Page 27

Chapter twenty-seven

Hunter's Residence, London

Hunter

Tilly acted like she did every time the world doesn’t go her way. Isabella dealt with her childish mannerisms effortlessly, calling out the girl’s juvenile jibes with one of her own. My chest puffed slightly as I watched my wife, in awe, conducting herself seamlessly and not missing a beat.

As Isabella strolled across the room with her fingers outstretched in the direction of the other woman, I couldn’t help noticing her form-fitting active wear. Everything about her is perfection, from the swell of her breasts to the knowing smile on her lips. Isabella combines the perfect blend of sass and humility; she’s the one person in this world I can’t say no to.

Tilly takes Isabella’s hand, wrapping her own pale fingers around Bella’s golden ones. They shake, staring each other in the eye. Two women, completely different to look at, almost two decades between them in age, but they have startling similarities. Tilly’s eyes narrow a fraction, as if goading the other woman. Isabella straight up ignores her expression, smiling wide.

“It is wonderful to meet you,” Bella says, her tone sincere. “I’ve heard a lot about you these past few days.”

“I’m sure you have,” the younger woman replies with a chuckle. “And I can guarantee it won’t be good.”

Bella shrugs, unperturbed by Tilly’s suggestion. “We may differ on what our opinion of good is. From what I’ve heard, you’re merely trying to live your own life. I can respect that.”

Tilly’s eyes widen, honest surprise clear on her face. She wasn’t expecting the other woman’s understanding; I wasn’t expecting it myself. Though I can’t say it’s a shock—Isabella has always stood by what she thought was right, and that’s even more obvious now when she is more mature. It’s just another aspect of her I find breathtaking.

The irony doesn’t pass me by. I am a man who loves being in control, but with Bella that was never an option, no matter how much I told myself it was.

“Wow,” Tilly mumbles. Isabella cocks her head to the side, dark eyes assessing her companion. When no further comment is forthcoming, Bella clears her throat loudly.

“Wow?” she questions, raising an eyebrow.

“Normally, my opinions are dismissed without consideration. It’s strange to be speaking to someone from our world who sees me.”

That little bombshell catches me completely off guard. I step back, knocking into a small side table. A glass perched on the edge wobbles then falls and smashes on the floor. Both women’s eyes snap to me.

“Clumsy,” Isabella mutters to herself.

“He’s a man,” Tilly agrees. “Everything is meant to get out of his way.”

They both laugh, taking joy from poking at me and my uncharacteristic clumsiness. In the past, this would have annoyed me, but there’s no nastiness in their tone, only humor. Just then, Kasia comes running into the room, dustpan in hand. She scurries toward the smashed glass, dropping down to clear the mess.

“Stop, Kasia,” Isabella says, and she freezes. “Hunter is more than capable of cleaning up his own mess.”

I watch on in awe as my staff member stands and holds out the pan and brush in my direction. I look from her to Bella, who smirks. Tilly beside her tries badly to hide the grin plastered over her face, obviously enjoying the spectacle of me getting told what to do by my wife. Like a scolded schoolboy, I take the cleaning supplies and clear up the broken glass myself, then mop up the remnants of water with a cloth.

“You’re good,” Tilly says to Isabella as she watches on.

“No, Tilly,” Isabella responds. “I just know how to ask the right questions.”

They exchange a look, which tells me that they are potentially more aligned than I could ever imagine. For all of their secrets, I can find some solace in the idea that Tilly has a positive role model in Bella. It doesn’t, however, instill positivity that I will get my desired outcome. Bringing the two together was meant to settle Tilly over the coming days before the New Year’s ball, so she would attend and be on her best behavior. Now, I fear I have constructed an alliance which will ultimately cause me more of a headache than it’s possibly worth.

With the uncertainty surrounding our Russian friends, and the attempt on Tilly’s life that happened in Scotland, it’s more important now than ever that our union with Italy goes ahead—for all our sakes. Another warning arrived today, an email from Rodion, written in code, but there is no doubting the message when you understand like I do. I’ve used similar tactics myself.

Our relationship is frayed, and he will not accept any more failures. There was a further suggestion that my ongoing Italian deal would cause further problems, but Tilly’s marriage is non-negotiable. Rodion couldn’t offer me anywhere near the collateral Lombardi has in return for my niece’s hand.

As the thoughts whirl in my head of all the possible risks and implications of the coming days and weeks, I don’t notice Bella approaching me. She takes my fingers, squeezing softly to get my attention. When I look up, her concerned eyes run over my face.

“Tilly and I are going to get a bottle of wine and get to know one another a little better,” she says. It takes me a moment to compute what she’s saying. “We will be in the den.” Without waiting for my response, she rises on tiptoe and kisses my cheek. “See you later.”

I watch on as the two women wander out of the living room, hand in hand as if they’ve been friends for years. They chatter excitedly between one another, eyes locked as they discover little nuggets of information. Just as they walk out through the door, my niece glances over her shoulder and flashes me a wicked smile.

