26. Isabelle #2
"You destroyed this yourself," my father says.
"You made your choices. You placed that contract.
You stole that money. You tried to have my child murdered.
And now you're going to live with the consequences.
" He gestures toward the door. "Get out.
Now. Before I change my mind about letting you walk out of here alive. "
Vivienne stumbles toward the door. She's still crying, still trying to speak, but no coherent words come out. She reaches the doorway and looks back one last time, her face a mask of desperation and defeat.
My father doesn't even look at her.
She leaves. And then it's just the three of us—me, my father, and Julian—standing in the wreckage. My father turns to me, and for a moment, we just look at each other.
Then he pulls me into his arms again, holding me so tightly I can barely breathe. "I'm sorry," he says, his voice rough with emotion. "I'm so sorry I wasn't there to protect you. I'm sorry I didn't see what she was doing. I'm sorry I let this happen."
"It's not your fault," I manage, my own voice breaking.
"It is." He pulls back just enough to look at me, and I can see tears in his eyes—actual tears, something I've never seen from him before. "I should have been paying attention. I should have noticed the money disappearing, seen what kind of person she was. I should have protected you."
"You're here now," I whisper. "That's what matters."
He holds me for another long moment, and I let myself cry. I cry for everything that's happened, everything I've survived, for the weeks of terror and running and barely staying alive. I cry for the betrayal and the lies and the impossible situation Julian and I found ourselves in.
And I cry because my father is here, holding me, showing me the love that's been buried under years of distance.
When we finally pull apart, my father turns to Julian. "Thank you," he says simply. "Thank you for saving my daughter's life. For protecting her when I failed to do so."
Julian nods, his expression carefully neutral. "It was the right thing to do."
"I'd like to offer you compensation. Money, resources, whatever you need—"
"I don't want your money," Julian says quietly.
"Then what do you want?"
Julian's eyes find mine, and something passes between us. "I just want her to be safe," he says.
My father nods slowly, and I can see the understanding dawning in his expression, that Julian's feelings run deeper than duty or obligation.
"I need to go," he says, turning back to me.
"I have to deal with the fallout from this.
The divorce. The legal proceedings. And…
the cleanup." He gestures at the destroyed apartment, the dead assassin still lying near the window.
"I'll handle all of it. You don't need to worry about any of it. "
"Dad—"
"Go," he says gently. "Get some rest. I'll call you tomorrow."
I stand in the middle of the living room, surrounded by shattered glass, and try to process everything that just happened. It's over. It's really, truly over.
I should feel relieved, like I can finally breathe.
But all I feel is exhausted.
I'm reaching for my coat when Julian speaks. "Isabelle."
Something in his voice makes me pause and turn to look at him. He's standing in the doorway, his hands shoved in his pockets, his expression more vulnerable than I've ever seen it. The assassin is gone. The lethal protector who's kept me alive for weeks is gone. This is just Julian.
"I need to tell you something," he says.
My heart starts pounding. "Okay."
He takes a breath, and I can see him gathering his courage—this man who's faced down assassins and mafia enforcers and death itself, gathering courage to speak to me.
"I have feelings for you," he says. The words come out rough, like they're being dragged from somewhere deep inside him. "Deep feelings. Real feelings. The kind I've never had for anyone else."
I open my mouth, but he holds up a hand.
"Let me finish. Please." He takes another breath. "I understand if you don't want me. I understand if what I did—accepting that contract, lying to you, all of it—is too much to forgive. I understand if you can't trust me, can't see past what I am and what I was hired to do."
"Julian—"
"But I need you to know." His eyes lock on mine. "You're the only woman I've ever felt this way about. The only person who's ever made me want something more than the life I've been living."
He moves closer, and I can see the emotion written across his face.
"I'm not telling you this because I want sympathy," he says quietly.
"Or because I'm using it as an excuse for the life I've lived.
But I didn't start out wanting this life.
I went into the military because that was what kids in my neighborhood did when they weren't sure what else to do with their lives.
And then I turned out to be a good shot, and tested well, and I ended up in special forces. "
"Julian, you don't have to—"
He holds up a hand. "I started taking contracts because my mother was sick.
It paid good money, and the medical bills were astronomical.
I didn't want them to take her house, the only thing that had ever been hers, where she raised me, and…
" He draws in a breath. "But she died anyway.
By then, the one relationship I'd ever had was long gone, teenage love that didn't make it past boot camp.
And I was good at killing. My heart felt empty, dead right along with my mom, so I figured, why not?
Why not keep being what they decided was what I was good at?