A flush spread across her cheeks at my words. “Even though I’m a Salvini?”
“Especially because you’re a Salvini,” I countered. “You defied your family’s expectations. Created your own identity. Found ways to make an impact despite the world you were born into.”
Her smile turned playful. “You make me sound like some kind of hero.”
“Maybe you are,” I said seriously. “You saved me. You saved dozens of children. You’ve been fighting your own battles all your life. Sounds pretty heroic to me.”
Isabella moved closer still, her body now just inches from mine.
“We make quite a pair,” she murmured, brushing a damp curl from my face. “It feels like more than coincidence, doesn’t it? That we would find each other like this.”
“Fate has a strange sense of humor,” I agreed, leaning into her touch.
“Do you believe in fate?” she asked.
I considered the question seriously. “I believe in cause and effect. In patterns and probabilities. But this…” I gestured between us. “This defies statistical likelihood.”
A small smile curved her lips. “Such a romantic answer.”
“I’m not a romantic.”
“Well,” she said, her smile widening, “you do have other qualities.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Such as?”
“You’re decent with a gun,” she said, her tone deliberately casual. “And you make a good bath.”
Despite everything, I found myself smiling. Actually smiling. The expression felt foreign on my face, like muscles long unused suddenly remembering their purpose.
“High praise,” I murmured.
“The highest,” she confirmed, her smile fading into something more serious. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” I said, then kissed her. The intimacy of the moment intensified; our kiss was charged with so much more than mere physical desire. This was deeper, more profound. The recognition of two souls who had seen each other at their most vulnerable and chosen to stay.
“The water’s getting cold,” I noted reluctantly after we came up for air.
Isabella nodded though neither of us moved immediately. Finally, I stood, water streaming down my body, and offered her my hand. She took it, rising gracefully despite the bruises and exhaustion of the day.
I reached for one of the plush towels folded nearby, wrapping it around her shoulders before grabbing one for myself. As I dried off, I watched her from the corner of my eye, still unable to believe she was here, safe, with me.
When she was dry, I handed her one of my T-shirts—a soft, worn black one that would swallow her smaller frame. She slipped it over her head, the hem falling to mid-thigh. The sight of her in my clothing stirred something possessive in my chest.
“What now?” she asked quietly, standing in the middle of the bathroom, looking suddenly younger in my oversized shirt.
I wrapped my towel around my waist and stepped closer to her. “Now we rest. Tomorrow we deal with Moretti. With Grey. With your brother. With Kozlova. With whatever comes next.”
In that moment, standing in the half-light with Isabella Salvini looking at me like I was something precious rather than dangerous, I finally understood what it meant to be truly free.
35
ISABELLA
Ivan carried me into the bedroom and cradled me in his arms with a gentleness that still overwhelmed me. The contrast never ceased to amaze me—the same man who’d appeared so ruthless now held me like I was made of glass.
My skin still tingled from the bath, but it wasn’t from the warm water. It was everything I’d shared with him that had left me feeling raw and exposed yet somehow stronger than I’d ever felt before.
For the first time, someone knew all of me—not just Isabella the dutiful daughter, or Iset the hacker, but the scared eight-year-old, the teenage girl who was so much more than her family allowed her to be, and the woman who’d survived all of it and grown into a badass in her own right.
