22. Julian
JULIAN
"Come here," I say, gesturing to the chair beside me at the small desk. "We'll look at all of this together."
Isabelle crosses the hotel room slowly, her arms wrapped around herself like she's trying to hold something in. Or keep something out. She sits down beside me, and I force myself to focus on the screen.
"This is Vivienne's primary account," I say, pulling up the first document. "The one tied directly to your father's business holdings. Look at the withdrawal pattern over the past three years."
Isabelle leans forward, her eyes scanning the numbers. I pull up another document. "But that's just the primary account. She has access to three other family accounts, and she's been moving money through all of them. Look at these transfers. And she's spending like crazy. Look at these bills."
The numbers are staggering—designer clothing purchases running into six figures, jewelry from Cartier and Tiffany, private jet rentals.
Hotel suites in Paris, Monaco, Dubai. Spa treatments that cost more than most people make in a month.
"She's living like she has unlimited money," Isabelle whispers.
"But she doesn't. This is—this is my father's money. My family's money."
"And she's running out. When she does, your father discovers what she's been doing.
And there will be consequences." I pull up another document.
"Your stepmother came from money, but her family lost most of it in bad investments before she married your father.
She's been living beyond her means her entire adult life.
She's desperate to maintain a lifestyle she can't actually afford. "
An encrypted email pops up on my laptop, and I scan it, glancing over the text.
My eyes widen. "Vivienne used an intermediary.
A broker who works for this mafia family and specializes in placing contracts for clients who want to maintain distance from the actual crime.
My guess is the Capetti family owes your father a favor and agreed to help connect her with this broker, which is why I couldn't get out of the contract.
My failure would have reflected badly on them.
" I pull up a series of financial transactions sent over with the email.
"Three months ago, Vivienne made a wire transfer of five hundred thousand dollars to an account in the Cayman Islands.
The account is registered to a shell corporation.
Two days later, the contract on you went active. "
Isabelle moves back to the desk, leaning over my shoulder to study the screen. I can feel the heat of her body and smell her perfume, and I have to force myself to focus. "That's not enough," she says quietly. "A wire transfer to an offshore account—that could be anything. It's not proof."
"No. But look at this." I pull up the screenshot I was sent of an email to the broker, with instructions to place a contract on a female target in New York, early twenties, from a wealthy family.
The client wanted it to look like an accident or a random crime—nothing that would draw attention back to the family.
"That's me," Isabelle says, her voice barely audible. "That's describing me… but it could describe a lot of other people, too."
"Yes, but here…" I pull up a phone record showing multiple calls between Vivienne's personal cell phone and a number registered to one of the broker's front companies.
"She called him six times in the two weeks before the contract went active.
And she's called him twice since then—once two weeks ago, and once two days ago. "
"Two days ago." Isabelle's hand comes up to her throat. "That was right before—"
"Right before the assassin in Prague." I close the laptop and turn to face her. "She's been checking on the contract's progress. Making sure it's still active."
Isabelle sinks back into the chair, her face ashen.
For a long moment, she doesn't say anything.
She just sits there, staring at nothing.
"She really wants me dead," she finally says.
"The woman who's lived in my father's house, with me, since I was twelve.
She looked at me across the dinner table and smiled and made small talk, and for some amount of time now, she was planning to have me murdered. "
"Yes."
"For my trust fund." Isabelle laughs, but there's no humor in it, just a hollow, broken sound that makes my chest ache.
"I always knew she didn't like me. The way she looked at me, the coldness in her voice, the way she talked to me, the things she said.
But I thought it was just... I don't know.
Resentment. Jealousy. I never thought she'd—" She stops, shaking her head. "I never thought she'd want me dead."
I reach out without thinking, my hand covering hers on the desk. She doesn't pull away, and I take that as permission to keep touching her. "We're going to stop her," I say quietly. "We're going to end this."
"How?" Isabelle looks up at me, and there are tears in her eyes now. "How do we stop her? She has money, connections, and access to people like this. What do we have?"
"We have the truth. And we have leverage." I squeeze her hand gently. "We're going to confront her. We're going to force her to call off the contract."
"She'll never admit it. She'll deny everything."
"She won't be able to deny the evidence. And she won't be able to ignore the threat." I hold her gaze, making sure she understands what I'm saying. "I'll be there. She'll know exactly what I am and what I'm capable of. And if we need to, we can bring your father into it. That's the leverage."
Isabelle stares at me for a long moment. "You're going to threaten her."
"I'm going to make her understand that if she doesn't cooperate, there will be consequences.
From both sides." I release her hand and stand, moving to the window.
"If she doesn't call off the contract, I'll expose her crimes to your father.
I'll make sure he knows exactly what she's been doing with his money, exactly how she's been betraying him.
And I'll make sure she knows that I'm willing to do whatever it takes to protect you. "
Isabelle chews at her lip. "Including killing her."
I don't answer immediately. The truth is complicated, and I'm not sure Isabelle is ready to hear it.
But she deserves honesty, so I give it to her.
"If it comes to that, yes. But I don't think it will.
Vivienne is desperate, but she's not stupid.
She'll understand that calling off the contract is her best option. Her only option."
"And if she doesn't? What if she refuses? What if she decides to take her chances?"
I run a hand through my hair. "I don't know," I admit quietly.
"I can only stay ahead of these people for so long, Isabelle.
But I think this will work. Vivienne used an intermediary for a reason—she wants distance from the crime.
She wants plausible deniability. If we confront her directly, if we make it clear that we have proof of her involvement, she'll fold. "
Isabelle is quiet for a long moment. Then she nods slowly. "Okay."
"I'll handle it. Whatever it takes, I'll end this." I look at her, briefly, then back outside. The words are simple, but the weight behind them is enormous. I'm promising to do whatever it takes to keep Isabelle alive. Up to, and including, losing my own life.
