He caught your wrist—not hard, but firmly enough to stop you.
“How much?” he asked.
“It’s none of your business.”
“It became my business when Vanessa Sterling sent a man here at six this morning.”
Your blood went cold.
Roman nodded toward the corner.
Only then did you see one of his men standing beside a black SUV half a block away. Another man stood near the deli, pretending to smoke. Their eyes moved constantly.
“There was someone here?” you asked.
“Yes.”
“What did he want?”
“To scare your brother.”
The pharmacy bag crinkled beneath your fingers.
For one terrible second, the world narrowed to Liam upstairs, alone, weak, trying to breathe while strangers came looking for him because you had dared to protect an old woman.
You pushed past Roman and ran inside.
By the time you reached the third floor, your lungs were burning. You unlocked the apartment with shaking hands and shoved the door open.
“Liam?”
Your brother sat on the edge of the couch, wrapped in a gray blanket, an oxygen cannula beneath his nose. A woman in a navy coat knelt in front of him, checking his pulse. Beside her sat a sleek medical case worth more than everything in your apartment combined.
Liam looked up, pale but alive.
“Iris,” he breathed. “What is going on?”
You crossed the room and dropped to your knees in front of him. You touched his face, his hair, his shoulders, needing proof. He tried to smile but began coughing, and the sound tore through you.
The doctor looked at you calmly. “He’s stable for now, but he needs inpatient care today. Not next week. Today.”
You nodded, wiping your eyes. “Okay.”
Liam’s gaze shifted past you.
Roman stood in the doorway, too large and too silent for the little apartment. His eyes moved over the peeling paint, the unpaid bills stacked near the microwave, the folded blanket you used as a coat when heat failed in winter. He saw everything, and somehow that felt worse than pity.
