Her favorite thing to eat was candy. I know she’d enjoy the smutty books Lennie picks out for book club. She never struggled to bring guys home.
Hadrian wasn’t like any of the guys she’d ever dated before, though.
Sure, she’d gone out with posh pricks before, but to put it simply she attracted golden retrievers. Easygoing guys who liked football and beer.
He showed up to the pub on a Friday night wearing a three-piece suit.
“Did he come from work or something?” I asked Sammie as she waved to get his attention.
“No.” She laughed. Even with the crowd I could catch the sugary scent of her vanilla perfume. “That’s just Hadrian. Didn’t I tell you he was hot?”
“And misunderstood,” I replied.
There’s no denying both.
Dark hair, green eyes, and a sharp jawline ensure plenty of women and men glance his way. I can’t imagine him at a place like Leon’s but the cut of his broad shoulders and muscles imply he goes to the gym.
Then there’s the tailored clothes. He likes his fashion, though, it rarely goes beyond a nice suit in a dark blue. One pair of his Italian loafers are probably worth more than the entire collection of shoes in my closet.
I keep thinking about buying him an ‘I Love NYC’ shirt for Christmas.
The thing is, he’d most likely smile if I did.
He might come across as a complete arse, but my sister wouldn’t have given him the time of day if he was.
“Hadrian Hallow,” he’d introduced himself that night in the pub.
I’m sure I’d made a face at the gesture, polite as it was.
And he politely ignored the face I made.
“Isolde,” I’d replied, finally shaking hands. The pub’s music thrummed so loud, it’d made my teeth clench.
Hadrian bought us food and drinks all night, hardly adding a word while Sammie caught me up on all her friends and classmates.
The whole time she spoke, I’d kept wondering when she was going to get rid of Hadrian. There was no way the pair of them would really last.
Now the two of us are sitting in Fujimori’s in New York City and Sammie’s a ghost.
“Tris told me you’re the one paying,” I tell him, pausing to tell Jane thanks after she places a fresh Coke in front of me.
“And Tris”—I ignore the emphasis he places on the nickname—“told me Callahan had already tried to pay.”
“Tried being the operative word, right?” Money never gets in Hadrian’s way.
He grew up here, raised by his dad along with his older brother. I’m not sure how his mum died, but his father married Andrea Petrova. Most think of the Zimins and Akatovs when they think of the Bratva. But Petrova’s worked her way up there as well.
His dad, William Hallow’s, business dealings are all supposedly on the up and up. You get to a certain level, though, and it’s easy to believe you’re doing right. So long as the money comes in.
Hadrian is gray. It’s the only way I’ve ever been able to describe him.
His step-mum is the Bratva, his dad a first-rate businessman. He knows the cash in his savings accounts isn’t clean, no matter what.
Sometimes he uses it for good. Charities and galas. Other times he’ll pay a triggerman to kill a man who raped and killed his girlfriend.
And, like me, he doesn’t regret this use of his money. Hadrian understands that the world isn’t good and bad. It’s swirling, shades of dark gray.
There’s no balance. Sometimes things are cloudy. Sometimes sunlight peeks in.
