22. Isabel
Isabel
I must’ve fallen asleep.
The letter is still open next to me, the ink etched into the page like it’s burned there. I can’t look away from my mother’s handwriting. My pillow is damp beneath my cheek, a cold testament to the silent tears that fell as I drifted into sleep.
Her written words hurt. Every time I read them, it’s like getting struck by a lightning bolt, leaving me raw and exposed. Everything I’ve ever wanted to know is right in front of me.
A truth I never saw coming. A scandalous one at that. Until now I was blind to it, because it had been hidden from me—but not everyone.
Those I trust most knew. For years. And they said nothing. Kept me in the dark.
That hurts more than anything else.
I understand why they kept quiet when I was younger, but as I got older, someone should’ve told me.
This letter was mine. The last one my mother wrote to explain everything in her own words.
Because she’s the only one who could. It was her story to tell, her choices that shaped the path my life took.
I’m angry.
At whom, I’m not really sure.
Everyone, I guess.
I don’t understand why it had to be such a big secret. Who the hell is my biological father? Is he really that big of a threat to me?
As I sit up, I wipe my face with the sleeve of Misty’s borrowed sweatshirt. Everything I’ve worn since arriving has been hers. The pants are a little short on me, but the rest fits well enough. I’m not complaining. Getting out of my filthy scrubs was a relief.
The letter trembles slightly in my hand as I focus on the last section. The answer is here. It has to be. The truth about my father, hidden in her message.
I know the portrait well. I’ve sat in front of it more times than I can count, talking to her like she could hear me. Studied every detail, right down to how many freckles she had on her nose—seven.
The shamrock brooch. That has to be the clue she’s giving me. It always felt wrong and out of place.
Guess now I understand why.
I fold the letter and slide it back into the envelope just as the sudden urge to use the bathroom hits. My mind spinning to piece it all together, I hop out of bed, set it on the side table, and head for the bathroom.
I can’t stop thinking about my mother’s life before I was born. All the stories she shared—wild, reckless, hard to imagine. The choices that sound more like fiction than reality.
I’m familiar with the rumors surrounding my parents’ first encounter.
Everyone assumed she was just another one of King Ramon’s mistresses, a fleeting distraction in his lavish life.
And maybe she was. Her letter never says it outright, but it doesn’t have to.
That’s not exactly something you admit to your daughter, but I can read between the lines.
She was far from a saint. Her life was filled with romantic entanglements, choices she made freely, without apology. Her confession about falling for the father of the man she thought she loved sheds a bright light onto who she was.
She fell hard. Lost herself completely in him. And when he dismissed her, tossed her aside… she spiraled.
Landed straight into a toxic relationship she couldn’t escape. A man, she claims, became dangerously obsessed with her.
Rurik.
It didn’t take a genius to figure that out. Not after meeting him the way I did. The man didn’t give me warm fuzzies—he did quite the opposite. Introducing yourself by kidnapping the woman who might be your daughter isn’t exactly a promising start.
It revealed his true colors and told me everything I needed to know about why my mother ran when she had the chance. He wasn’t interested in getting to know me. He was consumed by revenge, and my well-being meant nothing to him.
As I turn off the tap, the quiet is broken by the soft click of my bedroom door shutting. There’s only one person who would enter my room without knocking.
My heart pounds as I grab the towel and swiftly dry my hands. I want to be held by him, to let him work his magic and help me forget, to feel something—anything—other than what I’m experiencing now.
“I didn’t expect you back so soon,” I say, stepping back into the bedroom.
The words die in my throat when I look up. Everything inside me locks. A wave of fear hits, stopping me cold before I instinctively scramble backward.
Not Aiden.
The man in the corner chair watches me, calm and unmoving. I know who he is, even though I’ve never met him before.
“I apologize for barging in like this.” He doesn’t exactly look sorry, sitting there like he has the right to do so. “Please come join me. We have much to discuss.”
“Aiden’s not here.” My eyes shift to the door where another man stands. He’s built like a brick wall and blocking my escape. “I’d rather stand.”
“Don’t be silly. Drake is harmless.” He waves to the chair in front of him. “It would be better if you took a seat.”
“For who? You?” Another step back, my fingers brushing the familiar texture of the door that connects this room to my grandmother’s. “Why are you here? Like I said, Aiden’s not here. He left to go meet up with your son, Mr. Doyle.”
I hold his gaze, refusing to let him see the unease settling in my chest. “Which I assume you know, since you’ve been calling non-stop since we arrived.”
“You shouldn’t make assumptions. I’ve spoken with him. He’s refused to do as I’ve asked, so while he’s busy, I took matters into my own hands.”
Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a small box and places it on the table beside him. “Please don’t make me ask you again, Isabel. It’s time we finally met, don’t you agree?”
His hand disappears into his jacket pocket again, returning with an envelope this time. “I’m here at the request of your mother.”
My gaze shifts before I can stop it, landing on the spot where I left the letter. It’s still there.
“My mother?” The words come out sharp. “She’s dead. Making it impossible to make such a request.”
“You look so much like her. Did she tell you about me in her letter?” He rises from the chair as if he intends to find out for himself.
Moving quickly, I reach the nightstand first and tuck the letter behind my back. “No.”
The left side of his lip curls into a knowing smirk. “Don’t lie, dear. Would you like to hear my side of the story?”
“Not really.”
I take a step back and bump into something solid. The man by the door looms behind me. I turn as I lift my chin, refusing to shrink under his intense stare. “Do you mind?”
He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move. The dark scowl he gives me is cold and unforgiving.
“Please move.” I press a hand against his chest. “I’d like to leave.”
