Before all hell broke loose.
28
ISABELLA
The ocean churned before me, the white caps of the waves just highlighting the turmoil and power beneath. It was strangely mirroring the storm brewing inside of me. The one I worked hard not to let anyone see.
The same storm I worked so hard to not have any impact on my life.
I’d slipped away from everyone—even Mira. I just needed a second alone to get back my self-control—a moment alone to catch my breath and deal with the shock, and my emotions. My bare feet sank into the damp sand as raindrops began to dot my face—each one a cool shock against the humid air.
I closed my eyes and inhaled the salt-heavy breeze. The approaching storm felt as if nature understood the chaos breaking loose inside of me and all around me.
Uncle Marcus. Here. On this island. With Grey.
I’d spent years getting it out of my system. I’d processed what happened—and could’ve happened. If somebody would’ve asked me, I would’ve sworn it didn’t have an impact anymore, that he couldn’t hurt me anymore.
Yet one glimpse of him standing beside Grey had shattered that illusion.
It must’ve been the surprise because he was the last man I’d expected to suddenly reappear in my life.
And my body remembered what my mind had been so good at forgeting—his cologne, his wolfish smile, the way he looked at me, his touches.
I swallowed hard against the low-level nausea. Okay, this was enough. I would not give this man any more power over me. A gust of wind hit me head-on, and I hugged myself and dug my nails into my upper arms hard enough to leave marks. The pain helped to ground me in the present.
“You’re not that little girl anymore,” I whispered to myself, digging my toes deeper into the sand. “He can’t touch you anymore.”
A gust of wind whipped my hair across my face, stinging my eyes. I welcomed the discomfort, used it to pull myself from the spiral of darkness that was just waiting to suck me in.
The physical sensations—the wet sand between my toes, the warmth of the rain, the taste of salt on my lips—it was just perfect to anchor me to the now, to prevent me from drowning in memories.
A flash of light—then thunder rumbled in the distance.
And suddenly a thought flashed through my mind as if my brain needed until now to make the connections.
Grey, Uncle Marcus, Ivan, they were all connected—had been for a long time.
My file on Grey’s computer started with that case report.
The video feed on Uncle Marcus’s laptop when he found me reading in Father’s office during Nonno’s memorial service.
That dimly lit basement. Those kids who fought like animals, most likely for the entertainment of monsters in expensive suits—like Uncle Marcus.
That boy in particular who had stood out—fierce, determined, refusing to break despite the terrible odds. He’d fought for his life and protected the smaller children while looking barely human. The image of him had haunted me for a long time: his determination, his refusal to break despite the horror of his circumstances.
There had been something about the way he fought—not with blind rage or fear, but with cold, focused intent. Even as a child, I’d recognized something extraordinary in him—a will to survive that went beyond normal human limits.
Like a gladiator. Like an animal.
The sudden thought hit me with such force that I gasped aloud, and my hand flew to my mouth.
The way Ivan described his past…he was a couple of years older than me, as well, so the age would be right…
The timing probably matched. The description fit.
Could Ivan have been there? Could he maybe have been that boy? The one who’d unknowingly given me strength all those years ago?
The possibility that Ivan might’ve been one of them—that our paths had crossed decades before we actually met—left me dizzy with the strange sense of destiny. I sank my toes in the wet sand, ground myself against the onslaught of memories.
