The surprise in her eyes was worth more than any revenge.
“But Grey—after what he did to you?—”
“Doesn’t control me anymore. Anton and Cristo will handle Grey and get Cara. My place is right here next to you.”
We made our way back down toward the speedboat, and each step away from that decision, away from Grey, felt like shedding a piece of the identity he had constructed for me.
For the first time in my life, I truly wasn’t following anyone’s script.
I was writing my own.
We reached the speedboat, and I helped Isabella inside before helping Birdie force Moretti into the boat. None of it was as easy as the yacht, and the boat pitched violently in the storm.
Birdie pushed Moretti to sit in the back, keeping him secured and separated from Isabella. I released the mooring rope, then took the seat to pilot the boat.
To my surprise, Isabella climbed back into my lap, refusing to break contact even as I piloted the boat. Her weight against me felt right, like an anchor in the storm.
As we sped away from the yacht, the helicopter crossed our path, rotors battling the fierce gusts of wind as it headed in the direction Grey had fled. I glanced at it, silently praying for Hawk, Cristo, and Anton, then focused back on the waves in front of us.
Isabella’s hand found my cheek. “Thank you for choosing me,” she said, her words nearly drowned out by the wind and the engine’s roar.
I pulled her closer and navigated the violent waves with one arm while pulling her against me with the other.
Grey was still out there. Cara still wasn’t safe, but I was exactly where I wanted to be, needed to be. Because Shorty’s safety mattered more than anything else in the world.
And my place was right next to her.
33
ISABELLA
Salt spray stung my eyes as the speedboat cut through the waves, each impact jarring, but at least the wind wasn’t blowing directly in my face.
And not even the sight of Birdie and Uncle Marcus could penetrate the cocoon of warmth I was in, clinging to Ivan.
I should have been terrified. Should have been falling apart after what had just happened. Instead, I found myself anchored by Ivan’s arm locked firmly around my waist, his body a safe haven against the elements and everything else.
The contrast wasn’t lost on me—how even if everything around us was somehow violent chaos, this zone of stillness between us felt like an eye in the storm.
It was just like that quote I’d read a while ago.
Ships don’t sink because of the water around them; they sink because of the water that gets in them.
And I wouldn’t let any water inside this ship.
Ivan’s lips pressed against my forehead, a gesture so unexpectedly tender that something inside me cracked open. The same man who had been so cold in handling Uncle Marcus just minutes ago now touched me with heartbreaking gentleness.
“Are you hurt anywhere?” His voice was barely audible over the engine’s roar, low and concerned in a way he’d only reserved for me.
I shook my head, unable to form words. The way he behaved was so intimate, so unlike the controlled man who had completely ignored me since our night together. This version of Ivan—worried, gentle—disarmed me completely.
My awareness suddenly shifted to Uncle Marcus, watching us from where he sat, restrained on the opposite bench. Even with his hands bound and Birdie’s weapon trained on him, his gaze made my skin crawl. I deliberately turned farther into Ivan’s chest, burying my face against his rain-soaked shirt.
“You always did like powerful men, Isabella,” Uncle Marcus called over the engine noise, his voice slithering through the space between us. “Just like your mother.”
My entire body went rigid. I felt Ivan’s heart accelerate beneath my cheek, the only outward sign of his rage.
Birdie pressed her gun harder against Uncle Marcus’s temple. “Another word and I’ll throw you overboard. Save us all some trouble.”
