by Lana Sky
A world where I’d live by his side and no one would dare intrude on our peace.
Strangely enough, I think he’s imagining the same thing as he absently strokes my back. But there is no denying the reality waiting for us beyond these walls. We both stay stubbornly awake until a knock on the door draws him away.
“Vanya,” he says, greeting the figure on the other side of the door.
“We’re ready,” the older man replies. “Everything is in place.”
“Good.” Mischa looks back at me and inclines his head.
Reluctantly, I creep from the mattress and redress beside him in the dark.
Together, he and Vanya descend the staircase while I follow. Sergei is waiting below, joined by several of his men.
“We should go now,” he suggests as we approach. He’s traded his posh suit from the meeting for a plain black sweater and slacks.
Frowning, Mischa inspects him and shrugs. “Fine. But first…”
He turns to me, and I stiffen as he reaches out, cupping my cheek. The brief affection isn’t like him—especially with several startled eyes tracking his every movement. Oblivious to them, he tugs me in close, giving me no chance to resist as his lips boldly brush mine. At the same time, his hand slithers between us, unseen by the two men, and he presses something firm against my palm. My fingers automatically close around the shape and I tuck it behind my back as he deepens the kiss.
His teeth nip me, a brutal reminder of his prior warning: Be on guard. Gasping, I return the favor with a nipped message of my own: I will. Beneath my fingers, the item he gave me is easier to interpret. A weapon with a sturdy, leather handle.
“Ahem.” As if from far away, Sergei clears his throat. “I don’t mean to rush…”
“I’m ready.” Mischa pulls back and heads for the door.
My cheeks flame as I catch Vanya staring, his gaze unreadable.
“Don’t wait up, Little Rose,” Mischa calls as the men approach the front door of the manor.
Sergei and Vanya flank him on either side while the rest take up the rear.
“Ellen?”
I turn and find Anna at the top of the stairs.
“Is everything all right?” Her wide eyes focus on the object I still have tucked behind my back. From this angle, only she can see it: a knife. It’s too small to be Mischa’s usual weapon but lethal enough, I suspect.
Facing her, I maneuver the object to keep it from sight. “Everything is fine.” I smile even as my heart hammers in my chest.
For the first time, I look down and observe the knife fully. It’s thinner than his blade and therefore easier for me to wield. That fact makes my stomach sink; he got it for me especially.
He planned for me to need it.
Or he could be giving in to his usual brand of paranoia. Yes. I nod along with the pathetic logic as Anna gapes at me from the top of the staircase. Everything, from his history lessons to his hostility toward Sergei, was a gross overreaction. If the former leader is right and they are able to capture Robert, then the meaning of the knife could be more subtle—a mocking reminder of everything I’ve sacrificed without Robert: blood, soul, limbs…
Even so, maybe I’m not ready to be a widow after all.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Anna says as I finally ascend the stairs to her.
A ghost? Or a serpent. Sergei’s soldier’s tattoo reappears in my mind: a snake entwined with a cross. The more I think about it, the surer I am. He was the same man we saw the night we escaped from Robert.
“Ellen?”
When I meet Anna’s gaze, I can tell she’s worried. “I’ll help you put the children to bed,” I tell her, forcing a smile.
Together, we turn to the sitting room and usher a drowsy Mouse off to bed while Anna carries Eli.
At the threshold to her room, she grabs my arm. “Something’s wrong, isn’t it? I can see it in your face.”
“No,” I start to lie. Then I bite my lip and eye the blade in my grasp. “Keep an eye on him,” I warn her, nodding to the boy sleeping against her shoulder. “And take this.”
She stiffens when I press the blade against her palm, exposing it completely. “W-what is—”
“Hide it on you always,” I insist, cutting her off. “And if anyone tries to take him… Use it.”
“Who would take…” Suddenly, she swallows and then nods. “I understand.”
