19

19


Isabella's POV

Sunlight filtered through my bedroom window that morning, yet I hardly slept at all. Instead, every time I ever closed my eyes I saw those three goddamn words seared into my brain: To the Immortal Killer. The package, the shadowy figure, and the suspicion that Aaron was somehow part of the mix continued to dance through my mind all weekend.

I was on my bed, looking at my phone, sitting on the edge of the bed. Victor had sent me three messages in the last 24 hours, each 一that, increasing in are-you-dead kind of urgency.

“Any luck finding those documents?”

"Time is running short, Isabella."

“I need those files soon."

But what could I tell him? That I’d already spent weeks looking through Aaron’s place, and all I’d found was the shit from my previous search? That my husband seemed involved in some kind of secret wheeler-dealer set-up called the Immortal Killer, but I didn't know for sure, I only suspected?

I was still pondering when I was roused by a gentle knocking.

"Isabella? Are you awake?" Aaron’s voice sounded beyond the door.

I hastily stuffed my phone under my pillow. "Yes."

"May I come in?"

I hesitated. Ever since our marriage, Aaron had always abided by my rules regarding my bedroom’s access being strictly forbidden. "What do you need?"

"I brought you breakfast."

Before I could answer, he came in with a silver tray. He was already fully dressed for work in one of those snazzy suits of his that made him seem to step directly from the pages of some Spanish suit catalogue, and his slick black hair was an absolute dream. Even with the crust of sleep in his eyes and his hair tousled first thing in the morning, Aaron Romano could have been on the cover of a magazine.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I told him, wrapping my robe tighter around me.

"I wanted to." He plunked the tray down on my vanity table. "How's your hand feeling?"

I glanced down at my bandaged palm, amazed he’d remembered. "It's fine."

"Let me see."

"Aaron, it's really fine."

"Isabella." It was with a soft though serious tone that he spoke. "Let me see."

Some tone of his voice caused me to put out my hand to him. He sat down on the edge of my bed and unwrapped the bandage. He was gentle for a giant when he touched the healing cut.

“It looks OK,” he said, rewrapping it in some new gauze he had brought with him. “But you have to keep it clean and dry.”

“I know how to treat a cut.”

"I'm sure you do." He smiled, and for a moment, I forgot to be defensive. "But humor me. I worry about you."

"Why?"

The question slipped out before I could pull it back. Aaron pulled back, hands still enveloping mine.

“Because you are my wife,” he said simply. “And because you’re important to me.”

I drew back my hand, puzzled by the warmth in his voice. “We know neither of us is really married, Aaron.”

"Don't we?"

Before I could ask what he meant, he rose to his feet. “I’ve got a meeting this afternoon. One, I want you to come with me.”

"What kind of meeting?"

"Syndicate business. Nothing dangerous, just running my mouth to a few friends. But it would be nice for people to see us together as husband and wife.”

I stared at him. “You want me to fake like we are happily married?”

"I want you to be yourself. Let people do their own math.”

"And if I refuse?"

"Then you refuse. I won't force you, Isabella. But I think you need to learn more about my world. About our world."

Our world. The words made a strange shiver slip through me.

"Fine," I said. "I'll come."

"Good. Something that is dressy, but not too dressy. We leave at two."

After he was gone I sat and stared at the breakfast he’d made me. The freshest fruit, the pastries, coffee just the way I liked it. How did he know how I liked coffee?

I attempted to concentrate on making myself presentable but I kept my musing head as Aaron had looked at me when he’d said I mattered to him. There was something in his eyes – something real and warm that I had never seen before.

“Stop it,” I told myself sternly. "He's the enemy. Victor is counting on you."

But as I dressed, deciding on a navy blue dress that Aaron had given me but I’d never worn, I couldn’t help feeling that the lines dividing enemy from ally were becoming increasingly unclear.

Promptly at two, Aaron came knocking at my door in a different suit, charcoal gray that turned his eyes nearly silver.

"Ready?" he said, holding out his arm to me.

"As I'll ever be."

The drive was less punishing than I expected. Where I’m from, my interests, what I thought about the city, small talk that felt almost like it could be back home. Even then, I managed to talk to him as a person instead of sending him the typical, one-word shutdowns.

"Where exactly are we going?" I wanted to know as we motored through a fancy section of town.

"A private club. Not too businesslike, just a place where businesspeople get together to talk about … mutual interests.”

"Syndicate business."

"Among other things."

