31. Isolde
Isolde
Fujimori’s is quiet, but only because it’s seven in the morning.
Tristan made me breakfast this morning, and I pretended like we were back at my flat before all this shit happened. I’d told him last night I wanted to come here because I needed him to know. That way I couldn’t back out.
I’m not magically better. The depression that’s been there for several years is clinging, harder and stickier than ever, to every recess of my mind.
But I’ve identified it. And I took another shower, ate some avocado toast, and admitted to myself that another Spider is coming whether I like it or not.
“What about your dad?” I asked Tristan this morning in the kitchen, touching his arm. “Did you get him to a safe house like I told you?”
“Don’t worry about him.”
“Yes, tell the anxious, depressed neurodivergent person not to worry.”
He handed me a fresh glass of orange juice and told me to put on some shoes.
Fujimori’s is unlocked. There’s a large crash before Abe sprints out of the kitchen.
Tristan holds a hand up, blocking him. Jane appears out of thin air, berating her son in Japanese.
“I get to hug her!” Abe yells at his mom. While they argue, Abe’s dad wraps an arm over my shoulders. “Are you kidding me?” Abe asks his mom when he sees.
“I’m fine,” I tell the restaurant collectively. Ben is near the kitchen door, a cup of coffee in his hand. He looks even more tired than I do.
He jerks his head in the direction of the alleyway. “She’s outside.”
Tristan skims his hand down my shoulder as I walk away. I’m pretty sure he’s thinking the same thing I am. The last time I was in an alleyway, I almost died.
But this is Fujimori's, and that means Ren Callahan is the one calling the shots. As worried as I am, it’s still one of the last places a Spider would stir up trouble.
“I thought you quit,” I tell Ren, almost stepping on her when I open the door to the outside.
She’s sitting on the short stoop of steps, a cigarette in her hand. Everything about her is how I remember. Tailored clothes, sleek hair, addicted to nicotine.
She perks up when the door opens, her body stilling when she realizes it's me. Her shoulders droop, and she takes a big drag.
I sit down next to her. She offers me a cigarette. I shake my head. A second later she produces a joint.
“Okay, yeah.”
She lights up, closing her eyes when she inhales.
“Remember that time you told me to take my underwear off?” She passes me the blunt.
“Your two hundred—”
“Yes, yes” Ren cuts me off, rolling her eyes. “The two hundred dollar panties.”
I smirk. “Roma probably doesn’t even like you wearing panties.”
It’s her turn to smirk. But it fades. “I just wanted to hold your panties for you.”
I choke, coughing up a haze of marijuana.
“You know what I mean,” Ren argues. “I wanted to help. But I also never wanted to push. I could tell you were going through some deep shit, and I never knew what to say or how to help. I guess what I’m saying is we’re both crap at communicating.”
I inhale, letting fresh air fill my lungs. I pass the joint back to her. “Yeah. I don’t know how to talk. Not about myself. And then this shit with Cade. See the thing about the Spiders. . .”
I explain to her how they operate. Using people against their intended target. She listens raptly.
“I’ve been calling everyone,” she says, and I believe it. She’s got the same gray bags under her eyes that Ben does. “I’m supposed to be the one who knows everything, and I’m totally tits up on this thing.”
“Sorry.”
She sighs, taking a long drag of the blunt.
“Nah, that one probably is on me. I’m the perfectionist, remember.
I hate that I’m out in the cold with everyone else.
But how did you and Hadrian know? I mean, Dimitri told us about the tattoo thing, but Tristan said Hadrian had told him it was the Spider before you even mentioned anything like that. ”
I stare down at my trainers against the pavement. “When Cade had me trapped, there was a guy there. Cade’s the one who told me the guy in the shadows was a Spider. I knew fuck all at the time.”
Ren’s face draws in quizzically. “Was it the same guy as the one you killed?”
I shake my head, and I see the antenna in Ren’s head stand to attention. “I don’t think so. I mean, I was fucked up.”
The memory has morphed. All I remember is the pain of him slicing into my thigh.
“Their vibes were different.” If I said that shit to anyone else, they’d argue that doesn’t mean shit. Ren takes my word for it. “But I do know he was pissed Cade had brought that up. The thing about Cade is he can run his mouth.”
