Chapter 30
Thirty
JULIAN
It’s been weeks since I stayed here at the mansion, and I need to check in on things before I have a realtor come out here to list it.
I can’t live here. She’s embedded in every inch of this house. Her music, her laughter. Jesus, I can still smell her.
And it makes me ache.
I should storm over to her father’s house, demand he hand her over to me, kill the fucker, and bring her back here. Paddle her ass for betraying me and then fuck her into submission.
That actually sounds really good.
If no one had been hurt because of her little stunt, I might be able to find a way to work through it, but damn it, my men died.
Because of her.
Frustrated with myself, I push my hands through my hair and then notice the sun sparkle off something on the floor. When I get close, I see that it’s her necklace, and I scoop it up and roll it around in my palm.
The one with the listening device in it.
She must have dropped it when she fell. The chain is broken from her father ripping it off her neck.
I could hack into it and hear her voice.
I fucking miss her sweet voice. I feel like a complete idiot for not hating her guts and wanting her to suffer.
I want to feel those things.
But I don’t.
Without overthinking or beating myself up about it, I walk back to my office and turn on all my equipment, then pull out the device that will scramble the one in the pendant and get to work hacking into the software attached to it.
I want to hear her.
Maybe if I actually hear the words that she was selling me out to her father come out of her fuckable little mouth, I can find the hate I so desperately need right now.
It takes me a while, but soon, I have the audio files pulled up on my computer, and I cue it up to that last day, around lunchtime when she met with her father behind my back.
“Does Julian discuss business around you, malyshka?”
I narrow my eyes at the sound of his voice and lean in closer to the computer, riveted.
“No, he doesn’t do much work from home. Is that why you brought me here?”
“How much time do you spend with the other three men?”
“None.”
She lied to him. She spent a lot of time with my brothers, and I do most of my work from my home office.
She lied to him.
My stomach starts to roll as I keep listening. His words turn more and more abusive, spewing nothing but lies and hate, trying to convince her that she’s worthless, that I don’t care about her, and making it clear that he hates her.
“You’re my father.”
“And you’re my pawn,” he says, his voice hard. “Now, you go back there, and you listen to everything that goes on in that house. You ask questions. You get information. And then you feed it to me. If I’m satisfied with your work, I won’t let Julian kill you.”
“No.”
I sit back in shock at the hardness in Natasha’s voice.
She told him no.
Fuck me, she told him no.
“No, I won’t spy on my husband for you. He may be a bad man, and he might throw me out when he’s done with me, but I won’t betray him.”
“So, you’ll betray me?”
“I’ve already done what you asked. I married him. That’s all I’ll do for you.”
I make myself listen to the last of it. He makes it clear that she’s not welcome at his home ever again, and I fucking sent her there.
Spiraling, I stand and pace my office, my hands pushing through my hair and over my mouth, wrapping my mind around the fact that she didn’t betray me.
She was upset that day because her abusive-as-fuck father had taken verbal punches at her at lunch, not because she was keeping something from me.
She was fucking upset.
And then I kicked her out.
Jesus, did he kill her when she was dumped off at his house?
Is my wife fucking dead?
Shaking my head, I reach for my phone and dial her number, but it goes straight to voicemail. I’m about to suck it up and call Sergei when my phone rings with an incoming call.
Elliott.
With a sigh, I accept. “Hey, now’s not a great time, I’ll have—”
“Dad, I’m calling about Natasha.”
I stop cold. “What’s going on?”
“Listen, I don’t know what’s going on with you two, but I saw her a few hours ago, and she . . . she wasn’t right, Dad. She’s sick, and she was so fucking scared of me.”
My entire fucking world tilts off its axis.
“Where was she?” I demand, already walking through the house toward my car.
“At a pharmacy, getting some medicine.” He gives me the area, and I scowl.
“What the fuck is she doing on that side of town? Wait, what are you doing over there?”
“I needed a prescription, and the doctor’s office sent it to the wrong place.
Had to hunt it down. Anyway, I don’t know what Natasha is doing over there, but she didn’t have enough money for her meds, so I paid for them and tried to give her the cash back that she’d spilled onto the counter, but she wouldn’t let me near her.
Dad, she looks really bad. Skinny and fragile. ”
What the fuck have I done?
“Did you see where she went?”
“Yeah, she walked across the street to a motel. She must be staying there? I can show you.”
“Send me your location, and I’ll meet you there. You said this was hours ago?”
Elliott clears his throat. “I’m sorry, but you warned me to stay away from her, and I didn’t want to piss you off. But—”
“You did the right thing. Fuck. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
I hang up and call my finance guy.
“Hello, Mr. Stavros.”
“When is the last time my wife used her credit card?”
I can hear tapping on keys in the background and then he says, “Roughly three weeks ago.”
“And what did she spend it on?”
“There were three charges that day. She spent six grand at Chanel, and then thirty dollars each on two Uber rides.”
My wife took a fucking rideshare, by herself.
“And nothing since?”
“No, sir.”
I hang up and dial Benji’s number. He’s the one who was supposed to take Natasha home.
“Boss.”
“I gave you instructions to take my wife to her father’s home.”
“Yes, sir, we did.”
“Did you take her to the front door?”
There’s a pause. “No, we left her at the gate. Pulled her out of the car and dumped her bags with her, then left.”
I end the call and fist my hands around the wheel, driving entirely too fast into the city. Jesus fucking Christ, what have I done?
Elliott waves me down as I pull into the parking lot, and when I slam out of the car and race toward him, he points to the door marked Eight.
“She’s in there,” he says. “At least, she was earlier this afternoon.”
I nod and gesture for him to follow me. The lock on the flimsy doorknob is nothing at all to jimmy open, and when I push inside the room, revulsion rolls through me.
