I hadn’t planned to escort her, hadn’t planned to leave the US at all. Not until Grey ordered me to.
But maybe it was smart to draw Salvini to Pantelleria by bringing his sisters there. The Paraskia Syndicate owned the whole island and had built its European headquarters right there, in the middle of the Mediterranean.
Salvini wouldn’t be able to call in favors or pull any strings. Talk about home-turf advantage. And once there, Shorty and her sister wouldn’t be my responsibility anymore. And I would have no business caring about her. The thought came unbidden, accompanied by an unwelcome tightness in my chest.
“What are you really like when you’re not fighting for your life, Shorty?” I murmured, my voice barely audible even in the absolute silence. “And if you’re this fierce, what’s the deal with your sister to have my boss so obsessed with her?”
She stirred slightly, pressing closer to my warmth, one small hand curling against my chest. Something shifted uncomfortably inside me at the gesture—something I couldn’t afford to examine too closely.
I’d spent my life keeping my distance while learning to read people, to spot weaknesses and strengths. But this woman was a contradiction that defied easy categorization. A pampered Mafia princess. Sheltered. Innocent…on paper. While in reality, she was fierce yet vulnerable. Calculating yet impulsive. She never, not even for a second, had backed down or given in; she’d gotten hurt and endured the pain without complaint.
She was a fighter for sure.
I woke up at exactly 4:30 a.m. and silenced the alarm on my phone before it went off. The handcuffs jingled as she stirred, and I grabbed the key from my pocket and released my wrist, then disentangled my arm from hers and got up.
I took care of business, then washed our bowls before I went back to bed and sleeping beauty. I lifted the blanketand stared at her feet; they weren’t in too bad shape, but walking would probably hurt for a while.
I gently shook her shoulder. “Time to wake up,” I said, keeping my voice neutral despite the strange reluctance I felt to end this brief moment of peace for her.
She blinked up at me, momentarily disoriented, soft, like every time I’d woken her during the few hours of rest she’d had.
But this time, I couldn’t let her doze off again. “Come on, Shorty. Time to go,” I said.
Her eyes hardened with realization. The vulnerability I’d witnessed during the night vanished completely.
“Where?” she asked, her voice raspy from sleep.
“You’ll see. Our ride’s waiting.” I unlocked the cuff around her wrist, and she rubbed her wrist. “You’ve got five minutes to get ready. I’ll go grab some water. You’d better make sure to leave the bathroom door open, or I’ll make sure of it myself.”
She glared at me, then scurried out of the bed and toward the small bathroom.
She was quick on her feet, with minimal pain, and showed more agility today—no longer making slow movements that betrayed her dizziness. Good.
I chuckled. Bullying her, seeing her reactions, was more entertaining than it should’ve been. Maybe because she didn’t act like a sheltered princess—maybe because she was feisty and gave as good as she got, it was even more fun teasing her. She reminded me of my little sisters, Nina and Mila.
I grabbed the bottles of water, then made my way across the room and stopped just outside the half-open door. “You ready to go?”
She opened the door, glared at me, then nodded once, all business now. No complaints, no arguments. Just silent assessment and adaptation. I found myself oddly impressed again. “What? No escape attempt? No bomb built from shaving cream and toothpaste?”
She narrowed her brows even more, straightened, and got right into my face. “Just wait until I use the nail file I found on you.”
I raised one eyebrow and couldn’t suppress a smile. “Can’t wait to see what you can do with a toothbrush—ah, nail file.” Because I knew, apart from a toothbrush, there wasn’t anything else in there that she could potentially use as a weapon.
I handed her a fresh pair of socks—the only thing available to cover her feet—then lifted her up and carried her protesting ass out of the cabin and into the car.
The drive to the airfield took forty minutes through winding side roads. She remained silent, staring out the window, likely memorizing the route. Smart girl. Always planning her next step.
When we arrived, the sleek Gulfstream waited on the private tarmac, engines already running. Two of our men stood at attention near the stairs. But what caught my attention was the slight figure being escorted from another vehicle.
My prisoner tensed beside me. She whispered somethingthat sounded like “Mira,” so softly, I almost missed it. Mira or Mia?
I studied the approaching woman—identical in every way to the one beside me. Same heart-shaped face, same dark eyes, same graceful movement, same curvy body. The only difference was the fear etched across her features, the hesitance in her step that my companion had never shown.
Wait…what?
The other woman froze for a fraction of a second when my prisoner opened her door, then bolted from the car.
I’d never seen anyone unbuckle themselves this fast. I followed a few steps behind.