“You know Dimitri wants to exhume the dead guy. But Leon isn’t telling him shit.”
I snort. “Leon doesn’t take shit from the Russians either? Nice.”
“Roma talked to Max,” Ren says, handing over the joint. “The Met arrested Cade. The Stuarts are already moving in on the Weed and Tweed territory.”
“You think they’ll rebrand?”
Ren shoots me a look but doesn’t take the bait. “You good with it?”
I nod. “Yeah. He’s the least of my fucking problems right now.”
“Is there anything I can do to help with any of those fucking problems?” Ren bumps her shoulder against mine. A tiny smile graces her lips, but I see how tentative the offer is. Like she’s worried I’ll bite her head off.
“You think I just came for the joint?” I hold it up. “Nah. I need your help.”
A silly little bit of awe lights her face. She quickly wipes it away before nodding and getting back to business. Which is good because I’m going to need her.
“I need you to set up a meeting for me. With Yelena Zimin.”
The moment I asked, Ren whipped out her phone. Jane lured me inside, saying I needed to eat. And food did sound pretty good.
“Need a little something to help with the munchies?” Tristan asked, scowling at the pair of us.
Ren proceeded to stuff her mouth full with an omelet Abe’s dad made us.
Then she dived for her phone when it began to ring. Except it wasn’t Yelena. Lev wanted to know why Ren was calling his wife. She promptly hung up on him and tried Yelena again. Dimitri called next.
She declined him and answered an incoming call from Yelena. The woman arrived back in New York last night after burying her mother in Russia.
Ren didn’t hesitate to ask for her to meet with me, though. And Yelena agreed to it.
She didn’t care to come into the city, so instead we loaded up into our SUV again and headed to the Zimin home.
I don’t mind the added privacy, and considering she just got off a plane, I’ll meet her wherever.
“Shit,” Luis says under his breath, looking up at the mansion.
“You’ve dropped us off here before,” Tristan replies, getting out of the SUV.
“Yeah, but this time I’m allowed inside and look at that architecture. Stunning.”
He rights his jacket, running his hand through his short dark hair, and takes a deep breath.
“You look good,” I tell him, boosting his ego.
He shakes his shoulders; it’s a typical Luis dance, but then his face drops. “Shit.”
This time the word is not because he’s impressed.
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Tristan agrees.
Ian waves.
“What the fuck are you two doing here?” Tristan asks Tyler.
The doctor is wearing jeans, his hands in his pockets, and the scruff on his cheeks is thicker than normal. “He was being suspicious, so I followed him.”
“What the fuck do you think you’re playing at?” Tristan growls, his fingers digging into Ian’s shirt. A choking noise catches in the back of his throat.
“I’m here to help my old friend Tristan,” Ian explains, hoarsely. “And my friend Isolde.”
“She is not your friend. Don’t even look at her.” Tristan shakes him. “How did you know we’d be here?”
More noise gurgles in Ian’s throat.
Tyler runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “He’s been following you since Fujimori’s.”
“I told you, you’re not to get anywhere near—”
“Who the fuck is this guy?” Ian waves a hand in the air, pointing. “Why does he get to come to the meeting with the Russians, and I don’t?”
“That’s actually a really good question,” Tyler admits. “Why is Abe here?”
Abe pauses like he’s remembering how he almost pissed his pants during Ren’s shootout. “I’m going to go see what snacks they have.”
He heads into the Zimin family home, Ben beside him.
The house is immaculate. The massive space is airy, natural sunlight streaming through gives it a touch of peace.
Yelena is tired. I see it in the downturned lips and the shadows under her eyes.
She does not look happy at my presence, however, she does not appear annoyed.
There’s a blankness I’ve always appreciated about Yelena.
It’s not that she doesn’t feel things. She simply never feels the need to show others.
Her granddaughter, Sailor, stands beside her, holding her hand.
“You asked to meet with me.” Her Russian accent is a touch stronger, like the time back home has strengthened it.
Abe holds out his hand, speaking to Sailor. “You want to get some snacks?”
Sailor glances at her grandmother. The woman smiles down at her, squeezing her hand. She speaks her confirmation in Russian, giving her granddaughter the courage to go to Abe.
