Grey’s eyebrow twitched slightly—the only visible sign of his displeasure.
“Why don’t you take the lead vehicle, go back with Roman, and clear things up, and I’ll handle our guests?” I asked.
Salvini looked over to me and narrowed his eyes before he turned his head back and stared straight ahead.
“What can be more important than accompanying our guests?” Mr. Grey said, not ready to give in.
“That is privileged information,” I announced, loud enough for Salvini to hear, and hopefully for Roman to catch it and arrange something. “We will be right behind you, escorting Mr. Salvini and his family.”
Mr. Grey gave me a side glance. But challenging my words would reveal too much, so he simply nodded.
Roman pulled up in the Jeep, his face a perfect mask of professional concern. Nina sat beside him, her posture rigid, eyes fixed straight ahead. Something was off about her behavior—too controlled, too careful. Did something happen?
“Sir,” Roman called Grey, “we have an urgent situation that requires your immediate attention.”
Grey’s lips thinned, but he maintained his façade of calm authority. “Very well.” He turned to our guests with practiced charm. “Please excuse me. Duty calls. Zotov will ensure your comfort until I return.”
Nina exited the passenger side and moved toward the other vehicles, her movements precise and economical, and Grey climbed into the Jeep with fluid grace that belied his age. As Roman accelerated away, I caught my brother’s eye in the rearview mirror—a split-second of silent communication. He’d understood my intention perfectly.
What struck me as odd was how Nina deliberately avoided looking at the Salvinis. Her gaze swept the airstrip, the vehicles, even me—but never once landed on Vince Salvini or any of the Salvini family.
For someone trained in intelligence gathering and social manipulation, this avoidance was glaring. Nina never missed an opportunity to assess potential threats or advantages. Her deliberate avoidance of the Salvini family felt calculated rather than coincidental.
I glanced at the Salvini family.
And sure enough, Matt Salvini was tracking her movement, his expression shifting almost imperceptibly. Recognition? Confusion? Or just plain, old interest? I couldn’t quite read it, but something passed across his features that raised my internal alarms.
This was not the first time those two had met. Somehow, somewhere, their paths had crossed before.
Nina slid behind the wheel of the third Jeep, still not acknowledging the Salvinis’ presence. Her knuckles whitened slightly on the steering wheel—the only crack in her perfect composure.
I filed this observation away for later investigation. Right now, I needed to focus on getting everyone safely to the compound and keeping Isabella as far away from Grey’s immediate influence as possible. Whatever history existed between Nina and the Salvinis would have to wait.
“Shall we?” I gestured toward the remaining vehicles, watching as the Salvini brothers exchanged subtle glances.
I couldn’t hang back, but luckily, Isabella marched on, and I fell in place next to her, trying to be inconspicuous about it.
And failed.
Vince Salvini narrowed his brows and stared at me sideways while he walked on Shorty’s other side, Jemma right by his side.
I stopped them right before we reached the first Jeep. “Isabella, Mirabella, would you do me the honor of riding with me? There’s an urgent matter to discuss,” I said.
Vince stepped forward and narrowed his eyes. “My sisters stay with me.”
I met his gaze steadily, then nodded. “I totally agree. It’s a five-minute drive. But there’s only space for three passengers per vehicle.” I shrugged with one shoulder as if it was completely inconsequential for me. “Jemma, would you do me the honor of riding with me instead?” I said and winked at her.
Jemma narrowed her eyes, then cocked her head. For some reason, Jemma wasn’t afraid of me at all. She also hadn’t been even when we first met at her uncle’s estate in Ireland.
Those Salvini women really were something else.
Vince’s expression darkened immediately, exactly as I’d anticipated. A muscle in his jaw twitched as he stepped forward, positioning himself slightly in front of his wife.
“You think I’d let my wife anywhere near you?” he growled, his voice dropping to that dangerous register that had made lesser men wet themselves.
I maintained an expression of mild interest as if his reaction was merely a curiosity rather than my intended outcome. “It was just a suggestion, Salvini. No need to get territorial.”
“Territorial?” Vince’s eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. “You kidnap my sisters, force me to come to this godforsaken island, and then you want private time with my wife? You’ve got some balls, Zotov.”
