Page 107 of Devil's Iris

“What?” She blinks at me, looking taken aback. This is my first time speaking since they got here.

“I want to sleep. When are you leaving?” I repeat.

She blinks again, then squeezes my hand, gaze softening. “Go ahead and sleep, then. I’ll leave soon. How are you feeling?” She nods towards my bandaged arm.

I glance down at it with dispassion. They all seem to think I’m like this because I got shot, but that’s not it at all. Someone diedbecauseof me. And yet no one’s talking about it. Like Dean’s life was irrelevant. Like mine somehow matters more.

My heart feels like it’s being crushed in a vice and my throat closes back up. I sniff, staring at Emily helplessly as more tearsspill down my cheeks. She brings our joined hands to her lips and kisses the back of mine.

“You’ll get through this, Leni. You’re strong. Stronger than you know.”

I nod, then push through the heavy lethargy to sit up. She leans forward and helps me to a seated position, looking surprised when I swing my legs off the bed.

“Do you need to use the bathroom?”

My throat works as I try to speak through the painful ache lodged there. “You—you should leave. I want to speak with Romero.”

She frowns but helps me to my feet anyway. “Alright, as long as you’re not going to be in here alone.”

She picks up her purse and we walk out of the bedroom in silence, going down the stairs.

“Emily,” I say when it’s time for us to part. “T–thank you for coming.”

“Of course.” She smiles softly and pulls me into a careful hug that doesn’t jostle my injured arm. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

I’m not feeling better. Not even close. But I nod anyway, seeing she needs the assurance before she can leave with a clear conscience. She waves as she walks out, and I stand there for a moment, watching her car disappear down the drive before making my way towards Romero’s office.

Voices drift through the door as I get closer, and my steps slow. He’s not alone. Do I want to do this in front of an audience?No.

I’ll wait until he comes upstairs to check on me. Tell him then that I don’t want any more visitors tomorrow. That I just want to be alone.

I’m already turning away when I hear someone say, “Do you think Mikkel knows you ordered a hit on John Barlowe?”

My body locks up, every muscle freezing. The questionmight have rolled off me if not for the name.John Barlowe.A name I’ve secretly cursed countless times over the years.

My dad’s name.

“I’m not sure. At any rate, I don’t give a shit. It doesn't signify,” is the response.Romero’s voice.

My breath catches in my lungs, and my knees buckle so hard I have to slam my hand against the wall to keep from falling—my injured arm. Pain screams through the wound, but it’s nothing compared to the way my heart is imploding in my chest.

He ordered a hit on my dad?

Before rational thought can stop me, I’m pushing away from the wall and shaving the door open. “What?”

Three heads turn towards me. Romero is sitting behind his desk, Sandro and some stranger in the chairs across from him. They all stare, but my entire world narrows down to my husband’s face.

He stands slowly, his expression not changing, but I can see the color draining from his skin under the harsh office lighting. “Leni…Amore.”

“You ordered the hit,” I say softly, my voice barely above a whisper as I try to wrap my head around what I’ve heard. “On my father.”

The two other men scramble to their feet, muttering incomprehensible excuses before fleeing the room, leaving Romero and me alone.

“You killed him?” A wave of heat rushes through me, followed immediately by ice-cold nausea that churns my stomach.

His jaw clenches and unclenches. “I ordered a hit on him because I found out he was a double agent. Working with me but feeding information to my enemies. He put my men at risk. Put me at risk. It was ten years ago—I didn’t know he would be my wife’s father.”

I hear what he’s saying, but I don’t give a shit about that. “You killed him?” My voice trembles as I ask again.