Chapter 12
Lili
I stand in front of the mirror, dressed in a pair of simple black slacks and a cream-colored silk blouse.
Conservative. Respectable. The kind of outfit that says nothing at all, which is exactly the point.
My hair is pulled back in a neat twist at the nape of my neck.
I look like a woman visiting a sick friend, not a hostage about to walk into a viper’s nest.
The bedroom door opens without a knock. Victor steps inside, his presence filling the space, his dark suit a stark contrast to the room’s neutral tones. He’s holding something black and bulky in his hands.
My eyes fix on it. A vest. Heavy-duty, tactical.
“No.” The word is quiet, but firm.
He walks toward me, his expression unreadable. “You’ll wear it.”
“It’s overkill, Victor.”
“It’s survival.” He holds it out to me.
I don’t take it. Instead, I cross my arms over my chest. “I’m walking into a hospital, not a war zone. Owen said security would be airtight.”
“Owen’s security is for when you’re inside the building. This is for the walk from the car to the door. The walk from the door to her room. Every step where a window has a clear shot.” He takes another step closer. I can smell the clean, sharp scent of his soap. “You will wear it, Liliana.”
“I’m not a package to be armored and delivered.” My voice is rising, and I hate it. He has me backed into a corner where backing down seems weak, but giving in would soothe the tension in his shoulders.
He doesn’t react, just watches me, his brown eyes holding mine. The silence stretches. He doesn’t need to raise his voice. His stillness is more potent than any shout.
“Then you’re not going,” he says. Calm. Unmovable. Final.
The air leaves my lungs. He means it. After all of this, after the argument with Hunter, the careful planning, he would keep me away from the hospital over this. Because he can.
Rage, hot and sharp, cuts through me. I snatch the vest from his hand. The weight surprises me, pulling my arm down. “Fine.”
I turn my back to him, holding the heavy thing against my chest. With a huff, I pull the blouse from my pants and shrug it off and then work the vest over my head. It’s awkward and stiff, smelling of nylon and something metallic. The straps are confusing, and my fingers fumble with the Velcro.
A moment later, his hands are on my shoulders, turning me around.
He says nothing as he expertly pulls the straps, tightening them until the vest is snug against my ribs, a suffocating second skin.
It presses into my collarbones, restricting my breathing.
A constant, heavy reminder of the bullet that hit Trinity.
I look down at the ugly black shell against the cream silk. “This is ridiculous.”
“It’s non-negotiable.” He steps back, his eyes scanning the fit. He holds my blouse out and helps me put it back on, smoothing the fabric over the vest’s rigid lines. It’s barely noticeable, but I’ll feel it with every breath.
As his fingers adjust the silk, I stare up at him. “How did you get him to agree? Hunter. He wanted to burn you to the ground a few days ago.”
Victor’s hands drop away. He moves to the other side of the room. “I didn’t. Samuel Carter did.”
I frown. I know the name. A close friend of Hunter’s. Not from here, but that’s all I know.
“He reminded Hunter of the public perception,” Victor continues, his tone all business now, like he’s delivering a report. “The PR angle.”
“What PR angle?” I scoff. “Hunter wouldn’t let reporters within a mile of her.”
“He won’t. No media will be in the room. Or the wing. But there will be a press release. Carefully worded. And there will be photographers outside the hospital entrance. When you leave, you’ll seem sad. Concerned. Devastated for your friend.”
“Trinity isn’t my friend. I barely know her.”
“She will be, to the world,” he says, his gaze sharp. “Two women, victims of the same violence, united in support. It kills the narrative Phineas is trying to build. And it puts pressure on his mother.”
It’s all strategy. A series of chess moves with human pieces. I am one of those pieces. I smooth my blouse again, the vest underneath acting like a cage around my ribs.
Owen drives. I sit in the back of the black SUV, the tinted windows turning the bright Vegas morning into a muted gray landscape.
Victor sits beside me, not speaking, his leg a warm, solid presence inches from mine.
The silence is heavy, filled with the hum of the engine and my own strained breathing inside the vest. I stare out the window, watching the blur of casinos and palm trees pass, but all I see is Trinity’s face in my mind.
The SUV slows as we approach the hospital entrance. I can already see them. A small cluster of people with cameras, held back by a line of security.
The car pulls to a stop at a private side entrance, away from the press. Victor puts a hand on my arm before I can open the door. I turn to him.
His eyes are dark and intense. “Be smart. Be safe.”
It’s an order. And a plea.
