There’s a beat of silence. “Who the fuck are you working for?”
“Guess. What the fuck have you heard?”
“I talked to Dima of all people, because you couldn’t answer your goddamn phone. A Spider, really?”
“I need your help figuring out who might come calling.”
“Dima asked me to look into it. I’m calling everyone I can think of, but no one knows a goddamn thing.”
“When are you back in town?”
“I’m trying. A storm’s fucked everything up, but Roma’s sending a plane. The Russians are on high alert. The only intel Dima could give me was they believe the original Spider once worked for the KGB. Yelena and Lev are still in their ‘will they or won’t they get a divorce’ phase, and her mom just passed away. Lev is making her come back quicker than she wants.”
“They’re scared of this guy,” I say. “Or guys.”
“Yeah.” The word sums everything up. This is some deep shit if the Bratva is going underground. “Is Isolde going to be ready?”
“When is she not?”
“Then why isn’t she picking up the phone when I call?” she murmurs.
“I don’t think she remembers she has a phone.”
“Len told me she cried at the dress fitting. A dress Len tried on reminded her of her sister.”
Lennie’s text now makes sense.
“I know she’s sad,” Ren says. “And I know Abe caught you two hugging in the alleyway.”
Despite everything, I smirk. “We do a lot more than hug.”
Ren makes some incoherent noise. Her voice is soft, though, when she asks, “You’ve got her?”
“Always.”
Ren signs off. I take a shower and walk into the bedroom in just my towel.
“Baby.” I smooth her hair back. She’s on her back, which isn’t how she normally sleeps. I lift the sheets slightly, spotting the fresh bandages on her side. Her head shifts on the pillow. “Can I sleep with you?”
She nods. I slide into the bed, careful not to touch her. But her hand slides across the duvet, grabbing mine.
The next time I open my eyes, sunlight streams throughthe window. The sheets rustle as I stretch, my movements stilling when I spot Isolde’s big blue eyes.
“Hey,” I whisper.
She blinks tiredly but never looks away. The air around us tightens.
“Does my nose look really ugly?”
“When has anything about you ever been ugly?” I ask.
Her shoulders shake.
“Iz.” I reach out, scooting closer.
She makes a noise under her breath, a sob mixed with a whimper.
“Iz, baby.” I cup her cheek. My lips graze hers, the pair of us barely touching. Like, we might break if we make too much contact.
