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Mrs. Chambers sticks her head through the door, a warm smile on her lips. I was the most concerned about her going along with this plan and not running back to the Saint James family to tell them Snow is here against her will, but when I told her we would be having a houseguest who would eventually become my wife, she seemed almost excited. She’s been a housekeeper in our family for my whole life, and the source of the only warmth I’ve ever felt. She’s the one who raised me, and deep down, she knows I would never hurt a woman the way my father and uncles did.
“I have Miss Saint James’s dinner here. Would you like me to take it in?”
“Please.” I nod. “As we discussed, you can speak to her. She’ll need someone to lean on, but for the moment, omit where she is and who has her.” We’ve been over this a few times in the last couple of weeks. All the staff were made aware of our guest and what it would mean if they were to tell anyone she was here before the time was right, and each of them knew there was more than just their jobs on the line. I’ll fucking slaughter their entire families while they watch and then torture them for as long as I can before their body finally gives up if they breathe a word of this to anyone.
“Of course, Mr. Russo.” She gives me a kind smile before backing out of the room.
“Mrs. Chambers,” I call out before she can close the door, and her head peeks back in. “Thank you for helping me make this easier on her.”
“She’s been here a few hours, and I can already see what she means to you, and you know all I’ve ever wanted for you is happiness. If this makes you happy, and you can make her feel safe and cherished, then I’m going to be on board. But mark my words, Elijah, if you ever lay a hand on that woman, I will do whatever it takes to get her away from you, regardless of the consequences.”
I almost laugh. She’s the only one who has ever gone toe to toe with a Russo and walked away with her life, and she’s not looking to break that streak now. “You have my word. I will never raise my hand to Snow, never hurt her the way my father and uncles hurt the women in their lives.”
“Then we won’t have a problem.” The door closes behind her, and I allow the chuckle to trickle from my chest. Maybe I have a soft spot for my fiery little Snowflake, because the woman who raised me is just the same way.
7
Snow
There’s nothing in this goddamn room I can use as a weapon. The only things that are in my room at the estate that are missing from this room is anything that could be used as one. There’s nothing I can use in place of pepper spray. The nail scissors I keep by my bed aren’t there. And the heaviest item I can lift is a goddamn bottle of moisturizer.
Once I’ve processed the fact I have nothing to protect myself with, I wander back into the bedroom and take a seat in the chair beneath the window. It’s obvious this one is much newer than the one my mother used to cradle me in when I was young and we first moved into the estate. She loved that chair. She used to read to Wynter and me in it every night before bed. The boys were a little older, so by that time, they were more interested in playing with their new toys than listening to the fairy tales Mom would read to us. This one is firmer. It doesn’t have her scent lingering in the fabric, or the memory of her woven into the stuffing. It smells brand new, and that only makes tears spring to my eyes.
The sound of a key in the door has me sitting upright and looking around the room again. What if they’re coming to harm me? As much self-defense as I know, it’s only going to do me so much good if I have to find my way out of an unfamiliar house. Best case scenario, the only person here is the one coming through the door, but the worst, and most likely, scenario is that there’s a houseful of security holding me here, and there’s no way I’m getting out unscathed.
The last thing I expect to see when the door swings open is a five-foot older lady with short gray hair and glasses balancing on the bridge of her nose. She wears a wide smile, and both hands are holding a tray.
“It’s nice to see you up, dear. I came in to check on you earlier, but you were out for the count.” She chuckles, placing the tray of what I can only assume is food on the table a few feet from where I’m sitting.
As much as I want to ask every question that rushes to the tip of my tongue, I can’t tear my focus from the door she’s left wide open. I’m almost certain it’s a trap, but what if it’s not?
“Sadly dear, I assure you it would be a fruitless endeavor. This place could give Guantanamo a run for its money,” she muses. “I’m Mrs. Chambers, but you can call me Mary. No one else does, but I figure if I ask enough people, one of them eventually will.”
“Where am I?” I ask quietly, pulling my knees to my chest and wrapping my arms around them.
She turns to me, her eyes glinting with sympathy. “All of your questions will be answered soon, dear. I know you must be frightened, but I promise no harm will come to you here.” Her words are soft and kind, but she’s avoiding the question.
“I was drugged and kidnapped. I think we’re a little past harming me,” I snap.
Mary sighs, her eyes casting down to the carpet. “You’re right. But you’re safe here. I brought you some soup. It should be kind on your belly considering the day you’ve had.”
“I’m not eating that.”
Confusion pulls her eyebrows together a moment before understanding crosses her features. She takes a few careful steps toward me so as not to startle me. “I know your arrival here was under precarious circumstances, however, I can assure you I would not drug your food. I’m here to make sure you’re happy and healthy, and that includes making sure you’re fed.”
I consider her for a moment, wondering how I’m best to play this. She seems like a reasonable woman, but if that were the case, she wouldn’t be a party to kidnapping an innocent woman. “I don’t understand why I’m here. Please let me go. Please don’t let them hurt me.” The tears I intend to cry are crocodile tears. I’ve always been able to cry on demand, and believe me when I say, I’ve done it a time or two. But when the tears well in my eyes, I realize there’s nothing fake about them and the telltale signs of a sob catches in my throat. I didn’t intend to cry real tears. I don’t want anyone to see my weakness, but hopelessness is eating away at me. What if I never see my family again? Our parents only died a few months ago, they can’t lose someone else. Our family has been through so much. I don’t want them to hurt anymore.
“Oh, sweetheart.” Her eyes dart to the corner of the room, where I spotted a camera the moment I curled up in the chair. She closes the distance between us, and I don’t flinch when her arms wrap around me.
I find comfort in her warmth. I shouldn’t allow myself to feel anything other than anger and fear, but there’s something about the older woman that brings me calm.
“I know you’re scared now, but I think if you allow yourself some grace and you let go of your preconceived notions, you could be very happy here.”
“Please,” I cry. “I just want to go home.”
“I know, sweetheart. But this is your home now,” Mary says quietly, but her words only make me cry harder. All hope that she might help me escape diminishes. I don’t know where I am or who has me, but I allow myself to fall apart in the arms of a woman I’ve only just met, who works for whoever took me.
8
