[Isabella's POV]
I sat on the edge of my massive, circular bed in the master stateroom, my legs crossed, the gold-plated Desert Eagle resting casually on my lap.
The room was a masterpiece of opulent design—mirrored ceilings, crushed velvet walls, and a panoramic glass wall that looked out over the dark, churning Mediterranean. But I wasn't looking at the ocean. I was staring at the massive flat-screen monitor mounted on the wall, watching the live security feeds from the lower decks.
I was mesmerized.
Jake Hart was a force of nature. He moved through my ship not like a tactical operative, but like a predator that had finally been let off its leash. I watched him walk directly into an ambush in the lower corridors, his posture so utterly devoid of fear that my own Spetsnaz mercenaries hesitated. I watched him fire with a cold, mechanical precision that bordered on the divine.
