Page 99 of Brutal Truths

A heaviness settles between us. It doesn’t take a genius to know what they did to the woman being held captive.

“Sick bastard.” Her lips thinned into a tight line, her jaw clenching. “Makes me glad my mum got us out. Took me far away.”

She says nothing for a solid five minutes.

I give her time to process everything that’s been said today.

Out of the blue, she blurts out, “Trent claims he hired my grandmother to steal the Botticelli from Rurik’s uncle.” Her voice is calmer now, edged with disbelief.

“I can’t wrap my head around Grams being an art thief.” Her sad eyes peer up at me, heavy with doubt. “Do you think that part is true?”

“Hard to say.” My attention is entirely on her. “Keeping something like that from Darius wouldn’t be easy. He’s built a reputation on digging up what others believe to be buried. And from what I know, it’s never come up.”

It’s not a solid answer, but an honest one.

Could this be yet another secret deliberately hidden from her? Sure, but it doesn’t sit right. Everything I’ve pieced together about Antonio says he wouldn’t take that kind of risk. Not with his family. Not with her.

So, either Alma was incredibly sneaky, or Trent is lying. And if he is, I can’t see why. No gain. No angle.

It’s a conundrum I plan on solving as soon as this shitshow slows down.

“Sir Edward would’ve known,” Isabel whispers. “He made it his job to know everything.”

Doubt lingers in her voice. “He knew about Gino. Didn’t tell a soul. Best-kept secret in Hermosa Islas… or it was.” A hollow breath leaves her. “Mine might top that now.”

Her gaze drifts, unfocused. “King Ramon never cared about anyone but himself. My mother, Gino, me… it doesn’t make sense.”

The hum of the hospital presses in.

“I feel like I’m stuck in a dream. That I’ve awakened in an alternate universe. Stuck in a nightmare I can’t get out of.”

A light nudge of my elbow breaks through her thoughts, a quiet reminder she’s not stuck in her nightmare alone. “Even the parts where I appear?”

A hint of amusement dances around her mouth. “So, maybe not a nightmare. More like a dark romance where you’re the morally gray lead, offering me an escape while the world falls in around me.”

“Do you read a lot of those?” Reaching out, I take her hand and clasp it in mine.

“I’ve read my share. Not sure I’ll enjoy them as much after having lived one. Bit ironic, considering I always thought being the female lead would be a nice escape from my life.”

Isabel’s fingers tighten around mine. “There’s one thing, though. Those stories always have a plot twist. Something no one ever sees coming.” She closes her eyes and leans against me again. “I don’t think I can take another one of those. I’ve dealt with too many already.”

Plot twists?

We’ve uncovered a few of those.

“Whose gun was wrapped in my grandmother’s scarf?” She sits up now, fully focused. “It’s not my grandfather’s. The only gun he owned was locked in his desk drawer. Grams hated guns. It’s definitely not hers. So, where did it come from? How did it end up in the floor safe when that room is always locked?”

Frustration edges her voice. “I don’t like where my mind is taking me. Even with her dementia, I can’t see my grandmother killing anyone. So, who the hell is she protecting?”

Protecting someone?

I shake my head in disagreement. “I don’t see her doing that. The only person she’d want to protect is you. And there’s no reason. You didn’t kill Rico.”

“I did not.” Her eyes go wide, as her tone sharpens. “But what if she saw who did?”

Her words hit their mark, and something clicks.

“Maybe she did. When you checked her room during the fire alarm, her bed hadn’t been slept in, right?”