I cataloged potential weapons in our vicinity—a heavy glass ashtray, a stony flower pot on a small pedestal, and the metal chairs themselves, if necessary. Old habits never died. Always know what can save your life if things go south.
Cristo didn’t waste time with pleasantries. The moment we were beyond earshot of the rest of the compound, he stepped directly into my personal space, close enough thatI could see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes. Pure intimidation tactic. I didn’t give him the satisfaction of stepping back.
“Let’s cut the bullshit, Zotov,” he said, voice low and dangerous. “What do you know about the trafficking operation Grey’s been running?”
The directness of the question caught me off guard. They knew more than I’d given them credit for, but why were they interested in the trafficking operation halfway around the world? And didn’t Shorty shut that down years ago? Why the interest now? Still, I maintained my composure, my face revealing nothing while my mind rapidly recalculated. “What trafficking operation?” I countered smoothly. “The one that got busted by Isabella a couple of years ago?”
Cristo’s eyes narrowed dangerously, muscles tensing beneath his expensive shirt. “What are you talking about? The one in Italy. The one that got the Donnelly girls. We’ve been tracking their network for months. Grey’s name appears quite high up the food chain.”
Vince stepped forward, his presence somehow more threatening because of its quietness. “The same operation that Sophie, Fee, Cara, and Jemma were kidnapped and trapped in.”
Fuck. This was unexpected even though it shouldn’t have been. Of course, the Falcones had been running their own investigation into the kidnapping of their women, likely for months, and they had connected Grey to those kidnappings? That was new—or rather, information Grey had deliberately kept from me by sending me on fool’s errands.
I side-eyed Anton. “You aware of this?”
Anton shook his head and gave Cristo a sharp glance. “And here I thought we were friends.”
Cristo grimaced. “Just because we’re friends, doesn’t mean I tell you everything.”
Fair. I reassessed the players before me. I thought they wanted to talk about Isabella and me. But these weren’t just angry family members; they were members of the most powerful Mafia families. Strategic operators who’d been gathering intelligence for a vendetta while I’d been oblivious. Know your enemy. That was rule number one and something I’d failed at. The realization burned like acid.
I made a calculated decision. Sometimes, the best defense is selective truth.
“We didn’t look into that specific operation any deeper,” I admitted and watched their reactions carefully. “But we’ve been looking into Grey. And he’s been running unauthorized operations. But?—”
Matt scoffed, the sound sharp with disbelief. “So you knew and did nothing?”
His accusation stung more than it should have. I glanced at Anton. He’d been to Italy, had established a connection with Gabe and Cristo Falcone. If anything, he should’ve been aware. But even if, it wouldn’t have changed things. My mission was to get to Vince Salvini. So even if I had been aware, I probably wouldn’t have interfered in the matter.
And without solid proof against Grey, my hands would’ve been tied anyway—not unlike right now. The Paraskiawasn’t a place where unfounded accusations thrived—those who made them tended to disappear.
I felt Anton shift slightly behind me, moving closer in silent support. The subtle movement wouldn’t be noticed by most, but these men weren’t most people. There was a slight adjustment of Matt’s weight to his forward foot, the imperceptible flex of Alex’s fingers, the way Cristo’s gaze had sharpened, predatory and focused.
“That’s not what’s been happening,” I said, keeping my voice even. “We’re gathering evidence right now to prove Grey’s actions went against Paraskia protocols. But I didn’t know he was responsible for what happened to your women.”
From the corner of my eye, I noticed Alex watching silently from the perimeter. His calculating gaze reminded me of a predator assessing weaknesses, determining the precise moment to strike. Unlike the others, he hadn’t revealed his hand yet. You always had to watch the quiet ones.
Even though, according to his file, he was known as a hothead. What had changed? His marriage to Fee Donnelly? His status as the head of the Moretti family? Things like that could change a man.
The breeze stiffened, carrying the scent of brine and tropical flowers. Cristo shared a look with Vince who nodded before he continued. “We’ve been tracking this operation for months. New players keep surfacing—complex networks across multiple countries. Each time we get close, key players disappear.”
He tapped something on his phone, then held it up, showing a complex network diagram. Names, locations,shipping containers, bank accounts—all interconnected in an intricate web. So that was what Cristo and Gabe Falcone had been working on? The level of detail suggested months of careful intelligence gathering.
“Disappeared like someone was tipping them off,” Alex added, his implication clear.
I studied the diagram without touching the phone. Several nodes looked familiar—operations that had been shut down by the Paraskia over the years. Operations that should not be active.
My mind raced. If trafficking was Grey’s side hustle of choice, the easiest way would be to reactivate busted operations. Use the Paraskia to put the hammer down on those unauthorized operations, then swoop in to take over.
Fuck.
The weight of this realization settled like lead in my stomach. Grey’s obsession with Isabella—he urgently needed her skills to do what? Find out if the Paraskia was onto him? Get his hands on intel? Or cover his tracks?
“That trafficking operation is most likely not the only unauthorized operation he’s running,” I said carefully. “That’s probably why he specifically needs Isabella’s abilities.”
Vince’s expression hardened instantly. “What abilities?”
I paused, realizing I’d stepped into dangerous territory. I’d assumed at least Vince knew since Jemma probably knew. Shit. The momentary silence stretched, filled only by the distant crash of waves and the soft rustle of palm leaves overhead.
