Tristan
Hadrian arrives two hours later, bringing a doctor with a noticeably larger amount of medical supplies.
“She’s already been looked at,” I assure him, aware he paid me to keep Isolde safe.
Of course the money stopped mattering a long time ago. I’ve never failed so badly in my life.
The doctor is through the bedroom door before I can stop him. When I go to follow, Hadrian lifts a hand.
“Let him go.” He gives the safe house a sweeping once over, his disdain clear.
I force myself to stay in the living room, fighting the urge to go to Isolde. She doesn’t like to be touched, let alone poked and prodded by some stranger. She’s slept the past two hours. Tyler not only gave her medicine, but he also mentioned shock and crashing from the adrenaline.
Everything in me wants to hover over her, acting as her patient advocate, while the doctor examines her.
Hadrian sits down on the couch, crossing his ankle and leaning back. His pale face is eerily blank, his suit immaculate, and his loafers worth more than the rent for this place.
“What happened?” he asks, his tone bored.
Not once does his face change as I go through the events, faithfully transcribing what Luis and Ian told me.
“Where were you?” he asks.
“A meeting in Soho.” I lean my elbows on my knees, sitting forward in my chair. The safe house is bare bones, but there are essentials in the pantry and a couch, armchair, and rug in the living room. “I was headed toward the bridal boutique when Luis called.”
“And you trust this Luis?”
I grit my teeth, swallowing. “He did everything right.”
Hadrian digests this information rather than providing judgment.
“We’ll need help with the private jet,” I admit.
Another little nod. “But not the body?”
“Taken care of.” He doesn’t question me, and I take it as an olive branch. We’re both in this together because, like it or not, we are a team when it comes to taking care of Isolde. “I’ll call my contacts and start putting together where the fuck Cade hired this guy.”
The mystery of a triggerman with a private jet is gnawing at me.
And Isolde willingly went with him, not putting up a fight. Something is severely fucked up.
The doctor slips out of Isolde’s room and nods at Hadrian. I take that to mean he’s found Tyler’s assessment of the patient to be okay, though he’s hooked her up to an IV.
Hadrian stands, buttoning his jacket. Without asking, he walks into Isolde’s room. This time I follow, not caring if I annoy the man.
But as it is, he says nothing. Maybe it’s seeing her hooked up to the IV, but I swear she looks worse.
I tense when Hadrian lifts a hand, the limb hovering.
The prolonged pause takes me by surprise.
Hadrian himself is like a sleek private jet, flying everywhere and anywhere he wants, with little concern for others.
I watch him debate touching her before his hand moves as if he’s forcing it inch by inch.
It’s like watching a child learn how to do something. His palm lands on her forehead as if he means to push her hair back, but he can’t quite get the movements right.
I never took Hadrian for awkward, but that’s exactly what he is.
He stiffly bends down, kissing her forehead.
It should irritate me, but grandfatherly is the only word to describe the affection.
When we step out of the room, Hadrian turns toward me. “You need to speak to Dimitri Zimin.”
“What?”
The doctor is now at the kitchen table, reading a newspaper. Looks like he’s not leaving with Hadrian.
“Call Dimitri and tell him Isolde’s killed a Spider.”
“A what?” The knots in my shoulders start to burn. “What—who is that? What is this?”
I’d just started warming up to the guy, but if this fucker doesn’t tell me what’s going on, all bets are off.
“I’ll be back when Isolde is awake.” Hadrian’s hand is on the door handle when he pauses. “Face-to-face when you talk to Dimitri. Don’t put it off.”
The door shuts softly behind him.
The doctor glances up, his eyeglasses reflecting the lighting over the table. “The bullet wound was clean, but the greatest risk now is infection. Go shower. And make sure you wash your hands often.”
There’s only one bathroom in the apartment, and it’s not connected to the bedroom.
Which means I'm as quick as I can, not liking the idea of me in the shower while some man is left alone in the living room. But the doctor is working on a crossword and doesn’t look up when I pad to the bedroom with only a towel around my waist.
Luis dropped off several bags, and I pull out a pair of boxers. I stick to the chair pulled up by the bed, watching her sleep. Underneath her baggy shirt is a large bandage where the bullet traveled through her abdomen.
Thanks to the broken nose that Tyler reset, her breathing is wheezy. It’s better to focus on that, though, than the bruising around her delicate neck.
