Vince snorted, but the sound lacked its earlier hostility. “Don’t push it, Zotov.”
“The Paraskia was never meant to be what Grey has used it for,” I continued. “Your grandfathers created something noble that he’s corrupted. Bringing him down serves both our interests.”
The sudden whirring of helicopter blades broke the momentary peace. All of us tensed instinctively. Anton’s phone buzzed. He answered, spoke briefly, then ended the call.
“Grey just left by helicopter,” Anton announced.
Urgency surged through me, but alongside it came immediate unease. “That’s not his usual MO for traveling to Italy,” I said, frowning. “Keep tabs on his flight path.”
Grey always traveled to Italy by private jet—a matter of comfort, speed, and preference. The helicopter would take much longer, which felt off given Grey’s urgency. The timing felt wrong.
Cristo and Vince exchanged concerned glances, sensing that my reaction held significant meaning. They weren’t wrong.
“We should move now,” I urged. “Grey’s departure gives us a window. Isabella and I can access the system, see what he’s been hiding.”
The men nodded in agreement though the trust between us remained fragile. We began walking back toward the pool area where the women had gathered.
Cristo and Alex led, with Matt and Dom behind them.
Anton, Vince, and I walked slightly behind.
“Have Mila set up secure access in the communications room,” I instructed Anton quietly. “Make sure Nina checks and monitors for any surveillance Grey might have left behind.”
Anton nodded, his expression serious. “Should we report his departure, as well?”
I considered this carefully. “Not yet. Let’s confirm what we’re dealing with first.”
I moved to follow when Vince’s hand closed around my upper arm, his grip firm. “A word,” he said, his tone leaving no room for refusal.
I nodded to Anton to continue without me, then turned to face Vince Salvini. His eyes, so similar to Isabella’s in color but lacking her intelligence, assessed me coldly.
“I see how you look at my sister,” he said once we were alone.
I maintained a neutral expression despite the internal conflict his words triggered. Denial would sound hollow. Confirmation would end our fragile alliance before it had begun. The memory of Bella’s body against mine last night threatened to break my professional façade.
“Keep your hands off her,” Vince continued, his voice dropping to a dangerous register. “Whatever game you’re playing, she’s off-limits.”
The possessiveness in his tone triggered an unexpected surge of irritation. Isabella wasn’t a chess piece to be controlled or handled without agency. She’d made her choices last night, just as I had. Still, antagonizing her brother now would be counterproductive.
I had a split second to decide my approach. The truth would probably detonate everything. Plus, I needed to discuss things with Shorty first. “This isn’t a game,” I said evenly. “But as a brother, I understand your concern.”
Strategic ambiguity. Neither confirming nor denying his suspicions while acknowledging his position. The response seemed to satisfy him, for now.
“It would be easier if she wasn’t so determined to put herself in danger,” I added, unable to completely suppress my frustration with her recklessness.
Something shifted in Vince’s expression—recognition, perhaps, of a shared exasperation. “She’s always been headstrong.”
I nodded. “Not unlike your wife.”
That made Vince smile. “I’ve noticed.”
A moment of understanding passed between us—two men who cared about women who seemed determined to court danger. It didn’t make us friends, but it created a thread of connection.
“How do you handle Jemma?” I asked.
“Not the topic of conversation,” he said, then narrowed his brows. “We’re not friends, Zotov.”
I nodded and mentally calculated just how fucked up this situation really was. No way would Vince Salvini ever be okay with his sister dating a thug like me—one that he hated.