I don’t sleep. I stand and pace, wringing my hands together mercilessly. Around me, the old house creaks and sways, bustling with Sergei’s men. Finally, after what must be midnight, I hear the sound of clamor coming from the foyer.
I race down the staircase, and Sergei is already at the bottom to meet me. Alarm lances through my chest as I spot the mud on his clothes. For once, ruffled hair and filthy hands ruin his usually polished façade.
But his bloodshot eyes stop me dead in my tracks, even before he says the words my brain takes ages to process.
“I’m sorry… But we failed.”
“Oh,” I croak. It’s the only thing I seem capable of saying.
“Ellen…” Frowning, Sergei takes a step forward, his hand outstretched. “Mischa and Ivan…they’re dead.”
Chapter 25
I thought the day I lost my mother taught me what pain was. Even losing Eli the first time. My heart shattered, but I could still bear it and pull myself from the darkness.
I could make myself numb to reality and cushion myself within the bars of my cage.
But now…there is no more hiding and no shelter from the truth.
Even hearing it said out loud—the fact that Mischa could be gone—makes everything go black. When sensation returns, I’m on my knees, wrapped in the arms of someone whose silent sobs rack my body.
But I just stare blankly, eyeing a spot on the wall as Misha’s voice echoes in my thoughts on a constant loop. Be on guard. Be on guard.
Don’t trust him…
“I’m sorry,” Sergei says, but something in his voice makes me bury my face into Anna’s shoulder and obscure my expression from him. “We tried to recover the bodies, but it was too late. I’m sorry.”
Anna continues to sob.
But I just listen. Mischa said that the night I went missing, Sergei put on a good show, but something was off. And I can hear it in his voice now.
He isn’t gloating.
But he isn’t devastated, either.
He’s merely resigned.
And I feel that gnawing, consuming paranoia itching at my psyche, keeping true grief at bay.
He knows more than he’s letting on.
And I can’t fall apart now.
So, biting my lip, I lock the pain away. I keep the tears at bay, and I guard my heart against anything that might threaten its fragile surface.
Even if it kills a part of me.
Anna brings me to my room, her arms protectively around me. “Do you need me to stay with you?” she asks, choking her own sobs back. Blazing with concern, she scans my face and eases stray bits of hair from it. “I can—”
“No.” I shake my head and turn from her, clinging to the door for balance. “Stay with Eli.”
Once alone, I run my fingers along my face, surprised that there aren’t any tears there to wipe away.
I wait long enough to hear Anna’s steps retreat. Then I reenter the hall and descend the stairs. Unsurprisingly, I find Sergei alone in the drawing room, his back to me.
“What happened?” I demand hoarsely. “Tell me.”
“It was an ambush.” Turning to me, he sighs, raking his hands through his graying hair. “Winthorp must have anticipated our arrival. I did everything I could—”
“How did they die?”
He cocks his head at my tone, but finally, he unhooks his jaw. “We were separated,” he says. “Unfortunately, when Robert’s men retreated, I knew that—”
“That your man had done his job?”
“Ellen?” His eyes widen and narrow in rapid succession as my h
eart pounds a frantic rhythm against my rib cage. “I’m not sure I understand what you mean…”
“You let Robert take me.” It sounds insane. I’m not even sure it’s the truth—not until I see his expression harden. My heart solidifies into a throbbing, aching mass. Mischa was right. “Not for good,” I add, still putting the pieces of my suspicion together. “You planned on retrieving me again. You had a man planted there and an easy route for him to enter my room via the vents—”
“And why would I do that?” he interjects, crossing his arms. The simple motion highlights just how large he is compared to me. A wall of muscle and power I have no chance at withstanding.
“Why?” I echo hollowly.
On the surface, such a plan makes little sense. But Mischa taught me well. I do what he would: view the situation from a different angle. I let my paranoia run rampant.