I fucked up. It’s easy to berate myself for everything that’s happened. So I do. All the mistakes rattling in my mind as I watch her sleep.
Luis made sure we got her phone back, and nothing’s been left at the tarmac. I turn it on and look at the text she sent Luis.
There are several from her friends.
Lennie: Hey, I’m just checking in. I hope you’re feeling better. You know I’m always here if you want to talk.
Lennie: P.S. I found my dress and yes you can tell Luis it was one of his picks.
I frown, wondering what happened and why Luis was picking out wedding dresses.
Adeline: Len told me you were sad. I promise I’m not a nosy person and we don’t have to talk about it. But I will remind you that I sent you the number to a therapist and there’s no shame in talking to a professional.
There’s a slew of texts from Ren.
Ren: Luis helped pick out dresses????
Ren: No seriously like Luis and Gia were on dress duty together?
Ren: Off the shoulder, mermaid. Chef’s kiss
Ren: So when are we planning the bachelorette party?
I’m reading through the messages when Ren’s name pops up with an incoming call. I let it ring until it goes to voicemail.
I crawl into bed after several hours in the stiff chair. I don’t touch her. I leave lots of space between us. But I lie next to her, staring up at the ceiling.
When I wake up, it’s a surprise, and my body lurches until I remind myself where I am. It’s when I notice the hand curled around my own.
“Iz?” I lift my head. The bullet went through her left side, the one closest to me, so I’m extremely careful as I move.
Her head is turned toward the window, away from me. Her eyes are open, though.
“Iz,” I whisper.
Her fingers curl around mine, the touch light but just enough to let me know she hears me.
“Hadrian sent a doctor. Do I need to get him?”
A hum leaves her lips, and she barely shakes her head no.
I roll to my side, careful to keep our hands together. To keep any physical touch going.
“Did I tell you about the plane?” she hoarsely asks.
“I’m glad you didn’t get on it.”
A tear drips down her cheek.
“Hadrian said you killed a spider.”
Isolde’s brow dips.
“What does that mean?” The words all but beg her to tell me.
“I killed a spider,” she hums. In a second, I’ll go and get her some water. For now I’m worried about the wonder in her voice. She’s killed men before, but a tear spills down her face like she’s coming to some momentous realization.
Two minutes later, she’s drifted back to sleep, her cheeks wet.
I extract myself from the bed, pulling on more clothes before I exit the room.
The doctor is holding a pot of coffee. “I took the liberty.” He offers me a cup before taking the opportunity to go check on Isolde.
The morning sun catches me off guard. Despite the hour, I know I can expect Ben to pick up the phone.
“Hey,” he says, sounding like he’s guzzling coffee. “The Akatovs called. We know something happened.”
“I need to talk to Dimitri. Today.” I don’t have contact information for the Bratva's quiet strategist, so I need the help.
“Dimitri? Why him?”
“Can you set it up for me?”
“There’s no guarantees it will be today,” he warns.
“It will be today.”
“Trevino? What’s going on?”
“Get me a meeting today.” I hang up before he can ask any other questions.
The doctor leaves Isolde’s bedside.
“Is she all right?” My fingers curl around the handle of my coffee mug. Her tears fucked me up a lot more than I want to admit.
It doesn’t help when in the most banal manner the man says, “Her mind and body have gone through trauma.”
He goes back to his coffee and newspaper. I can’t fucking imagine how much Hadrian is paying this guy.
I scratch at my throat, the idea of calling my dad drifting through my mind. It’s stupid wanting to call another adult. Wanting someone who knows how to take care of a sickly patient. Who knows what to do.
My phone lights up.
Ben: Dimitri is booked. I can offer you Boris (Lennie and Ads are freaking the fuck out after Luis ran after Isolde).
Tristan: Call Dimitri back and tell him Hadrian Hallow is involved
Ben: Its only fifty/fifty that will work. He hates the little shit.
I guess I always figured I’d get along with Dimitri more than anyone else in the Bratva.
I’m at Isolde’s bedside when he texts me again with a time slot.
“Hey, Iz.” I brush her hair back. “Baby.”
She makes a noise in her sleep. The doctor in the other room rustles yet another newspaper. I can’t leave her here like this. Luis and Antonio are on duty, but they don’t have the capacity to be on guard duty and play nursemaid.