It had been just another fight day. Just another day I had been prepared to die, protecting Mila and Nina, who were huddled on one side with Anton and Roman flanking them.
I could still hear the guards shouting as they burst in that day. The raid had been pure chaos—flashing lights, shouting, gunfire.
Grey had appeared like a superhero, calm amid the storm. With raised hands and a kind voice. He’d met us at eye level. Treated us like human beings.
I hadn’t thought about that day in so long. Had never given any deeper thought into how they’d come to find us.
We’d been rescued because someone—a child—cared.
I leaned back and crossed my arms. And not just any child. It had been Isabella—at eight years old—who had set us free with a scrap of paper, a scribbled message, and a URL most other eight-year-olds wouldn’t have been able to memorize.
I stared at the childish handwriting until my vision blurred. “Bad men hurt children here.” So simple. So brave. Especially for a little Mafia princess, who probably learned not to trust the police.
While I’d been fighting to survive, she’d been fighting to save us without even knowing who we were.
My hands trembled. I gripped the edge of the desk to steady them, feeling something crack inside me. All these years of loyalty, of following Grey and serving the Paraskia Syndicate had started on this day. And to know it had been her—this fierce, defiant woman who’d just sacrificed herself to protect her sister.
The same woman I’d kidnapped. Threatened. Kissed.
A laugh escaped me, hollow and broken. The universe had a twisted sense of humor. Isabella Salvini had saved me as a child, and now what?
I pushed back from the desk, suddenly unable to breathe. The walls of my room seemed to close in, the air thick with memories of the past and implications I wasn’t ready to face. I needed space. Distance. Room to think without the ghost of Isabella’s kiss haunting me or the weight of this revelation crushing my chest.
I grabbed my jacket and headed for the door. The hallway stretched before me, silent and dark at this hour. My footsteps echoed against the polished floor as I made my waytoward the kitchen. Maybe a drink would steady my nerves, help me think clearly about what to do next.
Our own little security room was on the way, its door slightly ajar, blue light spilling into the corridor. I should have walked past. Should have kept my eyes forward. But some magnetic pull drew my gaze to the wall of monitors inside.
There she was.
Isabella paced her room like a caged tiger, five steps one way, turn, five steps back. Her hair hung loose around her shoulders, still damp from the shower she must have taken. She pushed it back impatiently, her movements sharp with restless energy. Even through the grainy security feed, I could see the tension in her shoulders, the fierce determination in her stride.
She paused at the window, staring out at the darkness. I moved closer to the monitor—zoomed in. Her face was mirrored in the window, and for a moment, her mask slipped. Vulnerability flashed across her features—a glimpse of the woman who had cuddled against me in an attempt to ward off the cold. She hung her head, which stirred something inside of me.
My feet started to turn, and I walked toward the exit, toward her, before I caught myself.
No. I couldn’t face her now. Not when everything I thought I knew was crumbling around me. Not when I could still taste her on my lips and felt the phantom warmth of her body against mine.
I forced myself to keep walking past the door, each step away from her a conscious effort. I wasn’t ready to face her.Too raw. Too emotional. I needed some distance from a truth I wasn’t ready to confront. Because right now, I wasn’t sure if I could remain on opposing sides. And what to do next?
I made my way to the kitchen and found my siblings sprawled across the living area’s couches, the glow of the television washing over them. Some action movie played at low volume, but none of them seemed particularly invested. Anton and Roman were passing a bag of chips back and forth while Mila and Nina argued about something in hushed tones. It had been a while since all of us had been together like this. Like family. And even though we weren’t related by blood. The circumstances that made us choose each other, that made us form this family, made our bond stronger than if we were siblings by blood.
“Look what the cat dragged in,” Anton called out when he spotted me hovering in the doorway. “Our fearless leader graces us with his presence.”
I grunted in response, making a beeline for the bar cart. I poured myself two fingers of vodka, feeling their eyes on my back.
“Rough night?” Roman asked, his voice carefully neutral. Too neutral. They were already reading me and assessing me.
I knocked back half the vodka in one swallow. “Just needed a drink.”
“Must be something in those files,” Mila said, her eyes narrowing as she studied my face. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I’m fine,” I muttered, but the words sounded hollow even to my own ears.
Anton sat up straighter. “Bullshit. You’re wound tighter than a spring. What happened? Finally realized she’s too young for you?”
I took another sip, buying time. The vodka burned a path down my throat but did nothing to ease the chaos in my head.
My siblings waited, watching me with the patient focus of predators.
