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Konstantin facilitated her move from the hospital back to the mansion because I didn’t want to do it myself. But he assured me she was home and under strict orders to stay in bed.
I’m slumping my way upstairs when I hear someone behind me. I turn to discover Rada standing in the arched doorway that leads to the kitchen. Her grim pallor suggests she has some news she’s not keen on telling me.
“What?”
She dips her head in timid greeting. “Um, good evening, sir.”
I frown. “Cut the bullshit. What’s going on?”
“Mrs. Paige, she’s, um… she’s not in her room.”
“What?” The almond scent in my nostrils intensifies. “What do you mean, ‘she’s not in her room’? Where else would she go at one in the fucking morning?”
“She packed her bags soon after Mr. Konstantin left,” Rada admits. “And she… she left.”
My heart pauses mid-beat in my chest and the blood stills in my veins. Something is not adding up. “My men know enough not to let my wife grab a cab and just leave. How is it possible that she was able to march solo out the fucking door with her bags in hand?”
“Well, she wasn’t alone, sir. And she didn’t go by cab.”
Anthony’s face appears in my mind’s eye, still dripping blood from the beating I gave him. He wouldn’t be stupid enough, would he? Wouldshe?
Before I can even follow that line of thinking, Rada continues. “She left in a car… with Ms. Cyrille.”
It’s so gutsy that I almost laugh. After betraying the entire Bratva, Paige threw herself on the mercy of my family. She went to them for help… and they gave it.
I check my phone. There’s not a single text message or call from any of them.
“Fucking hell,” I mutter under my breath. Without another word to Rada, I turn and head right back for the door I just walked through.
So much for calling it a night.
I have new rats to hunt.
95
MISHA
I get past security easily enough. I fucking should, considering they’re all on my payroll.
But the front door is deadbolted shut and my key only works for the handle. I’m not above waking up the entire household if I have to. I’m not above tearing the beautiful seven-bedroom mansion apart brick by brick with my bare fucking hands.
After all, I purchased it specifically for my mother and my sister. It’s mine to do with what I will.
Thankfully, the housekeeper, Bogdan, pulls the door open before it comes to that. He is in his dark blue bathrobe, eyes blurry with sleep. “Mr. Orlov! I—”
I brush past him and into the house without a word.
“Sir?” Bogdan says, following me with an alarmed look on his face. It’s no wonder, really—the man hasn’t seen me in several months, and the first time he does, I’m charging into his house in the thick of night like an enraged bull.
“What can I do for you?” he asks when I pause in the foyer to drag my gaze through every shadowy corner in search of my renegade wife.
I admire his composure, considering the circumstances. “My wife is here.” It’s not really a question.
His dark eyes flicker, frazzled against the composed silver of his hair. “Well, yes, sir. Mrs. Paige arrived earlier this evening with Ms. Cyrille.”
“Tell me where they are. Which room?”
He hesitates, glancing around like he expects someone to swoop in and save him.
