“You know computers?” I asked, secretly delighted by her reaction. Easiest way to catch a nerd—show them a quantum computer fridge.
She shrugged—was probably mentally kicking herself. “Everyone knows computers these days.”
Everyone knew computers, but not everyone would know the housing of a quantum computer.
So maybe Isabella Salvini wasn’t Iset after all.
“Ladies,” Grey said smoothly, his predatory focus fully on the twins. “Your brother has been quite insistent about speaking with you. We’ve arranged a brief call to assure him of your well-being.”
I stepped forward, positioning myself between Grey and the twins. “I’ll handle the call,” I said and gestured toward the corridor. “This way.”
As Shorty passed me, our eyes locked for a heartbeat. The challenge in her gaze, the subtle tilt of her chin—a fighter to her core. If one of these women was secretly a digital phantom capable of bringing organizations to their knees, I’d bet everything I had it wasn’t the quiet, bookish twin Grey was so fixated on. It was the fierce little wildcat who’d already proven she’d burn the world down to create an opportunity to escape.
I directed the twins to one of the secure communications rooms. The space was compact but efficiently arranged—a single monitor and camera set up on a metal desk, surrounded by electromagnetically shielded walls that prevented any unauthorized signals from penetrating in or out.
“As soon as you’re ready, we’ll video-call him,” I said, watching their reactions carefully.
The quieter twin reached for Shorty’s hand, squeezing it tightly. Shorty squeezed back, and I caught the calculating look in her eyes—wheels turning, planning something—not the behavior of someone who’d been dragged unwillingly into her sister’s schemes.
“Can we speak to him privately?” Shorty asked, her tone casual but her eyes sharp.
I couldn’t help the slight curl of my lips. Clever girl, testing boundaries even now. “No. I will be present for the entire call.” I studied her face, looking for tells. “Why? Got something you don’t want me to hear?”
“Duh. Of course I’d rather speak to my brother in private.” The eye roll that accompanied her words was pure attitude, nothing like the shy twin Grey was so fixated on and currently staring at.
“Well, tough luck, Shorty. No way I’m letting you weasel yourself into doing anything reckless again.” I thought of our little episode on the plane, her nighttime swimming, her constant pushing against every constraint. This woman was a natural-born con artist.
“Weasel myself? You’re the weasel, actually,” she said.
The unexpected retort in front of everyone triggered something primitive in me. I moved toward her, deliberately using my size to my advantage.
Her pupils widened, and she instinctively stepped back.
The memory of last night flashed into my mind—her naked body pressed against mine in the pool, water droplets clinging to her skin, the challenging tilt of her chin even then. The way she’d looked at my lips…
She stopped retreating and rose to her tiptoes, glaring up at me with those fierce eyes without a trace of fear—just pure defiance and something else. Was she enjoying this weird dance we were dancing as much as I was? Hell if her defiance wasn’t sexy as hell.
My blood heated despite my best efforts to remain professional.
I wanted her out of here, away from too many eyes, out from under Grey’s thumb—because he sure as shit was monitoring everything—preferably just me and her alone in a room, naked.
Which was pure madness.
I pulled my mind back out of the gutter. “No funny business, Shorty. I mean it. Just say you’re well and alive, and we’ll end the whole thing.” I kept my voice low,aware of the other twin watching our interaction with wide eyes.
“You don’t tell me what I can or can’t say to my brother, got it?” She raised her chin up in defiance, reminding me of a tiny warrior princess preparing for battle.
Her sister made a noise that sounded like a deer in distress.
She glanced at her sister, whose face had paled noticeably during our confrontation, and something shifted in Shorty’s expression—a flicker of concern, a protective instinct, or maybe just the awareness that whatever we were doing was not nothing. She sidestepped me and squeezed her sister’s hand reassuringly before settling into the chair facing the monitor.
“We’re ready,” she announced, all business now.
I nodded, then made the split-second decision to use my phone rather than the facility’s equipment. I positioned the phone in front of her and initiated the connection while I watched her and her twin carefully.
Shorty’s body language shifted subtly as she waited—she squared her shoulders and clenched her jaw doggedly.
The screen flickered to life, revealing Vincenzo Salvini’s hard features, tension radiating from him even through the digital connection. Beside him sat his new wife, Jemma, her green eyes alert and watchful.
