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“But we’ve taken a vote before,” another man points out. “I doubt hearts have changed so quickly.”
“Really?” Sergei glances at me and moves to stand in the center of the circle. “Then perhaps you’ll listen to a voice other than mine? Ellen, would you join me?”
I swallow hard, choking a refusal down. My trembling legs barely seem capable of supporting my weight. As all eyes turn to me, it’s a wonder I don’t melt into a puddle.
One gaze burns more intensely than the others, however. He doesn’t take his eyes off me for a second, even as Sergei stands aside, leaving me in the center of the circle alone.
My surroundings blur as what seems like a hundred faceless people focus on me.
“And who is this?” someone asks.
“She is Robert Winthorp’s wife,” Sergei says, receiving startled gasps. “I believe it is only fair that she should have a say in this conflict.”
More murmurs rise from those gathered. “And what does she have to say?”
“Before we begin,I’dlike to make a suggestion,” Mischa cuts in. He sits casually in his chair, his arms crossed, but his eyes are fiercely alert. “As someone pointed out, we’ve already settled this matter via a vote. But as Pakhan, I’m willing to let her decision overrule any previous course of action. All opposed?”
A smattering of people dissent, but presumably not enough to make a difference.
“Then it’s settled,” Mischa says. He and Sergei share a searching look, but the other man makes no objection. “In fact,” Mischa continues, “I say we go a step further: We give her a seat at the table with all the authority of an acting head.”
“Are you serious?” someone scoffs.
“No.”
“Out of the question!”
“Oh?” A flicker of emotion distorts Sergei’s otherwise cold expression. Curiosity? “On what grounds would you make such a suggestion?” he wonders.
“It’s simple.” Mischa stands, and even the novelty of my appearance is no match as he effortlessly commands the attention of the entire room. “Not only is she the daughter of Robert Winthorp Senior’s first wife, but she’s also the bastard of Ivan Vasilev.”
Chaos. A chorus of shouting nearly drowns out Mischa’s calm, persistent baritone.
“Not only that. But she’s the mother of Robert the younger’s sole surviving heir.”
I can’t breathe. No matter how rapidly I suck air in, none of it seems to go into my lungs. It’s ironic in a sense: Nicolai broke my ribs. But Mischa shatters the pathetic organ trapped between them. Blood pools in my veins, stalled by an ineffective heart.
Though he did warn me:When we reach the bottom of these stairs, we won’t be allies…
“Enough!” Someone grabs my arm, radiating gentleness. Vanya. “Mischa, what is the meaning of this?”
Either Mischa doesn’t hear him or he ignores him.
“Silence!” The Pakhan raises his hand, radiating authority. “I have proof of my accusations, of course,” he says once the clamor fades to a disturbed hum. His eyes scan the crowd and then land on one figure. Alarmingly, his gaze softens and my throat tightens even before he calls them by name. “Anna…”
A hush falls over the room as all eyes turn to the pale woman practically huddled in a corner. Shaking, she starts forward, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“Mischa, please,” she gasps in between sobs. “Mischa,please—”
“Anna.” His expression hardens. “Tell them. No harm will come to him, but you need to tell them. Now.”
Trembling at the edge of the circle, Anna looks smaller than ever. A shadow of a woman, likely to fade into the ether with one wrong move. Vanya’s grip tightens on my arm, but for whatever reason, he doesn’t go to her.
“I…” She swallows hard and clears her throat. “I am Anna-Natalia Vasilev—”
“And for sixteen years, she was a prisoner of the Winthorps,” Mischa finishes for her. “They kept her locked in a virtual cage while sending a stranger’s body to her father. And what else did they make you do?”
More tears streak the woman’s beautiful face and she staggers. One of the men near her lurches to his feet and lowers her onto his vacated chair.
