Chapter 3 - THE SERPENT RING
Dominic did not react dramatically.
That frightened Isla more than if he had shouted.
He simply became still.
“What ring?”
“Silver. A snake wrapped around the finger.”
Carter stopped typing.
Dominic looked at him.
“You know it?”
Carter’s face had gone pale.
“No.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
Carter hesitated.
“Your father’s old circle used them.”
Dominic’s expression changed.
Isla caught it.
“Your father?”
“My father is dead.”
“That wasn’t what I asked.”
Dominic walked toward the windows.
“Thirty years ago, my father created a private group inside the organization. Six men. No records. No names in company documents. They wore serpent rings.”
“What happened to them?”
“I dismantled the group when I took control.”
“Apparently they didn’t get the memo.”
Dominic almost smiled.
Then pain crossed his face.
He caught the edge of the table.
Isla was beside him immediately.
“Sit.”
“I’m fine.”
“Congratulations. Sit.”
Marco watched from the kitchen, fascinated.
Dominic obeyed.
Carter looked as stunned as Marco.
Isla opened Dominic’s shirt enough to inspect the bandages.
A small bloom of red stained the gauze.
“You tore a suture.”
“I’ve had worse.”
“If you say that again, I’m charging double.”
Marco laughed.
Dominic looked at the boy.
“Your sister always this bossy?”
“Worse.”
“Traitor,” Isla muttered.
For the next hour, she worked.
Something changed during that hour.
Dominic Ashford stopped being the Phantom King.
He became a stubborn patient with three gunshot wounds who refused pain medication because it made him feel vulnerable.
Isla cleaned the wound.
Changed the dressing.
Checked his temperature.
When she finished, Dominic caught her wrist gently.
“You remembered the ring.”
She looked down at his hand.
“Yes.”
“You may have saved my life twice.”
“Don’t make it dramatic.”
“My life tends to be.”
His thumb rested against her pulse.
Neither moved.
Then Marco entered carrying three sandwiches.
“I found food.”
Isla pulled her hand away.
Dominic looked almost annoyed.
By midnight, Marco was asleep in a guest room.
Isla sat beside Dominic in the library.
Carter had assembled everything they knew.
Nurse Patterson had received $80,000 two days before Dominic was shot.
The money came through a shell company.
That shell company connected to Ashford Maritime.
Someone inside Dominic’s legitimate business had paid her.
“Your enemy works for you,” Isla said.
“Possibly.”
“Who has access?”
“Too many people.”
Dominic poured water into a glass.
Isla noticed his hand shaking.
“Bed.”
He looked at her.
“You’re exhausted.”
“I’m your nurse.”
“You still haven’t accepted the job.”
“You’re bleeding on furniture worth more than my apartment. I’m temporarily volunteering.”
Dominic followed her to the bedroom.
His room surprised her.
No gold.
No ridiculous luxury.
Dark walls. Books. A photograph of a woman on the dresser.
Dominic noticed her looking.
“My mother.”
“She’s beautiful.”
“She was.”
Isla glanced at him.
“How old were you?”
“Thirteen.”
“When she died?”
“When she was murdered.”
The answer stopped her.
Dominic sat on the edge of the bed.
“My father had enemies. One night they came to the house.”
Isla understood.
“That’s where you go when you sleep.”
His eyes lifted.
He had never told her.
He didn’t need to.
“She hid me in a closet,” he said. “I heard everything.”
Isla sat beside him.
For once she had no clever response.
“My father taught me afterward that sleep was weakness. Trust was weakness. Love was the worst weakness.”
“And you believed him?”
“For twenty-eight years.”
“What changed?”
Dominic looked at her.
“You sat in a chair.”
Her breath caught.
The distance between them suddenly felt too small.
Isla stood.
“Sleep.”
“Will you stay?”
There it was again.
Not a command.
A request.
She pulled the chair beside his bed.
“Yes.”
Dominic lay down.
“You know,” she whispered, “for a terrifying criminal mastermind, you require an unreasonable amount of supervision.”
His eyes closed.
“You talk too much.”
“You pay extra for conversation.”
He smiled.
An hour later, Isla woke to Dominic shouting.
“No!”
She rushed to him.
His eyes were open but unfocused.
“Dominic.”
He grabbed her wrist.
She froze.
Then his grip loosened.
“Isla?”
“I’m here.”
His breathing was ragged.
She sat on the mattress without thinking.
Dominic looked ashamed.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.”
She touched his chest carefully, feeling the frantic heartbeat beneath her palm.
“Breathe.”
He followed her rhythm.
Slowly.
Eventually his eyes closed again.
Isla should have returned to the chair.
She didn’t.
She remained beside him, fully clothed, above the blanket, her hand resting lightly near his shoulder.
At sunrise, Dominic was still sleeping.
Carter appeared silently at the bedroom door.
His expression was strange.
“What?”
Isla whispered.
Carter held up his phone.
“We found who authorized Patterson’s payment.”
Isla gently withdrew her hand and followed him into the hall.
“Who?”
Carter showed her the corporate authorization.
Her confusion deepened.
The electronic signature belonged to Dominic.
“That’s impossible.”
“Dominic says so too.”
Then Carter opened another file.
“There’s more.”
It was a photograph taken three nights before the shooting.
Dominic stood outside the warehouse.
Across from him was another man.
Same height.
Same dark hair.
Almost the same face.
Isla stared.
“Who is that?”
A voice behind them answered.
“My brother.”
Isla turned.
Dominic stood in the doorway.
She had never heard anyone mention a brother.
Dominic’s eyes were cold.
“Elias Ashford died fourteen years ago.”
May you like
Carter looked at the photograph.
“Then someone forgot to tell Elias.”
