“Does Grey know she’s with me?” I asked immediately, keeping my voice low as we moved down the hallway.
Anton’s expression tightened. “Nobody told him, but after everything that went down and considering his obsession with her? I wouldn’t be surprised if he knows exactly on which side of the bed she slept.”
A memory flashed through my mind—the way Grey had insisted on taking over the Salvini case himself, the unusual resources he’d dedicated to it. It had seemed excessive even then, before I knew what I know now. And then his face, his eyes, the way he’d looked at Isabella.
I straightened my shoulders, locked away the tenderness of the morning, and became the cold operative Grey had taught me to be. The transition was familiar, practiced—a mental door closing between who I was with Isabella and who I needed to be now. But for the first time, the door wouldn’t close completely. A sliver of that other self remained, watching, judging, hating Grey with an intensity I rarely allowed myself to feel.
“Brief me,” I said to Anton as we walked.
“He arrived unannounced ten minutes ago. No advance warning, no communication. Just showed up with two guards I’ve never seen before. They’re waiting outside.” Anton’s voice dropped lower. “He seems agitated—probably knows he’s lost control and is in potential deep shit.”
We entered the family room where Grey waited. My siblings were already there—Mila perched on the arm of a chair, her posture deliberately casual; Nina leaning against the wall, eyes watchful; Roman seated at the table with his laptop, fingers moving across the keyboard in a pattern that told me he was running code rather than actual work.
I exchanged glances with each of them—silently communicated with them.
A slight lift of Mila’s eyebrow said,What’s happening?A microscopic shake of my head said,Not now.A fractional narrowing of Nina’s eyes:Be careful.A barely perceptible nod from Roman:System’s secure.
Grey stood by the window, positioned so the morning light silhouetted him dramatically and would blind me while looking at him. Always the tactician, always staging for maximum psychological effect. His hands were clasped behind his back, his profile sharp against the brightness outside.
“Ivan,” he acknowledged without turning. “You took your time.”
I looked at my watch. It wasn’t even 7 a.m. What was he expecting? Even though if today were a day like every other, I would’ve been up since five and would’ve completed my workout already. “I was sleeping in.” My voice revealed nothing—not the hatred, not the suspicion, nor the protective rage coiled like a spring in my chest.
Grey turned then, his eyes scanning me with clinical precision. “Yes, I imagine you were.” His lips curved in a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Enjoyed your night?”
The question carried a knowing edge that made my hand twitch. I wanted to lunge for his throat, to demand how he knew, to make him pay for every moment of pain he’d caused Shorty.
Instead, I remained impassive, my face a practiced mask. “Is there a reason for this unscheduled visit, sir?”
Grey’s eyes narrowed slightly at my deflection. He moved away from the window, stepping closer to me, invading my space in a calculated power move.
“The Salvini and Falcone families have proven more…taxing than anticipated,” he said.
I kept my expression neutral, but my mind raced. More taxing? What did he expect? For Isabella to just give him what he wanted and the rest of the Salvinis to just lie down and take whatever crap he was feeding them?
“I fail to see how that constitutes a surprise,” I said. “The way we treated them doesn’t help facilitate a positive attitude toward whatever the Paraskia Syndicate is proposing.”
Grey’s eyes flashed—a momentary crack in his composed façade. I’d struck a nerve, reminding him of the organizational objectives his personal agenda was compromising. To say it nicely.
“You fail to see quite a few things lately,” Grey said coldly. “Sadly, there’s a matter more pressing that requires my personal attention. Your orders remain the same. Keep the Salvinis on the island until I return.”
“Return?” I echoed, keeping my tone neutral despite my internal alertness. He was leaving again? Making a run for it, or what?
“I’m needed in Italy for approximately twenty-four hours. A matter that requires my personal attention.” Grey’s gaze swept across the room, taking in my siblings’ carefully arranged postures of attentiveness. “That’s your only responsibility. Keep our guests here. Don’t let them leave.”
Did he really expect us to follow his orders? After everything? “It’s my understanding that the Paraskia wants cooperation with the Salvinis, not antagonism. Am I wrong about that? Holding them against their will is surely not the way to go.”
Grey narrowed his brows, letting me clearly see how fed up he was with me. “Your understanding is irrelevant,” he said.
“And Isabella?” I asked, the name feeling different on my tongue now. I shouldn’t single her out, but it was an opportunity for me to see how Grey would react to her name.
Grey’s eyes snapped back to mine, something dark and possessive flashing in them. “Are you asking for permission now?” He cackled. “I’m sure you’ve got her covered. Just continue what you’ve been doing. Keep her comfortable. Keep her…entertained. Just make sure she stays put.”
The innuendo in his tone made a nerve jump in my jaw and my hand form a fist, before I forced my body to relax. I smiled while I imagined how it would feel to drive that fist into his face, to watch blood spray from his nose, to hear the satisfying crack of cartilage. Instead, I nodded once. “Understood.”
Grey studied me for a long moment as if searching for something in my expression. Whatever he was searching for, he didn’t find it.
“I’ll be back tomorrow morning at the latest,” he said finally. “Don’t fuck this up, Zotov.” He paused, a malicious smile playing at his lips. “Though from what I hear, fucking seems to be your specialty lately.”
