Shorty’s entire body went rigid against mine. The change was instantaneous—from relaxed warmth to frozen tension in a heartbeat. Her fingers dug into my skin, her breath catching audibly.
And in that moment, any lingering doubt I had about Marcus Moretti’s imminent future evaporated.
I’d seen Isabella face everything that was thrown at her with courage. She’d never backed down to me, Grey, or anyone else. But the mere mention of Moretti’s name turned her to stone.
The rage that flooded through me was cold and precise—not the hot, chaotic anger that would’ve clouded my judgment yesterday but a crystalline cold fury that sharpened my focus to a lethal point. Marcus Moretti had to go.
“I’ll be there in five,” I called to Nina.
“I’ll leave some clothes for Isabella,” Nina said, then her footsteps faded.
I turned my attention to Shorty. She was staring at nothing, her expression blank but her body still rigid with tension.
“Shorty,” I said gently, “I’m going to have a little chat with Moretti.”
She blinked rapidly as if coming back from somewhere far away. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
I brushed my fingers along her jaw and turned her face toward mine. “I saw how you reacted when Nina mentioned his name just now.”
Her eyes darted away, then back, something vulnerable and fierce battling within them. I recognized that look. “Before the Paraskia takes him, I’m going to have a little heart to heart with him.” I held her gaze steadily. “You can come with me or not. Your choice.”
The words hung between us, heavy with meaning. I wasn’t offering to handle her problem, to fix everything while she waited safely aside. I was offering partnership, agency—in this ugliness, in justice, in everything that would follow.
Shorty took a slow, deep breath, then exhaled with deliberate control. “I can face him,” she said finally. “With you.”
I nodded once. We got up, got the clothes Nina had left for Shorty, and dressed in silence. I pulled on pants and a black sweater—clothing that allowed a full range of motion. From the corner of my eye, I watched Isabella put on similar dark clothing, her movements increasingly steady as purpose replaced fear.
While she pulled her hair back, I removed a second handgun from my lockbox and checked it methodically. When I was satisfied, I offered it to her, grip first.
“If you want,” I said. I knew she knew how to use it, but I wanted to give her a chance to decline in case she didn’t want to carry it.
She took it with practiced ease. “Yes.”
“Good. Just in case.”
Nina was waiting in the hallway when we emerged, her posture casual but eyes sharp. She assessed us both in a glance, her gaze lingering on the weapon in Shorty’s hand. Something subtle passed across her features—approval mingled with fierce satisfaction.
“I’ll tell Kozlova you’re with her in thirty minutes,” Nina said, nodding toward Isabella. “Buy you twenty minutes with that asshole.”
“Thank you,” I said simply.
Nina’s smile was razor-thin. “Just doing my job. Family business and all that.”
The emphasis on “family” wasn’t lost on me. By now, my siblings hadn’t just chosen sides but were probably deep in making plans that didn’t include cooperation with the Paraskia Syndicate.
Security around the holding cells was minimal. Most personnel had likely been reassigned to handle the Paraskia Council’s presence. The few operatives we passed stepped aside with subtle nods, a mix of respect and wariness in their eyes. I’d spent years building a reputation within theorganization—now I was leveraging it for something entirely personal.
As we approached Marcus’s cell, Shorty’s resolve strengthened with each step. She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin in defiance. But I needed to be certain.
“You don’t have to do this,” I said quietly as we reached the door.
She looked up at me, eyes clear and determined. “Yes, I do. We do.”
I studied her face for another moment, then nodded.
Roman handed me a small key before he opened the door for us, and we entered together—a united front.
Marcus Moretti sat on the single bunk in the spartan cell, his wounded shoulder freshly bandaged, his other hand in cuffs, fastened to a hook in the wall.
