Page 21 of Bratva Brother’s Bride

7

VERA

Ileave Roman in the office and wander the halls like a ghost. The mansion is too quiet during the day, just the distant sound of Oksana directing the cleaning staff and the hum of the air conditioning.

My lips still feel swollen from kissing him, and I press my fingers to them as if I can erase the evidence.

What the hell was I thinking?

I wasn’t thinking, that’s the problem. I was feeling, and feeling is dangerous.

I find myself in front of the library without consciously deciding to go there. The double doors are closed, and when I push them open, dust motes dance in the sunlight streaming through the tall windows.

This room always felt separate from the rest of the house. Dmitri rarely came in here. He preferred his office with its leather and dark wood and air of intimidation.

The library is lighter. There’s a ladder on rails for reaching the higher shelves, and two wing-back chairs positioned near the fireplace.

I close the doors behind me and lean against them. My heart is still racing from the confrontation with Roman.

I need to focus.

Roman wants the ledger. If I can find it, maybe I can speed up this whole process. Get through the ninety days without incident and disappear before this thing between us gets any more complicated.

Before I do something even stupider than kissing him in his dead brother’s office.

I move to the bookshelves and start scanning the spines. Most of them are classics. Tolstoy, Dostoevsky, and Chekhov. There are some American authors mixed in.

I pull out a few books at random, checking behind them for hidden compartments. Nothing. Just more books and dust.

The next shelf is history. I see thick volumes about the Russian Revolution and World War II. I run my fingers along the spines and something catches. A slight give in the wood behind one of the books.

My pulse quickens. I pull out the book and reach into the gap. My fingers find the edge of what feels like a panel. I press and it shifts slightly but doesn’t open.

“Come on,” I mutter.

I try pushing different spots on the panel, but nothing happens. Whatever mechanism is supposed to open it must be broken... or I’m doing it wrong.

I replace the book and move on. The third bookshelf holds fiction. Mysteries and thrillers mostly. I almost laugh at the irony.

The fourth shelf is different. These books are older, leather-bound with gold lettering.

I’m about to move on when I notice something. The bookcase itself is slightly off-center. Not much, just a fraction of an inch, but enough that it’s noticeable if you’re looking for it.

I kneel and run my hands along the base of the bookcase. The wood is solid and heavy, probably mahogany. My fingers find the edge where it meets the floor and I feel a slight gap.

I press my cheek to the floor and try to see underneath. It’s too dark. I need to move the bookcase.

I stand and brace my hands against the side of it. The thing is massive and doesn’t budge when I push. I try pulling instead and manage to shift it maybe half an inch before my arms start shaking.

“Damn it.”

I look around the room for something to use as leverage. There’s a fireplace poker near the hearth. I grab it and wedge the pointed end into the gap between the bookcase and the floor.

The poker slips twice before I find the right angle. Then I lean all my weight on it and the bookcase shifts. Just an inch, but it’s enough.

I drop the poker and get back on my knees. With the bookcase moved, I can see the floorboards beneath it. One of them looks different from the others. Lighter in color, like it’s been replaced more recently.

I press down on it and it gives slightly. I wedge my fingernails into the crack and pull. The board lifts free and I set it aside.