“Boss asked you to take a seat,” he grunts.
“Your boss can fuck off. I don’t want to take a seat or talk. I didn’t invite him here. Nothing he has to say interests me.” I insert the letter into my back pocket and ready myself. “Move… before I get mad and make you move.”
My words make the prick smile, but he won’t be smiling for long.
He doesn’t move. Not that I expected him to.
“You’re really going to make me do this? You sure?” I sigh, already annoyed.
Before he can react, I drop low and sweep his legs out from under him.
It sends his arse crashing to the ground with a loud thud.
He grunts, his expression snapping from control to pure shock. Then, out of nowhere, he laughs.
Deep. Dark. Shaking his shoulders, like it’s the most entertaining thing he’s seen.
I’m back on my feet, ready to move past him. “Do not underestimate my ability just because I’m a girl. I learned that move from my badass sister, Gabby. And that’s not even the best one I know.”
When I try to step past him, his big hand reaches out and grabs my ankle. “Nice move. Doesn’t mean you’re going anywhere. Not until the boss says.”
I twist, pulling, trying to break free, but his grip doesn’t budge.
So, I scream at the top of my lungs.
I don’t know how they got in. It’s possible they shot their way in. I hope not. But Mr. Doyle is a mob boss. Wouldn’t be out of character. Although I think I’d have heard that, because no way Aiden’s men wouldn’t have shot back.
Which means I’m counting on the alternative. That they snuck in undetected.
I’m hoping my screams will bring the two men Aiden trusted to keep me safe.
Drake is on his feet in seconds. He locks an arm around me as his large hand clamps over my mouth, cutting off my cries for help.
But my plan worked—sort of.
The connecting door flies open, and Grams steps into the room. “Why are you—” Her voice catches. “Oh no. What the hell are you doing here?”
I don’t just stand there and let Drake manhandle me. I do everything I’ve been taught—twisting, kicking, trying to break his grip.
But he’s solid. Controlled. Stronger and smarter than Marvin ever was.
“Hold still!” He grunts deep enough to carry.
Bear’s head appears in the doorway behind my grandmother. The moment he sees Drake, he reacts. Three legs or not, he’s fast. He lunges, teeth sinking into Drake’s forearm, knocking him off balance enough that he’s forced to loosen his grip.
I scramble out of the way as Bear keeps going, doing exactly what he’s been trained to do. He attacks with a ferocity that leaves Drake struggling to protect himself, putting him now on the defensive.
The commotion works. Lane runs in through the connecting door, Pauly and Wylan right behind him. All three men are armed.
Lane immediately points his at Mr. Doyle who was reaching into his suit jacket. “Don’t move. I will shoot you.”
Mr. Doyle lowers his hand and gestures at Bear. “Fine. Then call the dog off.”
Pauly gives a sharp whistle. Bear stops shaking Drake’s arm, but he doesn’t release him. The low growl vibrating through him makes it clear—one wrong move, it all starts again.
“Slowly reach inside your jacket and place your weapon on the ground.” Lane instructs Mr. Doyle, his voice calm but firm.
“Good boy, Bear. Hold him still.” Pauly keeps his pistol trained on Drake’s head as he pats him down. “Princess, mind checking his legs for a second one.”
“Not at all.” I step in, lifting the fabric of his pant legs, careful not to get too close to Bear’s line of attack. “Nothing.”
“Now kick it to me,” Lane orders his man.
Mr. Doyle kicks the gun, sliding it Lane’s way. Keeping his man in sight, he leans down and picks it up. “Wylan, you good?”
“I got him. He moves. I shoot.”
When I glance over at Aiden’s brother, I notice his hands are shaking. Barely, but enough. His aim is on Mr. Doyle, though.
Guess he’s not used to this. Can’t say I am, either.
Lane doesn’t waver. He keeps his gun trained on the mob boss as he steps closer, lowering it to aim at Mr. Doyle’s crotch. “Move and I’ll shoot your dick off.”
He does a quick pat-down, pulling another weapon from the back of the older man’s waistband.
While he does that, Pauly produces a pair of zip-tie cuffs and presses them into my hands. “His good hand first. Tight. Then loop it over the other one.”
I do as he says. Bear doesn’t ease up on Drake’s arm, which makes it harder, but not impossible. Once I have him secured, I push to my feet, dragging in a steady breath.
The room is tight with tension.
Lane must have handcuffed Mr. Doyle while I was taking care of Drake. He’s back in the chair, restrained, gun still on him. But Lane’s words are meant for me. “You okay?”
“Yep.” I exhale sharply and then remember my grandmother is right behind me.
Or she was. She’s gone.
My gaze flicks toward the doorway, my mind already filling in the gaps. Misty or Kimber must’ve gotten her out. Took her somewhere safe. Far away from this damn mess.
“You wanna tell me what happened,” Lane asks. “How the hell did these fuckers get inside?”
“That I don’t know. When I heard my door close, I thought it was Aiden. I’m just as surprised as you that they’re here.” I drop my arse on the bed. “You going to tell Bear to let him go?”
“Should I?” Pauly’s voice caries a note of irritation. “He seems to be enjoying himself. Serves him right, don’t you agree?”
“Fine by me.” I push myself off the bed and turn to leave.
Once again my feet falter when I notice the man filling the doorway.
Blood stains his clothes. His expression is dark enough to make the air in the room shift. Rage burns in his eyes.
“Aiden,” my breath catches, relief and something else tangling in my chest at the sight of him.
“Somebody better tell me what the fuck is going on,” he growls. “I’ve had a fuck shit day and I’m in no mood.”