The youngest Zimin zooms toward the kitchen, her babysitter following.
“Thank you for meeting with me,” I say. She’s exhausted and grieving and willingly sacrificing time spent with her granddaughter.
Glacial blue eyes study me before flicking to Ian.
The Irishman holds out his hand. “Ian Hayes.”
“Cain Murray’s son.”
Ian cocks his head, surprised she knows.
“Whose son?” Lennie asks.
I turn around to find more people entering the living room.
“Sorry,” Ren mouths, holding her hands up in surrender.
Lev Zimin is flanked by Dimitri and Boris.
“I couldn’t stop them,” she explains.
Lennie hugs me. “We want to know what’s going on.”
“Sorry about the wedding dress shopping.”
She waves my concern away. “Don’t worry about it. Wait, I’m sorry, who are you?” she asks Ian
Tristan claps an arm around his shoulders, his voice lethally low. “Do not do anything stupid.”
Ian places a hand over his heart. “When have I ever done anything stupid?”
Tristan shoots him a look.
“I’ve never gotten drunk and whipped my cock out so I could get a Jacob’s ladder.” Ian looks around dramatically. “Anyone here ever been so stupid.”
Tyler snorts, shaking his head and pulling his childhood friend Russet in for a hug.
“Wait who has a Jacob’s ladder?” Lennie asks, mouth hanging open. She glances at me. Then at Tristan. Then at me again.
“Go.” Tristan shoves Ian forward, the tall, lanky man striding along in his trusty leather jacket.
“Jacob’s ladder?” Lennie whispers to me. Ren’s eyes have gone very wide as she stares at me.
Lev clears his throat. “We have a few questions.”
I don’t spend time around the head of the New York Bratva. I make a point not to. I’m not sure of his opinion on having so many random people in his living room, but he smiles at me. Like this is a completely normal situation.
Except there’s a cold glint in the back of his eye. He glances at his wife.
Behind him, all three of his sons come up a set of stairs that I think might lead to the kitchen below. That’s where Abe and Sailor will be snacking away.
“What’s going on?” Max stands beside his father, also blinking at his mother. He’s not as unhinged as his older brother, but all the rumors allude to a ruthless cold fury inside the middle Zimin child.
He grabs Russ’s hand, tugging her back to him.
She rolls her eyes. “Isolde wants to speak to your mom.”
He eyes me suspiciously. “Why would she want to speak to my mother?”
Elijah plucks lint off his shirt. “There’s quite a lot going on with spidery psychopath murderers, don’t you think? A bit odd, you’ve stopped to take the time to meet with her.”
For once, it’s easy to read between the lines. Shit is hitting the fan, and I’m sitting down for a chat with their mother. They want to know what’s going on.
Yelena says something to her husband in Russian.
He is too in control to look angry, but there’s a tiny frown on his face. I think more and more, he’s starting to realize he’s underestimated his wife of thirty years.
Yelena speaks to me. “Shall we go into the study?”
She takes two steps. Lev and Dimitri do as well.
With a giant sigh, she drops into a chair, deciding the living room will suit all the group’s needs.
“I am sorry,” she says, again only speaking to me. She motions for me to take a seat on the sofa. Then she waves toward the men and my friends. It’s not quite an apology. More of a what can we do?
I shrug, understanding.
“Thank you.” My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. “I’m sorry about your mother.”
Yelena’s chest rises and falls with a breath, but she remains silent.
“Um. . . I’m not. . .” I can’t find the right words. I curl my sweaty hands into fists, resting them on my thighs.
I focus on Tristan’s presence beside me rather than the room full of nosy Russians.
“I don’t normally have any trouble. . . with killing people.”
Yelena messes with her sleeve as she listens.
“I’ve never had to ask for help killing a man.”
We probably wouldn’t be in this position if I had.
Lev takes a step forward. “And why would you ask my wife for help with killing a man?”
Yelena shoots him a look, but he ignores it, coming to stand by her side.
“Why are you asking my wife for help?” Lev asks, and Tristan goes rigid beside me.
I pull a photo out of my hoodie pocket. “Because other than me, your wife is the only person I know who’s ever met a Spider.”