“She is,” I say, my voice softening around the words. The picture of Clara asleep in that hospital room warms me. I breathe deeply in and out.
Raquel sits across the table like a statue. Her eyes keep scanning the door, then returning to my face. I want to trust her, but I’m not sure I can.
“Thank you,” I say after a beat.
She shrugs with one shoulder and picks up her latte. “Sure. Just don’t make it weird.”
I won’t. I sip and count to twenty between glances at the street.
Five more minutes, then we move.
Raquel gives me a cat-like smile, one that means trouble. “You know, I hate to say it, but—” she leans in and lowers her voice so it doesn’t carry— “I told you so.”
I arch a brow. “Told me what exactly?”
“That the Bratva life isn’t for everyone.” She says it with a snicker that’s half smug, half pity. “It looks glamorous from the outside—money, parties, protection—but it’s all blood underneath. Most people can’t stomach it. Honestly? I don’t blame you for leaving.”
I laugh sharply. “Glad you approve.”
She waves a hand, dismissing the bite. “Don’t twist it. I’m not mocking. I’ve seen enough women try. None of them lasts. It eats them alive. You’re smart to want out.”
The words land harder than I expect. She’s too casual, too smooth, like she’s rehearsed this before. But then she leans closer, eyes softer, and it knocks me off balance.
“How about this,” she says quietly. “I’ll take you to the hospital. You can see your sister, say what you need to say. After that, you slip into a cab. Keep your head down. Don’t tell the driver your real address. Pick a random corner and walk the rest. No credit cards, cash only. Change cabs once if you can. Keep your phone off until you’re in a safe place. And leave the hospital through the parking garage on foot. East exit, it’s harder to track.”
I blink at her. That’s a lot of detail. “Since when are you my guardian angel?”
“Since I realized no woman has ever dared leave Damien before.” Her eyes flash, a mixture of admiration and fear. “He doesn’t let go. And I’m scared for you.” Her fingers drum the cardboard sleeve of her latte, stopping abruptly. “You think I like the man? I don’t. But I know what happens when someone steps outside his circle. I’m worried for you, Cassandra. I mean it.”
I take a sip of my tea. “You’re worried about me?”
Her smile fades, stone serious. “Yeah. I am.”
And just like that, she’s no longer a rival. No longer the woman who draped herself over Damien’s arm and hurled insults at me.
She’s just a woman sitting across from me in a café, sliding me a lifeline I’m not sure I should take.
CHAPTER 37
CASSANDRA
Itake the hospital side entrance, then the service corridor off Fifth, hood up, head down, cash hidden in my pocket.
Mount Sinai looks like it’s in the center of a snow globe.
At the entrance, I flash my visitor band, smile softly, and ride the elevator to Clara’s floor. I keep my phone off. It sits in my bag like a lump.
The nurse at the station recognizes me and brightens. “Good timing. She’s been asking for you.”
“Is she okay?”
“Better every hour. I don’t want to make any promises, but an early January release looks possible.”
Happiness surges through me, but I keep myself in check.
“Go on in,” she says. “It isn’t visiting hours, so keep it to fifteen minutes.” She finishes her sentence with a conspiratorial wink.
“Fifteen minutes it is. And thanks.”
