“Your rooms are this way.” Mila gestured toward the separate building right next to ours. “Nina and I set them up earlier. You’ll be right next to us.”
Of course they did.
Good girls.
I exhaled and relaxed for the first time in what felt like forever.
The knowing smirks my brothers exchanged weren’t subtle.
“Getting territorial over a girl?” Roman muttered as he passed me. “That’s a new one.”
I shot him a warning look, but he just chuckled.
“Come on, we all saw how you intercepted Grey,” Anton, who flanked me on the other side, said. “Subtle as a sledgehammer, brother.”
Their assumptions about my interest being romantic rather than tactical irked me. They should know better than that.
But if Grey thought the same thing…that could be useful. Still, their teasing hit uncomfortably close to something I wasn’t ready to examine.
“Those Salvini twins are actually something else,” Anton said.
“How so?” I asked.
“Normal women would be intimidated or at least not behave as if they’re having Sunday tea with their kidnappers,” Anton said.
“They’re naturals at this,” Roman observed quietly. “Makes you wonder what other skills they’re hiding.”
I watched Shorty laugh at something Mila said, the sound, once again, doing dangerous things to my focus.
But then, Shorty turned her head and looked me straight in the eyes. No laughter in sight.
They were Mafia princesses. Of course, they knew how to hide their true feelings. So why did it feel like she didn’t hide them from me?
Or was she playing me?
But if she was banking on my growing need to protect her and her sister, wouldn’t she at least try to appear weaker and more vulnerable?
So then, was everything, including their easy camaraderie with my sisters, just a show?
And despite knowing all of this, despite knowing I’d barely seen her true feelings, why was keeping my professional distance becoming harder to maintain with each passing hour?
12
ISABELLA
Istared at the ceiling and listened to Mira’s steady breathing beside me. The moonlight filtered through the gauzy curtains, casting strange shadows across our room. Luxurious prison or not, it was still a cage. And the sweltering heat didn’t help either.
My fingers twitched with the need to do something, anything. Lying here, waiting for whatever Grey had planned for me and Mira, before the arrival of my family, made my skin crawl.
I needed intel, needed to understand. But before that, I could do some snooping, find out the layout, the security patterns, potential escape routes.
Everything and anything.
Mira shifted in her sleep and threw her blanket off, mumbling something that sounded like trivia about crocodiles.
My throat tightened. She looked so young, so vulnerable. I had to protect her, which meant finding out exactly what we were dealing with.
After another ten minutes of Mira’s deep, rhythmic breathing and I silently slipped from the bed. The marble floor was cool against my bare feet as I padded to the balcony doors. They weren’t locked—either overconfidence or a calculated risk, assuming no one would attempt to climb down from this height.