“Because I was never your true target,” I blurt. “I’m still valuable to you, but one person could strengthen your position more than Robert’s illegitimate wife. His son.” My throat aches as I think of Eli, blissfully unaware of the games being played with him as a pawn. “You tried to bribe me into seeking him out myself. Maybe you would have revealed your plan then. But I refused. So you needed another method. For whatever reason, you knew that Robert would keep me near him. I just don’t understand why.”
“Why?” He faces me directly, his mouth thoughtfully tilted. “He’s an easy man to manipulate—once you understand him.”
“Robert?” I risk venturing a guess. “I think your goal was always to get control of Eli.”
“He’s the heir,” he says simply. “Without him, Robert can’t shore up support. Eventually, his empire will crumble around his fucking hands—”
“Then why didn’t you say something!” My voice rings out, bleating and broken. It’s a weakness. One I desperately try to regain control of, choking any hint of tears back. “Why all the secrecy and the lies?”
“And concede it all to Mischa?”
I jump as he advances toward me and brushes his hand along my cheek. Stripped of any feigned gentleness, his touch burns: callused flesh and brute strength.
“Mischa, the impulsive, violent fool who would run this enterprise into the ground?”
“You killed him.” I fight any lingering tears back and force myself to meet his stare. This is the one truth I won’t let him avoid. “Didn’t you?”
“No.” He sighs. Disappointed in that fact? “I didn’t. But he is dead. I can assure you of that.”
“And Vanya?” Again, my voice breaks. Gasping for air, I can’t disguise the pain in it any longer. “Mischa was your rival, fine. But your own brother?”
“Ivan was an accident,” he admits, turning his back to me. Even so, guilt radiates from his hunched posture—which only confuses me further.
“An accident?”
“Yes! Don’t look at me with hate in your eyes,” he snaps. “I loved him, even when he betrayed me. I was the only person who ever looked after him.”
“Like with my mother?”
He should laugh at the insinuation. It’s too petty to even consider. But he shoots me a look that chills my blood. It gleams with the malice he managed to conceal until now.
And I can easily discern the truth.
“You lied to him about her,” I whisper in horror. “Didn’t you?”
“Your mother…” He laughs darkly, failing to hide the loathing in his voice. “She was a haughty little bitch. She had Ivan wrapped around her finger. She put ideas into his head. Made him question what he shouldn’t.”
“Like you,” I surmise. “She didn’t trust you.”
“No.” His mouth flattens into a thoughtful line. “I suppose she didn’t. Ever since I ordered my men to leave her precious whelp behind.”
He says it so coldly that one could miss the true cruelty implied.
“Briar.” I fight to keep the disgust from my tone. “You used her as a bargaining chip. Didn’t you?”
On paper, he had a powerful weapon against the Winthorps in the form of Marnie to use against Robert Sr.
But he still needed leverage to control the woman herself.
And a mother would do anything for her child.
Even if it cost her the man she loved.
“I don’t think Ivan ever believed her suspicions.” He frowns and then shakes his head. “No. He would have killed me if he knew. But Marnie grew more devious. The time came when I knew she would run off with him and my—the Winthorp money.”
“So you tricked her,” I say. “Vanya thought she went back willingly, but that wasn’t the case.”
He nods as if finally admitting it all is freeing to him. Cathartic. “I promised her Briar. Then I told Ivan she left.” The wry twist to his mouth could be guilt. Or smug satisfaction. “It broke his heart, but it had to be done—”
“All so that you could maintain power.”
“For the good of the Vasilev name,” he growls, his voice booming. “Ivan was too worried about sticking his cock in a pretty woman and siring more children. But I had the mantle of the mafiya on my shoulders. I had our family name on my shoulders—”
“But you abandoned your own family,” I hiss. “She told you about me. Didn’t she?”
“She tried to reach Ivan,” he says. “I managed to intercept her messages, though I don’t think she realized that. She pleaded for him to come for her. Then she primarily pleaded for you. In her words, even if he didn’t love her…” He laughs again. “She begged him to take you.”
