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Chapter 27
When the tattooed man returns with my dinner tray, I stand and face him.
“Take me to Sergei,” I command, meeting his startled gaze directly. “Now.”
He frowns, but I suspect that Sergei warned him that I might make such a request. Without hesitation, he turns and beckons with a jerk of his chin. “Come but stay close.”
And don’t you dare run.
I follow him down the hall and nearly sigh with relief when we pass the sitting room. As if conjured by a miracle, Anna, Mouse, and Eli are already inside it.
“Ellen?” Anna lurches to her feet. Her eyes dart to the man in the hall, but there’s a grim resignation in her gaze. Years with the Winthorps haven’t made her naïve. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” I force a smile. “Mouse?”
The girl sits hunched on the floor beside Eli. I don’t doubt she’s already picked up on the inevitable shift in the atmosphere as well. Her eyes are sharp as they meet mine, as guarded as always.
Still smiling, I make my voice deliberately soft. “You and Eli should play a game. Remember the one you and Mischa played?” I pray to God that she understands. “This time, he is the flower.” I point to Eli, who wrinkles his nose.
“I don’t want to be a flower—”
“Hush, darling,” Anna scolds. She tracks the silent communication between me and the girl, biting her lower lip.
“Wouldn’t that be fun, Mouse?” I say, hoping the fear isn’t apparent in my voice. “A game?”
With her as silent as always, I can’t gauge her reaction. It’s like Mischa gave her lessons in masking her emotions as well as knife fighting. Finally, she nods.
“Come, miss,” the man prods. His hand brushes my lower back—a warning.
Reluctantly, I follow him down the stairs and across the foyer. Instead of the drawing room, he leads me to a different space, closer to the staircase: a study. Inside it, Sergei is sitting behind a desk, studiously eyeing a pile of documents.
“Can I help you, Ellen?” he wonders without looking up.
“I wanted to know when you were sending me back,” I demand. “Because you are, aren’t you?”
“What an odd coincidence.” He shuffles his papers and finally looks up. “I was just about to make the arrangements. You’ll return to your husband tonight. I was merely waiting for confirmation.”
My stomach sinks at his cold, mocking tone. “C-confirmation?”
He slides something across the desk toward me. My eyes process the item in pieces: silver blade. Leather handle.
It’s a knife, long and battered. Recognition shreds my heart. It’sMischa’sknife. Only now, blood streaks the surface its owner strived so hard to polish.
“No…” My breath catches on a moan as I sink to my knees. At the back of my mind, I never believed he was dead.
But this…
Logic goes to war with blind faith, utilizing my heart as their battlefield.
Alive.
Dead.
Alive.
Dead…
“That is one matter of business handled,” Sergei says. His callous tone is a harsh anchor, grounding me amid the wave of grief threatening to drown me.
