Page 37 of Heartfelt Pain
I study one of the tiles on the floor. No one kills in Fujimori’s. It’s the code. But I broke it five years ago.
“I fucking hate the Russians,” Ben says. “We might put up with them for business, but I don’t ever want to see you get dragged into their shit again. Not after what they did to you. And Ren, there’s some weird shit going on.”
Five dead bodies. One masked intruder. Roma showing up at Hartright.
“Yeah, you’re right.” I head back to the kitchen for more coffee knowing it’s going to be a long day.
And I’m not wrong. I’ve got back-to-back meetings and I’m ignoring how my lower back aches. I’m looking forward to taking off my high heels.
I decide to open the backdoor into the alley since I haven’t seen the outdoors since about seven this morning. The spring rain has mostly left.
I lean against the doorjamb, eating noodles on my afternoon break, when I spy Isolde Mattheson talking to a man.
He towers over her, and his blue suit is well-made. Dark hair and a watch that probably costs thousands are all the details I need to know who, and what, he is.
Isolde, wearing her typical tracksuit, nods at something he says. And then, almost awkwardly, the man lifts his hand. I’m not sure if he’s going for a wave, a pat on the shoulder, or a hug. Isolde dips her head in another nod and the man steps back.
I’m reminded of Boris, picking through the alleyway. This man easily steps over trash, but he has no business being insome sketchy alley. His life is one of boardrooms and penthouses and yachts.
“What the fuck is Hadrian Hallow doing here?”
It’s hard to surprise Isolde, but her chin jerks up, her blue eyes stark against her pale skin.
“Do you know him?” I ask around a bite of noodles.
When Isolde first arrived in New York, she made sure to learn all the names and faces of important people, shadowy figures or not. But she doesn’t rub elbows.
“He used to date my sister.”
Of all the strange things happening lately, it’s this bit of information that nearly knocks me over.
Isolde doesn’t talk about her sister. Not much. I know the bare details. How someone raped and killed her. And how Isolde then killed that someone.
I would’ve never in my life thought there’d be a connection between her sister and someone like Hadrian Hallow.
And that there’s still a connection.
“Is everything all right?” I ask.
She shrugs. A second later adds, “It’d have been my sister’s birthday today.”
Oh God.
My insides shrivel up and die in shame. I had no way of knowing, but it seems like something I should’ve been aware of. Should I ask Abe to get a cake? It can’t magically fix anything, but would it be a proper way to honor her?
Before I can ask, Isolde’s already moved on.
“I’ve got an errand to run. Ben says you’re free the next couple of hours.”
“You checked my schedule?” Via Ben?
“Hi,” a new voice greets.
Lennie appears and Isolde whistles.
“Look at you,” I gush, stepping back so she has space to duck into the alley.
Lennie blushes at the attention. Her trench coat is open, showing off a cute blue dress. It’s paired with white sneakers.
