Julian #2
I can't imagine how I ever thought I could kill her. How I could ever for a single second have imagined that I could take the light out of those gorgeous eyes. That I could extinguish the life in her.
I want her to be mine more than I want to fucking breathe. And in all likelihood, I'm never going to get to touch her again.
The pain that hits at that thought feels like my chest caving in, like all the air being sucked out of me. It's fucking awful.
And I deserve it.
The plane begins its descent into Rome, and Isabelle finally opens her eyes. She stares out the window at the lights of the city below, her expression unreadable. I wonder what she's thinking, if she has a plan. Probably not.
We land, and I let her deplane first. I wait until she's off before I stand, grab my bag from the overhead compartment, and follow at a distance.
The Rome airport is busier than Prague despite the late hour.
Tourists and locals are mixing together, the sound of Italian filling the air as the chatter of reuniting friends and visitors and people trying to find a ride or food or directions to their hotel makes up the usual airport din.
Isabelle moves through the crowd like a ghost, her eyes down.
She's trying to blend in and disappear, but she doesn't know how.
Anyone looking for her could find her. I found her easily enough, and anyone with a fraction of my skill set will be able to, also.
She heads straight for the exit, pushing through the doors and out into the warm Roman night.
I follow. She flags down a taxi, and I watch as she climbs in, giving the driver an address I can't hear.
The cab pulls away, and I'm already flagging down my own taxi, telling the driver to follow the car ahead.
He gives me a look but doesn't question it, just pulls into traffic and keeps the other cab in sight.
We drive through Rome's winding streets until the cab ahead finally stops in front of a mid-range hotel in the city center. Isabelle gets out, pays the driver, and disappears inside. I have my driver stop a block away. I pay him and walk back toward the hotel, keeping to the shadows.
The hotel is nothing special. She's trying to mimic the way we traveled, but to Isabelle, this is a shithole, just a plain, no-frills hotel one step up from a hostel. She has no idea how to get the kind of place I've been seeking out for us.
I watch as Isabelle approaches the check-in desk. She's using her credit card again—making herself vulnerable. She has no idea how to disappear. No idea how to stay off the grid.
She's going to get herself killed.
I cross the street to a small café that's still open despite the late hour. I order an espresso and take a seat at an outdoor table with a clear view of the hotel entrance. Then I pull out a burner phone and start making calls.
My network is extensive—contacts in every major city, people who owe me favors, people who trade information for cash.
I call three of them in quick succession, asking the same question: which assassins are closest to Rome?
The first two don't have useful information. The third makes my blood run cold.
"Stanislav landed in Rome two hours ago," he says. "Checked into a hotel. Word is he's got a lead on the Montague girl."
My jaw clenches. He's already here. "Anyone with him?"
"His second. The big Russian guy—Dmitri."
Fuck.
Unlike a lot of assassins, Stanislav doesn't work alone when he's closing in on a target. He brings backup—someone to watch his back, someone to handle complications. Someone to make sure the job gets done.
"Where is he now?"
"Last I heard, he was gearing up. Probably moving within the hour."
I end the call and check the time. Isabelle checked into the hotel fifteen minutes ago.
She's probably in her room by now, maybe trying to sleep, maybe just lying in the dark processing everything that happened.
She has no idea that Stanislav is less than an hour away. No idea that he's coming for her.
I sit at the café table and watch the hotel entrance. My espresso grows cold. The streets grow quieter. A few cars pass, a few late-night wanderers stumble by, but mostly it's just me and the darkness and the knowledge that everything is about to go to hell.
I consider what to do from here. If I go up to her, try to convince her to let me keep her safe, she's going to flip out on me again—and rightfully so.
Even though it's foolish of her to ignore the danger, I understand why.
None of this is normal to her, and she's lashing out.
And I deserve all of what she might fling at me.
I deserve her fury, her hatred, whatever rage she wants to direct at me.
But before I can figure out what my plan of action is, I see him.
A tall, broad-shouldered man enters the hotel through the side entrance. I recognize him immediately—Dmitri. Stanislav's second.
My entire body goes rigid. He's not supposed to be here yet. They shouldn't have moved this fast or found her this quickly. But they did.
And now Dmitri is inside the hotel, moving through the lobby with purpose.
I watch through the window as he approaches the front desk.
He says something to the clerk—probably asking for a room number, probably using some bullshit story about being Isabelle's friend or colleague.
The clerk hesitates. Dmitri leans in closer, his voice dropping. His hand moves to his jacket pocket.
The clerk's face goes pale. He types something into the computer and writes something on a piece of paper. Dmitri takes the paper and heads toward the elevator.
I'm on my feet in an instant. The espresso cup hits the table as my chair scrapes back, and I hurry across the street, my cap pulled low. The clerk looks up, startled, as I blow past the desk. I don't bother to stop and explain. I just head straight for the stairs, taking them three at a time.
Dmitri is in the elevator. He'll reach the third floor in seconds. I reach the third-floor landing and push through the door into the hallway. It's empty.
The elevator dings, and the doors slide open.
Dmitri steps out, his hand already moving to the gun at his waist. And I move toward him with lethal purpose, abandoning the shadows.
The only thought in my head is that I have to protect her.
Even though she hates me, even though she wants me gone, I'm protecting her.
That's what you do when you love someone.
Even when they don't love you back.