CHAPTER 28 : A Gift of Dead Roses

Two days passed in a blur of nurses and beeping machines.

Julian was recovering, but he was not a good patient. He hated the wires. He hated the hospital food. Most of all, he hated being weak.

He spent most of the time sleeping, his body working overtime to heal the trauma of the surgery. When he was awake, he watched the door like a guard dog.

I sat in the corner of the room with my laptop. I had finally changed out of the red dress and into a fresh set of clothes Marcus brought me, but I refused to go home.

"Mrs. Thorne?"

I looked up. A young nurse stood in the doorway holding a large, rectangular box wrapped in black paper.

"This just arrived at the front desk," she said, smiling nervously. "It says it is for Mr. Thorne. A get well gift."

I stood up instantly.

Julian stirred in the bed, his eyes cracking open. "What is it?"

"Nothing," I said quickly. I walked to the door and blocked his view. "I will take it, nurse. Thank you."

"Oh, but the card says—"

"I said I will take it."

My voice was sharp. The nurse blinked, handed me the heavy box, and hurried away.

I stepped out into the hallway and let the door click shut behind me. I did not like the look of this box. It had no return address. No logo. Just the name Julian Thorne scrawled in thick silver marker.

Marcus was standing guard by the elevators. He saw the box and stiffened.

"Ma'am?" he asked, stepping forward. "Did that go through screening?"

"The front desk let it through," I said. "They probably thought it was flowers."

I placed the box on a metal cart used for food trays. I looked at Marcus. "Give me your knife."

Marcus hesitated, then pulled a tactical blade from his belt.

I sliced the tape.

The smell hit me first. It was not the smell of fresh blooms. It was the smell of rot.

I lifted the lid.

Inside lay a dozen roses. They were dead. Their petals were black and shriveled, covered in a fine layer of white mold.

Resting on top of the dead stems was a card.

I picked it up with two fingers.

It was a sympathy card. The kind you buy for a funeral. On the front, it had a picture of a peaceful dove.

I opened it.

The message inside was not printed. It was handwritten in jagged, angry letters.

He lost a kidney. Next time he loses his head. The city is up for grabs.

There was no signature. Just a crude drawing of a crown with a line through it.

My stomach turned.

"Threat?" Marcus asked. He was reading over my shoulder.

"Yes," I said. "They know he is down. They think the throne is empty."

"It's the Russians," Marcus growled. "Or maybe the remnants of the Vencetti crew. They smell blood in the water."

He reached for the box. "I will dispose of this. And I will have a team sweep the perimeter."

"Wait."

I looked at the dead roses. A week ago, this would have made me scream. It would have made me run to the police.

But the police were useless. And screaming would only wake Julian up and make his blood pressure spike. He needed to rest. He needed to heal.

If he couldn't hold the line, someone else had to.

"Don't burn it," I said.

Marcus looked at me, confused. "Ma'am?"

"Find out who sent it," I ordered. "Check the security cameras in the lobby. Check the courier service. Trace it back to the source."

I closed the lid of the box, hiding the rot.

"And Marcus?"

"Yes, Mrs. Thorne."

"Do not tell Julian."

Marcus raised an eyebrow. Keeping secrets from Julian Thorne was a dangerous game.

"He will rip his stitches if he tries to fight right now," I said, my voice low and steady. "I need him to recover. So until he can stand up without bleeding, I am the one handling the threats."

Marcus studied me for a long moment. He looked at the way I stood. He looked at the determination in my eyes.

He nodded once. A sharp, respectful dip of his chin.

"Understood," he said. "I will get the team on it."

He took the box and disappeared down the service corridor.

I stood alone in the hallway for a moment. I took a deep breath, smoothing my shirt. I checked my reflection in the window of the nurses' station. I looked calm. I looked capable.

I opened the door and walked back into the room.

Julian was awake. He was trying to sit up, wincing as he shifted his weight.

"What was it?" he asked, his voice rough.

"Just fruit," I lied, walking over to pour him a glass of water. "From the Mayor. I told them to donate it to the nurses. You hate melon."

Julian narrowed his eyes. He studied my face. He was a human lie detector, even on painkillers.

"You look tense," he said.

"I just hate hospitals," I replied, handing him the glass. "Drink. You need the fluids."

He took the glass, his fingers brushing mine. He didn't drink immediately. He kept his eyes locked on mine.

"Vivian," he warned. "If there is a problem, tell me."

"There is no problem," I said, forcing a smile. "Just rest, Julian. I have everything under control."

He stared at me for another second, then slowly raised the glass to his lips. He believed me. Or maybe he just wanted to believe me.

I sat back down and opened my laptop.

I wasn't just checking emails anymore. I was researching the Russian mafia.

If they wanted a war, the librarian was going to be ready for them.