“Don’t worry, Uncle. We’ll behave…mostly.”

Resigned that I may have created a storm, I head to my office to go over some paperwork and make a few calls. On New Year’s Eve, I will be announcing Tilly’s engagement to the world, and I need to ensure it will go ahead without a hitch.

I throw myself down in my leather chair behind the expansive desk. Office and administration tasks aren’t really my forte. I tend to prefer to leave these jobs to the men in suits who have the patience for such nonsense, but you can only ignore a red alert for so long.

Rodion’s email from earlier sits pinned at the top of my inbox, blinking like a fucking warning light I don’t need. I knew attempting to navigate so many sensitive deals in parallel was dangerous, but I also knew if I didn’t, they wouldn’t get done.

A new email pops into my inbox as I stare at it blankly. I really don’t want to deal with this shit.

The top one is from Harrison. There’s nothing in the body, where you expect screeds of text to normally be. It’s only the title that’s been completed, a simple phrase, I got the fucking email too . It wouldn’t take a rocket scientist to work out what correspondence he’s talking about. I reopen Rodion’s message. It’s only midday, and already everything is slipping sideways.

Subject: Misplaced Confidence

Hunter,

It seems your shipping lanes are as unpredictable as the tides. Two ghosts now sail between the continent and our shores, and still no sign of cargo.

Our friends are growing restless. They value reliability and family.

In St. Petersburg, a man recently learned how quickly fortunes can turn when promises are broken. His wife no longer drives, his daughter no longer attends ballet. Both have breathed their last breath.

I trust this will not become a pattern.

Unless you can offer me something more appealing to soften the blow?

R.

There is no denying the open threat of the email coded enough to not spike the interest of bots but honest enough to lay the risk to my family out in the open. Rodion and his family had been extremely offended when I rebuked his offer to marry Tilly. His final line makes no attempt to hide what he’s suggesting.

He wants her, even if he doesn’t say the words out loud. Every missed delivery, every fallen promise, is not just about the money. It’s about her. About reminding me he sees her as his, and that I’m standing in the way.

It crosses my mind for a moment to renege on the Lombardi deal, but all that will do is move my enemies from being Russian to Italian. It won’t strengthen my foothold in London. It will only buy me some time before different shit hits the fan. The simple reality is, shipments are still going missing, either sunken or stolen. The players in the game are all moving into position, and I can never be sure who is truly on my side.

I delete the email. This shit is the last thing I want to be dealing with. The anxiety in my chest is a sensation I’m not used to. It’s the fear that something may happen to someone I love. Rodion alluded to a mother and daughter taken too soon, and it doesn’t surpass me that both my friends and I have wives to protect and potentially young children to nurture. It’s in times like these I regret the perceived luck of my birth. I may have been born into a family of power and wealth, but with it comes danger, which is fine until you have someone to lose.

Wanting to do something proactive, I do the only thing I can when my hands feel bound behind my back. I call Harrison. He answers on one ring, but I don’t give him time to speak. I don’t need a lecture on how he needs to protect his family… I fucking know.

“Waite,” I bark. “Do whatever is necessary to find those fucking cars. Whoever is responsible, bring them to me, I want to put a dagger between each fucking rib.”

I end the call without waiting for a reply, tossing the phone across the desk like it might burn me. My pulse is erratic, chest tight, fury sitting just beneath my skin like a loaded gun.

A soft knock comes at the door. Not urgent. Not hesitant. Measured. Only one person knocks like that.

“Come in,” I call, my voice rougher than I intend.

The door opens quietly, and Isabella steps in, barefoot, wine glass in hand, her expression unreadable. She closes the door behind her and walks toward me, her dark eyes tracking every inch of my face like she’s reading a map only she understands.

“You look like a man at war,” she says gently, setting the glass down on my desk.

“I am,” I admit, rubbing a hand over my face.

“With the world?” she asks. “Or with yourself?”

I don’t answer.

She moves around the desk, placing a hand on my shoulder. The contact grounds me more than I care to admit.

“You don’t have to carry all of this alone,” she says. “You never did.”

I laugh bitterly. “Tell that to the Russians. Or the Italians. Or the girl I’m trying to marry off to save us all.”

Her fingers tighten slightly. “You can be strong without being cold, Hunter. That’s the difference between you and the men trying to control you—you still have something to lose.”

I turn to her then, really look at her. The fire in her eyes. The strength in her calm. God, she’s terrifying in the most beautiful way.

“I don’t deserve you,” I whisper.

She smiles, sad and sure. “Maybe not. But you have me.”

For a long moment, we say nothing. Her fingers trail down my arm, and then she turns to leave.

At the door, she pauses and looks back over her shoulder. “Just don’t let your pride cost you everything. Not again.”

Then she’s gone.

And I’m left alone in the dark, wondering if the war I’m fighting is already lost.