I nod once, then open the door and step out into the desert heat.
A small group of reporters are gathered out front, and though I decline to comment, they snap photos of me as I walk through the emergency room doors—the entrance Owen decided was best.
The hospital is cold and smells of antiseptic.
Every sound is muffled, absorbed by the polished linoleum floors and acoustic ceiling tiles.
Owen leads me through a maze of corridors, his steps silent and purposeful.
We pass nurses in scrubs and doctors with tired eyes, but there are others.
Men in dark suits who stand too straight, whose eyes scan everything. Hunter’s security. Our escort.
We reach a set of glass doors, another guard standing sentry. Owen stops and turns to me. His face is serious, all traces of his usual charm gone.
“The plan, Liliana. Tell me.”
I comply like a student reciting a lesson. “Thirty minutes, maximum. No talking about Phineas or the case. I express my regret for what happened, I offer my support for her recovery, and then I leave.”
“And if Hunter gets hostile?”
“I don’t engage. I end the visit and leave immediately.”
He nods, satisfied. “Good.” He turns to the guard who has been watching us, a man with a thick neck and a jaw that looks like it’s been carved from granite.
“This is Liliana. She has thirty minutes. When she comes out, you will escort her directly back to this point. I’ll meet her here.
Make sure the rest of the detail on this wing knows she is not to leave this hospital without an escort. Understood?”
The guard gives a sharp nod. “Understood, sir.”
Owen looks at me one last time. His eyes convey a silent warning before he turns and walks back the way we came, leaving me alone in the quiet corridor.
The guard opens the glass door for me. I walk down a short hall to a room at the very end. The door is slightly ajar. My hand trembles as I push it open.
The room is filled with the soft, rhythmic beeping of machines. An IV stand holds several bags of clear liquid, tubes snaking down to a port in Trinity Novak’s arm. Flowers crowd every available surface, a riot of color that is out of place against the sterile white walls.
Hunter is slumped in a chair by the bed, his suit jacket off, his tie loosened. He looks as if he’s aged ten years in three days.
Then my eyes return to Trinity. She’s pale, her blond hair fanned out on the pillow, but her eyes are open. And they are fixed on me. They are sharp, intelligent, and surprisingly clear.
Before I can say a word, she speaks, her voice a little rough but firm. “Hunter. Go get something to eat.”
He doesn’t look away from her. “I’m not leaving you.”
“I’m not asking.” Her gaze is unwavering. “You’re about to collapse. I need you to go downstairs, have an actual meal, and walk around for half an hour. Liliana and I are going to talk.”
“Angel mine, I don’t think…”
“Go,” she says again. There’s no anger in her voice, just a quiet, steel-edged command. “Now.”
He stares at her for a long moment, a battle of wills playing out in the space between them.
Finally, he breaks, his shoulders slumping in defeat.
He stands, grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair.
As he walks past me toward the door, he leans in close, his voice a venomous whisper against my ear. “You upset her, and I will end you.”
Then he’s gone, the door clicking softly shut behind him.
The silence returns, but the tension has shifted. It’s no longer hostile. It’s just… uncertain. I take a hesitant step toward the bed.
“Trinity,” I start, my own voice sounding foreign. “I am so, so sorry.”
She gestures with a hand that isn’t attached to the IV. “It wasn’t your fault, Liliana. A monster tried to kill you. He missed.” She says it so matter-of-factly, as if discussing the weather. “Come, sit.”
I pull the visitor’s chair, still warm from Hunter, closer to the bed. I sit on the edge, my hands clenched in my lap.
“How are you feeling?” I ask, the question sounding hopelessly inadequate.
“Like I was shot,” she says, a faint, dry smile touching her lips. “But the doctors are optimistic. They say with a lot of physical therapy, I should regain some mobility. Walking might be… a new challenge at first.” She meets my eyes. “I’ve always liked a challenge.”
I’m struck by her strength. Given her circumstance, I expected tears or fragility. Instead, I find resolve. “You’re incredibly brave.”
“I’m incredibly lucky. And so are you.” Her gaze is searching. “How are you holding up?”
“I’m…” I search for the right word. “Managing.”
She nods, a flicker of understanding in her eyes. We sit in comfortable silence for a moment, listening to the machines that are keeping her stable.
“I heard you run the Brandt Foundation,” she says, changing the subject. “Your work with shelters for women is impressive.”
The shift surprises me. “Thank you. It’s the one part of my old life I’m proud of.”