Page 32

Chapter thirty-two

The Level Boardroom

Hunter

The crystal slams down on the glass boardroom table, a shrill ring echoing off the walls. The familiar scent of leather, coffee, and impending vengeance hangs thick in the air. Normally, the danger would ground me, give me confidence in the reason for me walking on this earth, but today, it feels suffocating. There’s so much more to life than this shit.

Damon paces up and down the boardroom. Russell has his Italian leather shoes on the table, leaning back in his chair, unworried. Connor and Harrison pour over a digital map, murmuring about ships, positions, and movements.

But all I can think about is Isabella. Her words, what she said. How she thinks of me.

You need to see the man I see.

The chaos in the room disappears as my mind returns to only a few hours ago when I refused Damon’s request to come here. When the most important thing in my world was lying with her in bed and pouring over letters I’d written to her throughout my life ― ones I never sent and never intended her to read.

Her voice still echoes, every kind word and positive moment a sign of her unwavering belief in me. I don’t think I’ve ever known anyone to believe in me as much as she does, and it’s kind of ironic since we’ve spent so much time apart. But her determination that I am good, I felt it in every damn word she said.

The first letter she pulled from the box was written a few years after our separation. It was a time when I threw myself not only into my family’s dark world, but also my backup plan. One of the small businesses I owned, a mechanic garage, had been targeted by local thieves. Not only had the business lost assets, but my staff members had been personally stolen from. Wages taken that were left in jackets, personal belongings gone. I’d replaced everything lost as best I could.

My Darling Bella,

Time is meant to be the great healer. We are told that if enough days pass, pain will dull, memories fade, and that we can eventually move on.

This is a lie.

No amount of time will heal what I’ve lost losing you. All that happens is that what is already broken, calcifies and hardens. I have become a splintered version of the man I once was.

A few days ago, one of my garages got hit. Some local deviants decided to take what wasn’t theirs: wages, wallets, tools. My staff were left humiliated. I burned with rage I didn’t know how to control.

Of course, I replaced it all. Paid everyone double for their inconvenience and stress. Security is heightened, and the little bastards who trespassed are deep below ground. None of it mattered though. No one said thank you. I am merely the thug who fixed it by force. I shouldn’t be surprised, deep down that is all I am. The man you turn to when afraid, one who gets results by any means necessary.

You used to see me. Not the power, not the danger. Only me. I don’t think anyone has ever known me the way you did. And I know no one ever will. Sometimes, I wonder if he was a figment of my imagination. A concoction of my hopes and dreams, of who I could be with you loving me.

I miss you, Bella. I miss what we had and what we could have become.

But the world needs men like me. And I have to accept that perhaps those men don’t deserve more than a brush with love. Maybe I was always meant to be this, a villain in everyone else’s story.

I hope, despite everything, that sometimes you think of me and smile.

All my love always,

Hunter xxx

When Bella had passed me the pink envelope and I extracted the letter, I remembered writing it as a young man in my office all those years ago. I hadn’t written it for comfort, but to expend the rage within. The anger at not only being violated by the thieves but also my men. A furious, scrawled rant about how tired I was of being the unseen person who cleaned up and took care of those around him, even if it was never acknowledged. I wanted her to know that I was still the man she fell in love with, not just the evil being portrayed by others.

And Isabella…she read my words like it was scripture. There was no judgment, only understanding and belief. She saw me like no one else ever has. Her eyes had softened with every word I read back after years of burying them.

“See,” she said. “You’re not the monster you believe you are.”

Perhaps I am almost starting to believe she is right. For all my faults, all my crimes, when I love, I love completely.

“Hunter,” Damon barks. “Get with the fucking program. Have you been listening to a word we said?” His voice slices through my recollections. I look up, and he’s standing above me, hands on his hips like a pissed headmaster. “Sabotage,” he says slowly. “The whole thing is a fucking set up.”

I force myself to focus, sitting up and scanning the reports laid out in front of me. Two ships lost. One confirmed as rerouted, the other vanished. Both carrying orders for our Russian client, someone we don’t want to piss off.

“So you’ve found the second ship?” I ask, realizing I probably missed this important piece of information when I initially arrived.

“It’s in St. Petersburg,” Connor confirms.

“They used one of our own clearance codes,” Harrison adds. “Encrypted. Which means…”

“I know what it fucking means,” I grunt. “We have a fucking mole on the inside.”

“There is also this,” Damon says, passing me his phone. A short text message sits on the screen. Cryptic at best, but the hint obvious.

Some alliances are built on sand. Easy to shift when you upset the organ grinder.

“Rodion,” I mutter, my jaw tightening with fury.

“That’s the working theory,” Russell says, finally removing his feet from the table. “You pissed him off by rejecting his family’s request to marry that niece of yours. So he’s taking you out from all sides.”

“Did you know Lombardi has connections with the Russians?” Harrison asks. I shrug my shoulders; it isn’t exactly a surprise. The whole world is interconnected somehow. It doesn’t matter how many miles you put between people in our world, there is always a connection. A business deal, a marriage, a proposition. Danger and money flirts with danger and money.

