Damn.
My heart was in my throat.
“Will they get her?” I asked, voice cracking with fear.
“They won’t stop until they do,” Ivan assured me without even turning to look, his confidence absolute.
As we neared the shore, I spotted several figures waiting at the dock. The imposing silhouette of Vince, front and center, flanked by Matt and other men.
“Your brother doesn’t look happy,” Ivan observed dryly.
I tensed, anticipating the confrontation to come. Vince would demand explanations, would try to separate us, would assert his authority as my brother and head of the family. I’d seen that thunderous expression enough times to know what followed.
“I’m not leaving your side,” I stated firmly, my fingers tightening in the wet fabric of Ivan’s shirt.
His response was a small, almost imperceptible smile—just a slight upward curve of his lips that somehow transformed his entire face. “Good. Because I’m not planning to let you go.”
Ivan skillfully maneuvered the boat alongside the dock despite the rough conditions. Birdie secured Marcus, hauling him to his feet with professional efficiency.
“Move,” she ordered, prodding him forward to where several men waited to take him.
Ivan helped me onto the dock, but instead of setting me on my feet, he immediately scooped me back into his arms. The gesture felt both protective and possessive—and like a statement to everyone present.
Vince approached immediately, his expression thunderous.
Rain plastered his dark hair to his forehead but did nothing to diminish the fury radiating from him.
“Isabella, come here. Now.” My brother’s voice carried the authority of the Salvini patriarch, with a tone that demanded instant obedience.
Instead of setting me down, Ivan held me tighter against his chest.
“She stays with me,” Ivan stated, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Vince stepped closer, his height nearly matching Ivan’s, and his presence was equally intimidating. “Like hell she does. She’s my sister.”
The tension crackled between them like the lightning overhead—two apex predators facing off, neither willing to back down.
My heart hammered in my chest even though I’d seen those alpha-male clashes before.
Time to step in.
“I won’t ask again, Zotov. Hand her over,” Vince demanded, reaching toward me.
Ivan took a deliberate step back. “Do I need to repeat myself? She’s mine.”
The possessive declaration hung in the air and shocked me despite everything we’d already shared.
The Ivan Zotov I’d first met would’ve never made such a public claim, would’ve never risked exposing this vulnerability.
A strange thrill coursed through me at being claimed so definitively. Followed by a slight tinge of annoyance at the possessiveness—the independent, feminist part of me should have objected to being declared anyone’s property. Instead, I felt a rush of something primal and satisfying. Being claimed by Ivan Zotov felt nothing like the controlling possessiveness I’d witnessed growing up.
It felt like being valued, chosen, protected—not simply owned.
Or maybe I was deluding myself.
Vince’s eyes narrowed. He assessed Ivan’s seriousness before flicking to me.
“Bella?” My brother’s voice softened slightly, giving me the chance to object, to return to the family fold.
