He looked up with irritation that shifted to genuine surprise when he registered who had entered.
“Isabella, my dear girl,” he said, voice dripping with false warmth. “Come to say goodbye to your uncle?”
I felt rather than saw Isabella flinch beside me. Seeing their interaction now, with what I already knew, ignited something primal in my chest, but I kept my expression impassive.
“Shut up,” I said, voice dangerously soft. “If you want any chance of walking out of here alive.”
Moretti’s smile didn’t falter, but his eyes darted between Isabella and me, reassessing. “I’m not sure what she’s toldyou, Zotov, but family matters should remain private, don’t you think?”
I stepped forward, letting him see exactly what lurked behind my controlled exterior. “The Paraskia is transferring you to a secure facility.” I inserted the key and released him from the cuff.
A flicker of smugness crossed his face. “The council understands my value. My connections.”
“They might,” I stated flatly. “But nobody can protect you from the consequences of being a shitty human being.”
Moretti’s confidence wavered slightly before he caught himself. “Big words from someone who’s just a field operative. Grey’s dog. Disposable.” His gaze shifted to Isabella. “Perhaps your judgment is…compromised by my niece’s charms.”
Shorty stepped forward, her voice steadier than I expected. “Shut up.”
“Isabella, really.” Marcus affected a wounded expression. “You should really show some respect to your family elders. Our relationship has always been so special.”
She scoffed. “There was nothing special about what you did to me,” she replied, her voice taking on a dangerous edge.
Marcus’s expression hardened slightly. “I don’t know what you’re implying, but?—”
“Stop,” I interrupted. “We both know exactly what she’s talking about.”
The dance of denial was tedious and fruitless.
I’d conducted enough interrogations to recognize the pattern—start with firm denials, then shift to minimizing, then bargaining. I wasn’t interested in giving him the time to work through his agenda.
Moretti must have sensed the shift in atmosphere because he changed tactics immediately.
“Listen, if there’s been some misunderstanding, I’m willing to clear the air.” He focused away from Shorty and back on me. “In fact, I have valuable information that is of value to the Paraskia.” His eyes gleamed with desperate calculation. “About Grey. His operations.”
Shorty tensed beside me but remained silent, letting me lead this part.
“Grey has bases all through Europe,” Moretti continued quickly. “Secret installations the Paraskia doesn’t even know about. I can give you everything—locations, personnel, access codes.”
I regarded him with cold detachment. “Not good enough.”
“What?” Moretti’s composure slipped. “Do you understand what I’m offering? Grey’s entire unauthorized infrastructure. His trafficking operations. Financial records that would bring down half the Paraskia leadership.”
“And yet,” I said softly, “still not good enough to buy your life.”
Real fear flickered across his face for the first time. “This is about Isabella? A childhood misunderstanding? She was always such a dramatic child, making up stories?—”
“Don’t,” Isabella warned, her voice like ice. “Don’t you dare try to rewrite what happened.”
Moretti’s mask slipped completely, his expression twisting with something ugly and entitled. “You should be grateful for the attention, you little bitch. I taught you things your mother never would. Made you special.” He looked at me with a sneer. “She was old enough to know?—”
I moved before he could finish the sentence, my hand closing around his throat, slamming him back against the wall. The sound of his head hitting concrete was viscerally satisfying.
“Last words,” I said, my voice deadly calm. “Choose them carefully.”
Moretti’s eyes bulged, his wounded shoulder forgotten as his hands scrabbled at my grip. I eased the pressure just enough to allow him to speak.
“The council will have your head for this,” he gasped. “I’m a valuable asset.”