“Fuck,” Elliott whispers behind me.
The room isn’t just old. It’s musty and dirty. Dark. Her bags lie just inside, mostly untouched, some white clothes spilled out the top of one of them.
And my girl is on the bed, on her side, curled up in a ball.
“Call Dr. Asgood,” I bark at Elliott, all calm gone from my voice, “and tell her to meet us at the infirmary with a full staff.”
“On it,” he says as I approach Natasha, not wanting to scare her. “Baby, I need you to wake up.”
She’s thrashing her head side to side, and she’s so fucking sweaty. She’s soaked through her clothes and the bedding. Her phone is beside the bed, but it’s dead, and I slip it into my pocket.
“Natasha,” I say a little louder as I press my hand to her head. “Christ, you’re burning up, baby.”
“Asgood will meet us there and will be on standby,” Elliott says. “What do we do?”
“Grab her things and put them in your car. I’m going to carry her out to mine.”
My son nods and immediately follows my orders, and I push my arms under my wife. She’s wearing a brace on one wrist, and a dirty towel is wrapped around her other hand. Her hair is full of sweat, and when I pull her against me, she’s clearly lost weight.
Too much weight. She’s not eating. Is it because she didn’t think she could afford it? Fuck, I should be tortured for years for what I’ve put her through.
“Baby, I’m so fucking sorry.”
She whimpers and buries her face in my chest for a moment, but then she opens her eyes and shrinks back when she sees me, tries to get out of my arms.
“No. Nonono. I didn’t do anything.”
“I know. I know, Angel. I’m not going to hurt you. I promise, I won’t hurt you.”
“Can’t fight you,” she says, shaking her head. “It hurts.”
“Baby, I’m so sorry. We’re going to fix you up. I’m going to fix this.”
I carry her out of that godforsaken room and out to my car just as Elliott shuts his trunk.
“Hey! Where the fuck do you think you’re taking her!” The tiniest woman I’ve ever seen comes running out of a neighboring room, scowling at us.
“I’m taking her home,” I reply coolly. “She’s my wife.”
She stops short, and her jaw drops in surprise. She eyes my car, and then scowls up at me. “You drive that, and your wife was living here? Asshole.”
She shakes her head and starts to walk away, but then turns back.
“I guess she won’t be coming to work next week?”
My entire body goes very still.
“And what work would that be?”
“She was working for me. Cleaning rooms in exchange for her rent.” She shrugs, and my stomach flips again at the thought of my gorgeous wife cleaning rooms in this filth, just to keep a roof over her head. “Be nice to her, yeah? She’s a good one.”
“Fuck,” Elliott says, which is exactly what I was thinking.
Natasha’s teeth chatter as I lower her into the car. I don’t want to let go of her, but I have to get her back to my building so Dr. Asgood can examine her.
“I’ll follow you over,” Elliott says, and all I can do is nod as I sprint to the other side of the car and get behind the wheel.
Natasha whimpers again, clearly in pain and uncomfortable from the fever, and it makes my already-broken heart ache.
“Did I die?” she whispers, and I whip my gaze over to find her watching me through glassy eyes. “Or is this a dream? You smell so good.”
“Neither.”
“Are you going to hurt me?”
“No.” Christ, I’ll keep reminding her over and over again. “No, Angel, I won’t hurt you. I’m going to get you some help.”
“Can’t afford a hospital,” she whispers, and then she’s asleep once more.
If I could, I’d string myself up and slowly, very fucking painfully, skin myself alive.
I make a quick call to Rome and give him the watered down version of the past hour, and after he swears in my ear, he promises to tell the others, and then hangs up on me.
Yeah, I’m pissed at me too.
As soon as I pull into the underground garage, my car is surrounded by my men, including Jack, who has a gurney waiting for us.
“How—”
“Elliott called me.”
I glance over at my son and give him a nod. His eyes are filled with worry as he nods back, and then we work as a team to get Natasha on the rolling bed and up to the medical care that’s waiting for her.
My brothers and I hired Dr. Asgood years ago. She’s exclusively on our payroll and is on call for us twenty-four seven. She’s an amazing doctor, and she’s discreet, which makes her perfect for our organization.
“Over here,” the doctor says as we walk inside, gesturing for us to roll Natasha to the corner where four other medical staff are waiting. “What do we know?”
“Not much,” I reply grimly. “We found her like this. I have no idea what her injuries are, or just how sick she is.”
“A puzzle,” Dr. Asgood murmurs as she takes Natasha’s temperature. The others work on taking her blood pressure, putting in an IV, and all the other things they need to do. “Her fever is too high. 104.8. There’s definitely an infection or a virus of some kind.”
“Found the infection,” someone calls out. They’ve just unwrapped the towel from her hand, and my stomach climbs into my throat as I stare down at a wound so red and angry, it looks agonizing. “This cut should have had stitches. It’s not fresh.”
“I’m going to run some blood tests, so we get the big picture,” Dr. Asgood says as she keeps poking at and examining my wife. “But this wrist is broken. I need an X-ray to determine exactly where, but it shouldn’t be this swollen. This brace has been on here for a while.”
She fell backward at the house when I was kicking her out and was cradling her hand to her chest afterward.
“Three weeks,” I say roughly. “If it’s what I think it is, it would be three weeks.”
“If that’s the case, this woman has been in a lot of pain.”
She shakes her head, and they continue to work on her. Carson and Mateo stride into the room, both looking serious as fuck as they stare at my wife.
“Take me down and kill me,” I say to them. “I deserve it.”
“I’ll kill just about anyone,” Carson says, “but not you. This isn’t your fault.”
“It’s absolutely my fault.”