“Vincenzo Salvini.” Grey extended his hand, his voice dripping with false warmth. “What a pleasure to finally meet you in person. I’ve heard so much about you and your family’s…operations.”
Vince didn’t take the offered hand. His face remained impassive, carved from marble. “Let’s cut the bullshit. I want my sisters released. Now.”
Grey’s smile didn’t falter, but something cold slithered behind his eyes. “Released? My dear boy, this isn’t a prison. Your sisters are our honored guests, as you all are. You’re free to leave whenever you wish.”
The lie hung in the air between us. I knew it. Vince knew it. Grey knew we knew it.
“We’ll be taking our leave then,” Vince replied, reaching for Isabella’s hand.
Grey’s attention shifted to Isabella, his gaze lingering too long, too intensely, before he switched back to Vince. “Ah, but we’ve barely had time to get acquainted. I was hoping we might have a private conversation before your departure.”
My jaw clenched, and I took another step, which brought me right next to Shorty.
Bullshit. His words were utter bullshit.
Yes, bringing Salvini here and securing his cooperation was—or should’ve been—the real reason for this entire meeting. Grey’s interest in Isabella was clear as day.
Vince Salvini was here following the Paraskia’s agenda, but Isabella was the one on Grey’s personal agenda.
Grey cocked his head and chuckled. “Your good friend Gabriele Falcone might not have mentioned why we’ve invited you, but I’m quite sure you want to hear what we have to offer,” he said, and his tone of voice gave me the ick.
Which was new. I’d always felt loyal to Grey, as well as the Paraskia; was that why I never looked at him too critically? But right now, I bet my left arm that he never cared about the Salvini crime family or their operations. Getting their cooperation was the Paraskia’s agenda. For him, this was all about Isabella. About getting his fingers on Iset.
I stood at the crossroads. Duty and lifelong loyalty pulled me in one direction; something else—something unfamiliar and dangerous—pulled me in another. My plan had always been to follow through. Complete this mission. Maintain my position and reputation within the organization that had given me purpose for over a decade. And then, once that was done, start our—hopefully—peaceful exit.
Or protect the woman who had unknowingly saved me as a child. The woman who, with her sharp wit and fierce protectiveness, had somehow wormed her way in and carved a space in my carefully controlled existence. But protecting her meant quite possibly triggering Grey’s and the Paraskia Syndicate’s antagonism. Which would not end well.
Grey stared at me, waited for me to step aside, to play my role in his game. Isabella’s gaze burned into my side; she was unaware of the turmoil inside of me.
I took a calculated half-step turn, placing myself slightly off-center of the triangle between Grey, Vince, and Isabella.
The move was calculated—positioning myself between her and Grey while establishing a direct line to Vince. Grey couldn’t dismiss me without undermining his own position.
At the same time, I was close enough to brush her arm with mine for a millisecond. A silent message: I’m here.
“Vince, maybe we should move this discussion to a conference room,” I suggested, my voice carrying just enough authority to draw his attention without challenging him directly. “The runway is hardly the best place for business negotiations, and I believe everyone could use refreshments after their journey.”
Grey’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. I’d disrupted his script, and he wasn’t pleased. But I was furthering his agenda, so he had no real reason to interfere.
“We’ve prepared a comprehensive briefing,” I continued smoothly, “and I believe our analysis will provide valuable context for our proposal.” I continued to stare at Vince. We locked eyes, and I hoped he’d understand, hoped he somehow knew I wasn’t the enemy here.
Vince narrowed his eyes, held my gaze, then nodded once. “You promised my wife paradise,” he said, his words a pure challenge. He was still mad. Not ready to give in. Then he glanced at Grey and back at me and raised an eyebrow.
Or maybe he understood more than he let on. “That I did,” I said with a smile.
“That is a plan, Zotov,” Grey said, his smile not reaching his eyes. “Lead the way.”
I nodded to Anton and Mila, our silent language perfectedover the years. They understood immediately, moving to flank the Salvini sisters as I gestured toward the convoy.
“It’s just a short ride,” I said while I invited them to the Jeeps.
I kept my face impassive as we approached the waiting vehicles. Four black Jeeps idled in a neat row, and my siblings, as drivers, stood at attention.
Just then, the fifth vehicle—with Roman and Nina—approached from the direction of the tower.
Perfect—the setup gave me room to maneuver.
I hung back until I was right next to Grey, then pushed the button on my comms and prayed Roman and Nina would catch what I tried to do. “Your presence is urgently needed at the compound,” I whispered to Grey.
