Chapter 13 - The Montreal Intercept
The private medical facility in suburban Montreal was quiet, isolated from the city by acres of snow-dusted pine trees and tall brick walls. Elena sat in a vinyl chair beside Clara’s bed on the third floor, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of her sister's chest. The border crossing had been seamless; Marcus’s money had paved a frictionless road through Canadian customs and hospital admissions. Clara was safe. Her dialysis was stable.
Yet Elena had never felt more profoundly, agonizingly dead inside.
She hadn't eaten in twenty-four hours. Every time she closed her eyes, she heard Leo screaming in terror beneath the buffet table, or felt the phantom weight of Julian’s fingers brushing across her cheekbone in the safe room. She had saved her sister by abandoning the only man who had ever looked at her as if she were irreplaceable.
It was 11:00 PM when the lights in the hospital corridor outside the room suddenly flickered and went dark.
Elena’s head snapped up. Her heart leaped into her throat. No, she thought, panic surging as she stood up and positioned herself between the door and Clara’s bed. Marcus wouldn't follow us here. He got what he wanted!
The heavy door to the private room swung open with a soft, deliberate creak.
A figure stepped into the dim light of the heart monitor. Tall, powerfully built, wearing a dark wool overcoat over a black suit, his shoulders dusted with melting Canadian snow.
It wasn't Marcus.
It was Julian.
He stood in the doorway, his stormy gray eyes sweeping over the room with tactical efficiency before locking entirely onto her. He looked exhausted, there were dark shadows beneath his eyes, and his jaw was covered in two days of rough, dark stubble. But the aura of absolute, commanding authority he radiated filled the small hospital room instantly.
"You are exceptionally difficult to track when you aren't using your own name, Miss Rostova," Julian said, his deep voice breaking the hospital silence like a thunderclap.
Elena stumbled backward against the bedrail, her hand flying to her mouth as tears of shock and relief flooded her eyes. "Julian... how did you find us? You shouldn't be here! If Marcus knows you left the estate—"
"Marcus currently believes I am in a safehouse in South Boston interrogating Barone lieutenants," Julian interrupted, stepping fully into the room and closing the door behind him. He closed the distance between them in three long strides, stopping so close she could feel the cold radiating from his overcoat. "Why did you run, Elena?"
"He showed me the file," she wept, unable to hold back the truth any longer. "He forged the bank transfers! He told me if I didn't take the passport and leave within the hour, his guards at Mass General would disconnect Clara’s dialysis machines! I didn't want to leave your children, Julian, I swear to God I didn't! But I couldn't let him kill my sister!"
Julian’s face didn't register surprise; it hardened into a look of profound, dangerous understanding. He reached out, his large, calloused hands grasping her shoulders, pulling her gently toward him until she was standing inches from his chest.
"I know," Julian murmured, his voice dropping to a vibration so tender it made her knees buckle. "I saw the dossier. I knew within five seconds of reading it that it was a fabrication. A woman who throws herself over my children during a firefight does not sell floor plans to my enemies for twenty thousand dollars."
Elena looked up into his eyes, her breath catching as she saw the sheer, unfiltered relief burning in his gaze. "You... you didn't believe him?"
"I believe in what I see, Elena," Julian said softly. One of his hands moved from her shoulder to frame her jaw, his thumb wiping a hot tear from her cheek just as he had done in the safe room. "And what I see is a woman who has sacrificed everything she has to protect the people she loves. But you made one critical error."
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"What error?" she whispered, trembling under his touch.
"You assumed you had to fight my underboss alone," Julian replied, his gray eyes turning cold as glacial ice. "You forgot that you belong to my household now. And nobody threatens what is mine and lives to see the sunrise. Pack your sister's things. We're going home."
