Chapter 213

Grayson’s POV

“Leave it alone, Grayson. You have your battles, and so does she.”

Isabella’s voice echoed in my head, a mantra against recklessness. I stared at the picture, then muttered, “Screw it.”

I turned to Elaine. “We’re going to Italy.”

Her eyes widened. “What?”

I was already moving, phone in hand, making calls. Elaine caught up, her heels clicking on the marble. “Wait—Italy? Why? Shouldn’t we pack?”

“Everything’s provided,” I said, not slowing. “No time to waste.”

Ricardo wasn’t the threat he once was, but he was still Ricardo—unpredictable and dangerous. He wasn’t pleased with recent events, and I’d been too distracted to fully honor our agreement. But that wasn't my biggest concern. Ava was in Italy. With Ricardo.

Elaine’s frustration mounted. “You can’t just announce a trip to Italy and expect no questions, Grayson!”

I didn’t answer. Her voice softened. “Is this about Ava?”

I hesitated. “Of course it is,” she groaned. “Are you even making logical decisions?”

I glared. She threw up her hands. “Fine. But tell me what I'm being dragged to Italy for.”

I increased my pace. “Ricardo’s in Italy. With Ava.”

Elaine blinked. “Aren’t you two…allies?”

I exhaled sharply. “Ricardo’s not my friend. The circumstances are complicated. I don’t trust him. She shouldn’t be near him.”

“Ava’s not a kid, Grayson,” Elaine retorted. “You don’t decide who she’s near. And let’s be real, she probably doesn’t want you near her either.”

I ignored her. I called the jet service. “Prepare the jet. We leave in an hour.” A gruff confirmation followed.

Elaine scoffed. “No plan? No strategy? You’re just going to barge in and…stare at her?”

“I need to make sure she’s okay,” I said, ignoring her sarcasm.

“Yeah, because she's so helpless,” Elaine scoffed.

The drive to the airstrip was short. The jet was ready. “Everything good?” I asked the pilot.

He nodded. “Checked twice, sir.”

“Sure?” I pressed.

“Yes, sir.”

I boarded, relief washing over me. Elaine followed, her eyes wide.

“You’re really rich,” she murmured.

“And?” I frowned.

She shrugged. “And it’s weird.”

I sat, running a hand over my face. Eight hours to figure out what to do. I had no plan. No idea what to say. But I knew one thing: I was about to grovel.