“I’m handling it my way now,” he said with finality. “And if you have a problem with that, well, that’s your problem then.”
I fought to keep perfectly still as Ivan continued his conversation, his tone growing more irritated with each word.
“If you think Salvini will even consider making a deal when you’re not even competent enough to keep the bargaining chips from being damaged, you’re delusional,” Ivan growled into the phone, his accent thickening with his anger.
My mind raced. So we were bargaining chips? This wasn’t about eliminating us? This was about some deal with my family—with Vince—since Father was apparently dead. The thought sent another jolt of confusion through me. I’d need time to process that later.
“Her head is bleeding. And that’s just what I can see. Who knows what other injuries she sustained during that amateur-hour kidnapping?” Ivan’s voice had that deadly calm quality that was more frightening than shouting. “One of the twins nearly made it to the woods. If I hadn’t arrived when I did, she’d be gone, or dead.”
He paused, listened, and I could feel his body tense beside me.
I tensed as well when Ivan just listened.
“No, I don’t have Isabella Salvini,” Ivan replied smoothly, his tone shifting to something more formal. “I have the sister. We’re on our way to the hospital now.”
Sister? What the hell was he talking about? I was Isabella Salvini. Why would he lie about who I was? Or did he think I was Mirabella?
Wait, did I tell him I was Mirabella?
“No, I’m not bringing her back to the compound.” Another pause. “Because I actually know what I’m doing, unlike your hired help.”
I risked opening one eye just enough to see his profile. His jaw was clenched tight, the muscle there twitching. One hand gripped the steering wheel while the other held the phone with white knuckles.
“I don’t care what the original plan was,” he continued. “Plans change when circumstances change. That’s how competent operations work.”
He listened for a moment, then let out a short, humorless laugh.
“Threaten me again, and see how that works out for you. She might not be Isabella, but she’s still Salvini’s sister and therefore an asset.”
Asset. That’s what I was to them. Just an asset. A bargaining chip. A means to an end. But why was I more important than Mira? What did they want from me? And who were they anyway? I thought Ivan Zotov and his brothers and sisters were just a Russian Bratva family, stirring the pot and accumulating power, not unlike my family. What syndicate was he actually a part of?
“I’ll contact you when I’ve decided on the next steps,” Ivan said with finality. “And Boss? Next time you decide to kidnap Mafia princesses, maybe hire professionals.”
I cracked my eyes open a fraction wider, careful to maintain my unconsciousness façade. Through the windshield, I could see we were approaching familiar territory—the hospital near La Dimora Serena, our family’s country estate.
So we hadn’t gone far.
I’d been here dozens of times growing up. The small medical complex loomed ahead, its emergency entrance lit up against the darkening sky. But instead of pulling up to the ER entrance, Ivan steered the car toward the back, and we descended the ramp into what appeared to be an underground parking garage. The car dipped down, and fluorescent lights flickered overhead in rhythmic patterns as we descended deeper into the concrete structure.
“I’ll update you on where to rendezvous once I know her condition,” Ivan said, ending the call abruptly.
He immediately dialed another number, his fingers moving with practiced efficiency across the screen. The car continued deeper into the garage, past rows of parked vehicles, toward a section that seemed more isolated.
“It’s me,” he said when someone answered. “I’m bringing her in through the south entrance. Have Dr. Clark ready.” A pause. “She’s breathing but unconscious. Her vitals are normal. Head laceration, possible concussion, minor contusions.” Another pause. “Yes, use protocol. And make sure there’s no record of this visit anywhere.”
My mind raced. I was fucking “unconscious,” and he was out here driving me around as if my life wasn’t in danger. What was he playing at? And what kind of power and connections did he have? I kept my breathing steadydespite my racing heart, still feigning unconsciousness as I tried to make sense of what was going on.
Ivan pulled the car into a spot marked “Staff Only.” I expected him to park, but instead, the wall in front of us slid to the side, and we moved forward into a hidden area of the parking garage. He parked and killed the engine. In the sudden silence, I could hear his steady breathing beside me.
“We’re coming in now,” he said, then ended the call and followed up with a muttered curse in Russian.
I struggled to maintain my unconscious act as Ivan lifted me from the car. His arms slid beneath me with practiced efficiency, and he cradled my body against his chest once more. Despite everything, I couldn’t help noticing how secure it felt—like being held by living steel.
My head lolled against his shoulder as he carried me toward what appeared to be another blank concrete wall. I kept my eyes barely open, watching through my lashes as he shifted me slightly to punch a code into a hidden keypad.
The wall—which wasn’t a wall at all—slid open silently, revealing a pristine medical corridor beyond. White walls, gleaming floors, and the sharp scent of antiseptic assaulted my senses.
What the hell? I’d been to this hospital dozens of times over the years—when Dante broke his arm falling from a tree, when Hero needed stitches after a fight, when Matt sliced his hand open trying to prove he was old enough to use Father’s hunting knife. I thought I knew every inch of this place, yet here was an entire section I’d never seen before.