My eyes burn, watering as I imagine Marnie. Her face. The pained way she looked at me. How she held me the few times she could. My pathetic, faithfully acknowledged birthdays…
All this time, I thought I was the source of her pain—but I wasn’t.
Her heart broke for me.
“You made her think Vanya abandoned her,” I say thickly. “And you left her to rot.”
“I did what was best for Ivan.” But from the grit in his tone, I doubt he believes that lie himself. “The fool would have gotten himself killed. Besides, he had Anna-Natalia—”
“Until she was taken,” I point out. “But rather than rescuing her, you went after a child.” A sudden thought churns my stomach. “Was hurting Marnie your real intention for wanting to kill Briar? Punishing her?”
“Are you really that naïve?” His eyes flicker and I instinctively take a step back. For the first time, the true Sergei Vasilev peeks from beneath his charming mask. Not a vengeful brute like Mischa, but something far more dangerous.
A cold, calculating tactician content to wait years to see his plans bear fruit.
No matter the cost.
“We spun Marnie’s little excursion to our own benefit, but Winthorp retaliated much harder than I expected. I’m sure Mischa told you about what happened to his family? Imagine countless more gruesome tales, and widows, and pain. Not to mention what we thought happened to Anna.”
“You saw my mother that night, didn’t you?”
“I did,” he says. “And knowing what I do now, I should have spit in her face.”
“You’re a monster! She learned better than to trust you. In her eyes, Anna was better locked in a Winthorp dungeon than anywhere near you—”
I don’t even see the slap; it happens so fast. Then I blink, realizing I’m on my knees and Sergei is standing above me.
“I see you are like your mother in more ways than one. Eric!” He raises his voice and a man appears in the doorway. The one with the serpent tattoo. “Miss Winthorp is tired,” Sergei says, waving a dismissive hand in my direction. “Please show her to her room.”
The man approaches me and grabs my arm, hauling me to my feet. As he steers me to the door, I look back at Sergei. “Are you going to give me back to Robert?”
It’s my obvious fate: With Eli under his control, he no longer needs me.
“No,” he says. “But I will sell you back to him. Long enough to serve as a distraction while I put
the pieces into play to obliterate his standing completely. Mischa wasn’t as stupid as he pretended to be, but he was a fool,” Sergei says. “He didn’t realize that men like the Winthorps can’t simply be butchered out of existence. With their money and prestige, it takes a slow, methodical approach to ensure their demise. I need to infest his holdings from the inside out and crumble the house of cards from the very foundation.”
In some ways, it’s a more gruesome end for Robert than a bullet would be.
“So what now?”
For a second, I think he won’t tell me as his man drags me over the threshold. Then he holds his hand up and the man stops.
“I’ll tell him that Mischa flew into a rage and killed the boy. I can offer you to him—for a price. And while he enjoys you in your current condition, I will solidify my alliances and then burn the manor to the ground when he least expects it.”
Presumably with both Robert and me inside it.
Swallowing hard, I ask, “And Eli?”
“I’ll ensure that he remains the sole inheritor of the Winthorp estate,” he says. “Then I’ll train the boy to take his rightful place as my successor. Maybe that will give you solace. He’ll learn the Vasilev way, just as I did. Goodnight, Ellen.”
The man, Eric, ushers me up the stairs and into my room. Once the door closes, I hear the lock engage.
And I can’t help wondering if, before he sent her back to the Winthorps, Sergei made this room my mother’s prison as well.
Chapter 26
Robert was a cruel captor and Mischa a ruthless one—but Sergei is methodical. When my door opens in the morning, his man enters and places a tray of food on my nightstand.
It’s not a bowl of gruel or the stale bread of a prisoner’s rations. Though the scrambled eggs and porridge could easily contain a lethal powder. So could the orange juice or the steaming mug of tea.
Maybe he wants me to suspect as much. A part of me bristles at the paranoia.
