The Jeeps waited in a neat row, their dark paint gleaming under the Mediterranean sun. On our way over to the compound would be the perfect opportunity for me to ask them what was going on.
My stomach tightened. I hated this. Hated to not know every detail, hated surprises, good or bad. And surely this was bad.
Roman lounged in the driver’s seat of the lead vehicle with his signature half-bored, easy grin, which he hid his intelligence and sharp focus under, and gave me a two-finger salute.
I nodded in response to him, then hung back when Grey led the Salvini twins to Roman’s Jeep and signaled for them to slide into the back before he settled into the passenger seat himself.
Yeah, the questioning session with my siblings would have to wait. I strode over and opened Roman’s door. “Out. I’mdriving.”
He raised an eyebrow but complied, reading the tension in my stance. I wanted—needed—to ride with my siblings, to figure out why they were here, but I couldn’t leave Grey alone with the twins.
The risk was too high—the risk or my protective instincts, which were screaming right now.
Grey didn’t show any visible reaction to the change in driver, but just because he didn’t show it, didn’t mean he wasn’t noticing my actions, calculating my intentions.
Through the rearview mirror, I caught Shorty’s subtle reaction when Nina walked past—a flash of surprise, quickly followed by insecurity.
What was that all about? As far as I knew, the Salvinis had never crossed paths with any of my siblings. She shouldn’t react to my sister by sight.
“I didn’t expect to see my family here.” I kept my tone casual as we pulled onto the winding road. I hadn’t wanted to expose too much, hadn’t even wanted Shorty to know I had family—too late now.
Grey’s lips curved in that particular smile that always meant trouble. “I thought a family vacation would be nice. It’s been too long since we all spent quality time together.”
My hands tightened on the wheel. A family vacation? Seriously?
If everything went according to plan, Vince Salvini, and maybe even the Falcone family, would arrive within days.
If Grey had brought my siblings here now…a chill ran down my spine as the implications hit. Was he expecting complications, and had he positioned my family as the first line of defense?
In the mirror, I watched Shorty lean forward slightly, her attention fixed on our conversation. Her eyes met mine briefly before darting away, but I caught the calculating look in them. She was filing each tidbit away like her life depended on it, was probably trying to piece everything together—something that made her pulse jump visibly at her throat.
The rest of the vehicles fell into formation behind us, an ominous parade heading up the mountain. Each mile increased the weight of Grey’s casual words about “family vacation.” This was neither the time nor the place for that. Why now? Why here?
Grey’s idea of a “proper welcome” really did include cocktails and forced socialization. He’d also had the compound’s pool area transformed into some twisted parody of a welcome party.
I signaled for Nina and Mila to stay with the twins, then hung back near the entrance while cataloging and watching Grey play gracious host. As Anton and Roman flanked me, I muttered, “What’s the old man’s game?”
“No idea.” Anton’s voice was barely audible. “He ordered us here.” His tone of voice betrayed the level of disbelief. “But on top of everything, the tech’s been glitching since yesterday. Random outages, system resets.”
Roman nodded slightly. “Like someone’s messing with the systems. Likely from the inside.”
I nodded. Pantelleria was a high-security facility. And the Paraskia Syndicate usually wasn’t amateur hour. Ever sincewe started operating for the Paraskia, we were introduced to expectations or long-term goals. Everything else, the strategies, the tactics, the planning, and the execution, we had done completely independently.
We weren’t operatives who were ordered around.
Usually…until now.
Everything about Grey’s behavior screamed odd.
His recklessness in taking the Salvini girls hostage. This sudden idea of “family time.” His obsession with Isabella Salvini.
Something about the Paraskia’s wish to bring the Salvinis into the fold, and Grey’s erratic behavior, and keeping secrets, didn’t mesh.
Timing-wise, location-wise, motivation-wise.
“What the fuck is going on?” I muttered under my breath, barely audible, so only Roman and Anton would catch it.
Both shrugged. The unspoken agreement passed between us—something smelled fishy, and none of us trusted anyone else. Period.
