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“I miss her,” she says softly. “Please don’t let him keep her.”
And then she pushes past me, out of the room and down the hall.
I shouldn’t go into Isabella’s room. I have no right to be there. But something draws me inside. I shouldn’t want to be closer to her—I should hate her for what she’s done, for the danger and pain that’s come with my association with her. But all I feel is that ache in my chest, down to my bones, spreading through me and adding to my pain. A feeling of loss that I hoped I’d never feel again.
I want to know who she is, this woman I spent three nights with that I didn’t want to end. WhoIsabellais, not Gabriela.
Her bed is made up neatly, though that was likely the maids and not her. Everything in the room is neat, except for the books I see stacked everywhere—by her vanity, her bed, on shelves, near her wardrobe. Some of them look like textbooks, but others are clearly novels—mysteries, romances, even a few fantasy books mingled in.She loves to read,I think, picking up one romance novel with a cover showing a pirate and a storm-tossed maiden, and I stifle a laugh. She’d come to me looking for an adventure with a rogue, and that’s exactly what she’d gotten.
It makes me feel a little less angry, seeing it, imagining how her thoughts must have coalesced into the decision that brought her to theSangrethat night. I still feel the cold burn of betrayal, still wanting to shake her and ask what she thought she was doing. I can imagine how a girl sheltered and raised on stories, with the promise of being handed over to the villain, might look for her way to make the story a little more her own.
I set the book down, noticing a carved wooden box on the vanity. Like anything else in the room, I know I shouldn’t touch it, shouldn’t linger, but I walk over to it anyway and lift the lid. Ricardo will be wondering where I am by now, but he can wait a little longer.
Inside, there’s not much. A rope of pearls, a few sets of earrings, a saint’s medal on a silver necklace, a rosary strung on sapphire beads. And there, nestled among the others—a topaz gemstone on a gold chain.
I reach for it, that aching in my chest piercing it again. I’d thought in my anger that she must have thrown it away, laughed at such a small stupid gift when she’d come home to her jewels and finery, but that wasn’t true. The proof of that is right in front of me, tucked away where no one would find it and ask where it came from, or try to take it away from her.
Carefully, I slip the necklace out of the box and into my pocket, closing the lid. I can’t say for sure exactly why, except that I have a vision in my head of getting Isabella free, taking her to New York, and handing her the necklace before I leave. Maybe not forgiveness, not exactly, but a way of telling her that I still want to remember what happened between us—that I want her to remember it, too.
As if I could ever really forget.
Ricardo is waiting in his office when I finally make it down, tapping his fingers against his desk. “Took you long enough,” he says when I walk in, his brow creased. Ángel is pacing restlessly next to the desk, his face looking as if he hasn’t slept, years older than his actual age.
“I’m not moving too fast these days,” I tell him, gesturing at my side and in the general direction of the rest of me. “Thanks for getting someone to stitch me up, by the way.”
“You wouldn’t have been much good to me bleeding out on the ground,” Ricardo grunts. “Sit? Or would you prefer to stand?”
“Standing is fine.” The idea of folding my body into any kind of compound movement makes me wince, and even standing feels difficult.
“There’s a group of my men waiting to go with you to Diego’s compound,” Ricardo says, pushing my gun and knife across the desk to me. “I didn’t intend to keep these from you, but I thought it was best to hold onto them until you were awake.”
“Seems reasonable.” I take the gun, holstering it, and slip the knife into its sheath. “He sent assassins after me last night. Quite a few of them. They’re dead now, but he’s not going to let her go easily.”
“I didn’t expect he would.” Ricardo sinks back into his seat with a sigh. “Just try, Niall. That’s all I’m asking.”
“Oh, I’m certainly going to do that.”
It doesn’t take long to assemble Ricardo’s men and head out. But as we approach the compound, nearing the gates, it’s clear something is happening. I can hear screams, Diego’s angry voice, and Isabella’s rising above it.
The moment I get a glimpse of what’s happening, it’s clear that we got here far too late.
