Page 59 of Hunter

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.

Chapter twenty-eight

Hunter's Residence, London

Isabella

The perfume bottle bounces off the oak floor after slipping from Kasia’s fingers. She drops to her knees, hands outstretched, trying to grab the crystal. My Chanel hits the ground one, two, then three times. On each impact I brace a little for its inevitable destruction. It’s the fourth connection that shatters the glass, shards and liquid scattering over the floor.

Kasia reaches for the largest piece, immediately pulling away, a hint of red on the tip of her finger. She holds the cut with her other hand before turning concerned eyes on me.

“I’m sorry, Miss,” she begins, and I’m disconcerted by her terrified expression. “It was an accident. I’ll replace it.” Within moments, I am by her side. Kasia has been nothing but a support to me, and I hate to see her so upset over something as trivial as a perfume bottle.

“Here, let me see that.” She unwraps her fingers, exposing a far worse gash than I first thought. I grab a tissue from my dressing table then bind it around her injury. “Don’t worry, accidents happen. You go and sit down. I’ll finish getting ready here.”

I don’t need to suggest she leave twice. She rises, and scampers from my room as if the door is an escape tunnel. All day, she hasn’t been her usual self, withdrawn and distracted, constantly watching her surroundings as if waiting for someone to jump out to scare her. When I asked her what was wrong, she gave me some vague explanation of issues with her family back home. I didn’t pry any further; it was clear she didn’t want to talk about it.

Once on my own, I return to preparing for the night ahead. The last few days, the house has been a hive of activity as Hunter and his team prepare for the New Year’s Eve gala. Tonight will mark a new era and alliance between the Lombardi and Devane Families, but as always with these arrangements, the situation is sensitive, and I can tell from those around me they are nervous.

Hunter has been pulled from meeting to meeting as different men visited the house. Previously, he told me he didn’t encourage friends or associates to visit him here—it was his sanctuary. But now, with security increased and a never-ending stream of men in suits, it’s clear his position on the matter has changed. My husband is on high alert, and he feels safer here in his home.

The red dress Hunter had delivered to my room had been a surprise. Nothing like I would normally wear, it fits as if it was made for me. I stand in front of the mirror in only my underwear and heels as I step into the gown. Gently, I pull it up my body, the satin gliding over my skin. The straps sit wide on my shoulders, and the deep V-shaped neckline plunges at an angle over my breasts.

Earlier, I had pinned my dark hair high and taken hours doing my make-up to ensure I achieved the look I wanted to. As a young woman, my mother always told me you only accentuate eyes or lips, never both. Tonight, I went with lipstick to match my dress, there is no mistaking which of my assets I’ve chosen to highlight.

With a little difficulty, I reach around the back and tug the short zipper upward. The quality of the garment not to be missed, the metal slides easily, nipping the material in around my waist. When I step back and take stock of the full length of me in the mirror, I am pleasantly surprised with the results.

Tilly had shown me her stunning silver number she intends to wear tonight. With her blonde curls, long legs, and youthful complexion, she will be nothing short of stunning. I won’t lie that she made me nervous. The idea of walking beside her in front of the high society of London twisted my stomach into knots.

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