it were Shorty being trafficked, or abused, or traumatized?
I would probably not have the restraint Vince Salvini, Alex, and Cristo were showing right now.
But who was I kidding? I just needed Grey to take one more look at Shorty, and I couldn’t guarantee anything.
I’d never taken Grey to be the sleazy type. Not before now.
But the way he’d touched Mila, and the way he looked at Shorty, made my skin crawl.
Predatory. Possessive. Creepy.
