It was a simple question. With, theoretically, a simple answer. Paying back the debt I owed to a child who’d saved me without knowing it. Only I couldn’t tell her that, not right now, not without context. And there was another reason. Something else entirely—something I wasn’t ready to acknowledge.
“Let’s just say I have my reasons,” I replied, turning back to face the road ahead.
Once we reached the compound, Grey was already waiting.
I could hear Shorty’s sharp inhale and her holding her breath as soon as she saw him.
“Never let him catch you alone, promise me,” I whispered.
She sighed. “I know,” she whispered before she opened the door and exited the vehicle, and I did the same.
I stood next to her—positioned myself between her and Grey—until the rest of the convoy arrived, then we moved as a group toward the compound’s main building.
“There will be formal negotiations after everyone’s settled,” I announced, loud enough for both Grey and Vince to hear. “The conference room is being prepared as we speak.”
Grey nodded his approval while Vince’s eyes narrowed slightly. He didn’t trust this setup—smart man.
“My team will escort your family to their accommodations,” I continued. “We’ve prepared the east wing for your comfort.”
The east wing—farthest from Grey’s quarters and closest to where my siblings and I and Isabella and Mirabella stayed. Another calculated move that Grey wouldn’t miss.
I evaluated each of the Salvini men as they passed by. This was a powder keg, ready to explode.
I guided Shorty along the path, hyperaware of every inch between us.
Grey turned back and glanced at her.
And she tensed beside me, her shoulder brushing against my arm. The brief contact sent an unwelcome jolt through my system. I’d spent years compartmentalizing emotions, separating the mission from the man. Now those carefully constructed walls were crumbling when I could least afford the distraction.
Yet here I was, positioning myself between her and Grey at every opportunity. Risking his suspicion. Compromising everything.
And why? Because somehow, Shorty’s safety had become more important than everything else.
She had become more important.
The realization hit me with the force of a physical blow. I’d crossed a line I couldn’t uncross. If Grey discovered what I knew—what I felt—where my loyalties lay—he wouldn’t hesitate to get me out of the way. And Shorty and my family would pay the price for my weakness.
My siblings would be in danger if I failed.
I glanced at Shorty, walking beside me with her chin held high despite the fear I knew churned beneath the surface. She was the child who had saved us without knowing it and was the woman who now needed saving, or at least protection.
I groaned, and she side-eyed me.
Everything had shifted irrevocably. I needed to protect her from Grey while ensuring the safety of my family and hers. And to do that, I needed to understand what Grey truly wanted.
Not the Salvini operations. Not the Paraskia’s agenda.
Isabella. Specifically Isabella.
What made her so valuable to him? What was he really after?
17
ISABELLA
The sun beat down on us as we lounged by the pool, and I experienced, maybe for the first time since leaving La Dimora, a rare moment of relaxation.
Jemma, Mila Zotov, and Fee were engaged in some heated debate about drinks, of all things. Apparently, each had some preferences according to their homelands—which was hilarious to witness.