Isabelle stands and crosses to where I'm standing by the window. "Why are you doing this?" she asks quietly. "Why are you risking everything for me?"
"Because I can't let you die," I say simply. "I just can't."
She stares at me for a long moment, and I can see her weighing my words, trying to decide if she believes me. Finally, she nods.
"Okay. Let's do this."
—
I spend the next several hours on the phone, calling in favors and gathering information.
My network is extensive—years of contracts and connections have given me access to people in every major city, in every level of the criminal underworld.
I use all of it now, pulling every string I have to piece together the full picture of how Vivienne placed the contract.
The biggest confirmation I get is from a contact in digital surveillance, who confirms for me that not only has the price on Isabelle's and my head increased since the last two failures, but the only way for the contract to be canceled is for Vivienne to do it herself.
If she does, a message will go out to all active hunters.
The contract is void, and anyone who completes it after that point faces consequences from the network.
I hang up and turn to find Isabelle watching me from the bed, her knees pulled up to her chest and her arms wrapped around them. She looks small and vulnerable, and I have to resist the urge to cross the room and pull her into my arms. "What did you find out?" she asks.
"The contract can be canceled. But only by Vivienne.
She has to authorize it through the family.
" I sit down at the desk again. "Once we confront her, once we make her understand that she has no choice, she'll make the call.
And then we wait." I look at her. "Do you know when Vivienne is likely to be home? And alone?"
Isabelle gives a small nod. "I know her schedule pretty well.
And my father's. She'll be home tomorrow afternoon.
My father has a business trip to London—he leaves in the morning and won't be back for three days.
Vivienne always stays home when he's traveling.
She doesn't like being alone in the city. "
"Perfect. We'll go to the estate and confront her there."
"And if she refuses? If she calls security or tries to have us removed?"
"Then I make it very clear that refusing isn't an option." I close the laptop and turn to face her. "I'm not going to hurt her, Isabelle, unless I have to. But I will make sure she understands exactly what's at stake."
She stands and crosses to the bathroom, and I hear the water running as she washes her face.
I turn back to the laptop and start making notes.
My phone buzzes with a message from my contact in New York.
He's sent preliminary surveillance photos of Vivienne—images of her leaving the estate, shopping on Fifth Avenue, having lunch at an expensive restaurant in Midtown.
I study each photo carefully, looking for anything I can use.
She's beautiful in a cold, calculated way. Blonde hair styled perfectly, designer clothes, and an expression of bored superiority on her face that makes my skin crawl. She looks like someone who's never been told no, and never faced real consequences for her actions.
That's about to change.
I pull up more photos—Vivienne at a charity gala, Vivienne getting into a town car, Vivienne walking through Central Park with a small dog on a leash.
I study her body language, the way she carries herself, the way she interacts with the people around her.
She's confident and entitled, completely unaware that her carefully constructed life is about to come crashing down.
"What are you looking at?" Isabelle's voice comes from behind me, and I turn to find her standing in the bathroom doorway, her face freshly washed and her hair pulled back.
"Surveillance photos of Vivienne." I gesture to the screen.
Isabelle is quiet for a moment, staring at the photo of Vivienne smiling at some charity event.
"I used to wonder why she married my father.
He's so much older than her, and they have nothing in common.
But now I understand. It was always about the money.
And me… I guess she was probably glad to have a reason to get rid of me. "
I close the laptop and turn to face her. "But she underestimated you. She thought you'd be an easy target, someone who could be killed without anyone asking too many questions. She didn't count on me refusing the contract, and she didn't count on you being strong enough to survive."
Isabelle's eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I see something shift in her expression. "Do you really not know why you couldn't kill me?"
I let out a breath. "I… fuck, Isabelle. No.
I don't know. I've been doing this for fifteen years.
I've killed more people than I can count.
I've never hesitated, never questioned a contract, never let personal feelings interfere with the job.
But when I realized who you were—" I stop, struggling to articulate something I don't fully understand myself.
"I can't explain it. And you said you didn't want me to talk about this. "
"Well, I changed my mind." She glares at me. "You need to explain it to me."
"I can't. I can't even explain it to myself.
I followed you to Santorini, planning to complete the contract.
I told myself I'd do it there, that I'd finish the job and move on.
But I still couldn't. I watched you at that bar, watched you with that man, and all I could think was that I couldn't let you die.
I couldn't be the one to take you out of this world. "
Isabelle is quiet for a long moment, her eyes searching my face. "And you regret accepting the contract?"
"Yes." The word comes out without hesitation.
"I regret it more than anything I've ever done.
I'm sorry, Isabelle. I'm sorry I ever considered killing you.
I'm sorry I spent even a moment contemplating your death.
If I could go back and refuse the contract from the beginning, I would.
But I can't. All I can do is try to make it right.
I can try to make this one godforsaken thing in my life right, and then maybe I'll have something to weigh against the rest when they catch up to me. "
Isabelle sighs, wrapping her arms around herself, and she looks out of the window.
"I don't know if I can forgive you," she says quietly.
"I don't know if I'll ever be able to forget that you were hired to kill me, that you accepted money to end my life.
But I believe that you're sorry. And I believe that you're trying to protect me now. "
"That's all I'm asking for. A chance to make this right."
She turns and walks back to the bed, sitting down on the edge and pulling her knees up to her chest again.
I watch her for a moment, this woman who's been through hell and is still standing, still fighting, still refusing to break.
I turn back to the window and stare out at the city beyond.
Tomorrow, we fly to New York and confront the woman who wants Isabelle dead. And I have no idea if we'll survive it.
But I know one thing with absolute certainty. I'll do whatever it takes to keep Isabelle alive.