“No doubt there will be a union between them somewhere,” I say.

“Rodion’s distant cousin was married to a Lombardi,” Connor tells me, looking a fraction too pleased with himself for having information I don’t possess. “The marriage was transactional, similar to the one you planned. But it went south, and Zoya Anastasov was found dead the morning after the wedding at the hands of her new husband’s mistress.”

“When the fuck did this happen?” I spit, blindsided.

“Oh, about thirty years ago. But old feuds run deep.”

“How the hell did I not know that…” My voice trails off when I realize the gravity of what I have mixed my own family up in. Two traditional mafia families at war, and I accept the proposal of the enemy of my best client.

“We’ve been caught in the crossfire,” Damon says simply. “You accepting Domenico’s proposal over Rodion’s was the catalyst.”

Connor hits a button on the remote sitting in front of him. The television on the wall switches on, and an empty room with nothing but a single chair comes into view. Kasia sits with her head bowed and hands on her thighs. She doesn’t move. The only indication she’s alive is her body gently expanding and contracting with each breath.

“And how do we think she fits into this mess?” I ask.

“For Rodion to have someone on the inside,” Harrison suggests.

“But why target Isabella? We weren’t even together when…”

Then the penny drops; it all comes into sharp focus in one beat. About a year before the divorce papers hit my desk, I heard rumblings that Isabella had made inquiries about obtaining one. I know she visited a few lawyers that weren’t mine. Lawyers talk, especially when well-off clients are involved.

Rodion will no doubt have plenty of the London elite in his pocket. He would know that a potential divorce could push Isabella and myself back together. And being a similar man to me, he would know even though estranged, I wouldn’t give my wife up without a fight. In all honesty, I never expected her to go through with it. I thought she was content being looked after and living her life undisturbed. I was wrong.

“What is it?” Harrison prompts, my mind whirling as it all comes together.

“Fucking coincidence,” I say. “We need to make her talk.” I gesture to Kasia on the screen, still frozen in position.

“She’s mute,” Damon mutters.

“She’s scared,” Harrison counters. “But not of us, of them.”

“She’s waiting,” I say before I’ve even formed the words in my head. All eyes turn to me. “Not for a deal. But to speak to someone she trusts.”

“What the fuck are you on about?” Russell blurts out. “We can make her talk.”

One look at the woman on screen tells me, she would die rather than talk. She has a lot more to lose than she is letting on. There is something much deeper here than cargo ships and political games. Whatever is happening to Kasia is personal, and she’s terrified.

“We need to give her someone to talk to that she can trust.”

“She’s a fucking Russian mole, Hunter,” Russell spits. “There is no trusting that.”

“No,” I snap back. “My instincts tell me she is a terrified woman. She’s trying to protect something, someone. But I do know she won’t talk to us.”

“Who then?” Damon prompts.

“Isabella.”

***

The monitor flickers as the door opens and Isabella steps into the room where Kasia is being kept. She carries her own chair, walking slowly over to the other woman and placing her seat directly in front of her. She sits down with the grace only a lady could have. She’s dressed simply in leggings that cling like a second skin, drowning in one of my over-sized hoodies. Not a hint of authority or title. No blades. Just my wife being herself.

Kasia doesn’t move. Her eyes flick up from the floor, and her breathing changes slightly. She notices her, mutely acknowledging her presence without fervor.

Isabella doesn’t speak right away. She just sits, her focus on the other woman, then reaches out and places a hand over hers. The silence stretches as they sit together in quiet solace. And we all hold our breath watching on.

When she finally speaks, her voice is gentle. No accusation or hatred in her tone.

“Kasia, I know you didn’t come here to betray me.” No response. Isabella’s fingers flex on the other woman’s hand. “You’ve been at my side for months. You’ve been my friend, even when you were passing information to the other side.” Her words are truthful. No judgment, only understanding.

Kasia tenses. She looks up, her face filled with pain and fear.

“I know about the threats,” Isabella says, stunning us all.

“What threats?” Connors hisses, and I shrug. My wife has gone rogue.

“You’re not a traitor, Kasia. You are protecting your family. I would do the same for mine.”

A tear slips down the younger woman’s cheek. She drops her head into her hands and begins to sob. Behind me, Damon swears under his breath.

“She’s got her,” he mutters. “The world would be better run by women.”

That makes me laugh, and I turn back to watch my wife control the situation on the screen. She’s on her knees now, holding Kasia like she’s a lost soul in the night. Kasia focuses on Isabella. She’s broken and defeated, but not silent.

“He said he would send pieces,” she whispers. “Fingers, toes, eyes, and then once they were dead, they would take another.”

“Who?” Isabella probes.

“My mother, my son. Rodion has them both.”

Isabella glances up toward the camera covering the room, and her dark eyes bore into me even though she can’t see me. Her focus turns back to Kasia.

“I know a man who can help you, but you need to help us. Tell me everything you know.”