The club happened to be a fancy restaurant, a private dining room in the back. Men in expensive suits were seated around a large table when we arrived. They all got to their feet when Aaron came in, and I could see in their eyes how they all looked at him — with respect, maybe even a little bit of fear.

“Gentlemen,” Aaron spoke with an authority I had never heard from him before. “meet my wife, Isabella.”

The introductions were formal, polite. I sat next to Aaron and I felt the heat of him next to me. I sat in on the meetings, and I saw him deal with these bad guys in a way that was smooth and confident and, if I’m honest, kind of hot.

“The Northern territories are getting to be a problem,” one man was saying. "There's been talk of... reorganization."

"Never mind them," Aaron said in peaceful tones. "Talk is cheap. Action takes planning, resources, and, above all, loyalty.”

“And if the talk turns to action?”

Aaron looked at her then and smiled - a cold shot grin. “Then we remind them how the Romano family has held its power for three generations.”

I was hanging on to his every word. This was Aaron at his best – powerful, smart, totally in control. The guy that might as well have been a kitten with a broken paw when he held my bruised fingers was also the one who could strike fear into hardened thieves with just a tone.

Women in the abstract As soon as one of these men started making misogynistic remarks about women in general, Aaron had a cool, sharp response.

"Careful, Marcello. You’re talking about half the population and my wife,” he said.

Though the rebuke was delivered quietly, the threat beneath it was clear. Marcello apologized at once, and I flushed with a surprise of warmth over Aaron's defense.

As we strolled back to the car after the meeting, Aaron put his hand on the small of my back—protective and possessive at once.

"What did you think?" he asked.

"It was... educational."

“Those men respect strength and disrespect weakness. But they also have loyalty and family honor.”

“And where do I come into all that?”

"You're my wife. That makes you untouchable."

It was the way he said it, his words turning my spine to ice. Not fear, but quite another thing.

When I came back home, Aaron stunned me by inviting me to eat dinner with him.

“We usually eat separately,” I said.

"Perhaps the time is here for us to change that.”

Dinner was in the little dining room, not in the big room as usual. Aaron had sent everyone else home, so it was only the two of us, by candlelight, with wine that likely cost more than most people earned in a month.

“Tell me something about you that I don’t know,” Aaron said, digging into his steak.

"Like what?"

"Anything. What you dream, what you fear, what makes you happy.’

I gazed at his face, searching for some evidence that this was a game of some sort. But he appeared genuinely curious.

“I want to make clothes,” I finally said. “Real fashion as opposed to wearing what other people make.”

"That's ambitious."

"My father thinks it's frivolous."

“Your father thinks everything but family politics is frivolous. That doesn't make him right."

I glanced up, surprised at his backing.

"What about you?" I asked. “What did you want to be before you became … this?

“An architect,” he replied without missing a beat. “I wanted to create a kind of architecture that could keep going for hundreds of years.”

"What changed?"

"Family obligation. Legacy. The knowledge of the fact that some things are more important than individual hopes and dreams."

I’d never heard that note of sadness in his voice.
"Do you regret it?"

"Some days." He looked directly at me. “But recently, I’ve been considering that sacrifices might also offer some unexpected rewards.”

And the way he was looking at me was making my heart clatter more than I already was, and it had nothing to do with fear.

After dinner Aaron escorted me to my bedroom door.

“Thanks for today,” he said. “For coming with me, for … just for being … yourself.”

"I didn't do anything special."

"You did more than you know."

He was bending over me, and at once I thought that he was going to kiss me. But he didn't; rather, he pushed a lock of hair off my forehead, his fingers grazing my cheek as he did.

"Goodnight, Isabella."

"Goodnight."

I shut the door and leaned on it, my heart hammering. What was happening to me? I was supposed to be hating this man, plotting against him. But the way he had sheltered me tonight, the way he had stared at me earlier at dinner, the tenderness of his hand…

My phone buzzed.

“Meet tomorrow. I’m getting tired of waiting for results.”

It was a text from Victor.

I stared at it, and for the first time throughout this whole disaster, I actually felt confusion around what I was expected to do.

But I refused to be won over by Aaron’s affection. Victor loved me. Victor wanted to marry me. Aaron was just playing games, just trying to use me like all the rest of the people in this world.

I screwed up my face and texted Victor: “Tomorrow at the usual spot.”

Whatever Aaron Romano was getting me to feel, I couldn’t forget who the actual enemy was.