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A few more minutes of conversation ensued, where he ran after Willow. It sounded like she put up a good fight, only to end up in the pool. I was glad Drake spared me the gory details of her death.
After he turned off the video, Drake sobbed. This was a private moment for their family, so I moved farther down the corridor to give him space.
Drake emerged from the room a minute later, scrubbing at his eyes. He refused to meet my gaze and grabbed my shoulder, guiding me down the hallway.
“Who is that man? He called mekisa.”
“Your uncle.”
“What?” I blinked rapidly, still trying to digest his confession. “My uncle killed Willow?”
“Andrey Romanov is one of the leaders of the Volkov Bratva. This summer, his men almost raped and kidnapped Alex Wellington at his request. I assume he came here looking for you and found Willow. She wasn’t his intended target.”
I bent forward, clutching my stomach to still the waves of nausea sweeping through me. Any minute, I was either going to faint or vomit.
“Go upstairs and lock yourself in your bedroom. Don’t open it for anyone but me or the Marshalls,” Drake ordered before continuing down the hall toward the natatorium.
The house was unusually silent. Not a sound from Cole’s brothers, not even the staff. This place was always so warm and lifelike. It was as if the house knew she was gone.
I was about head upstairs when I caught something moving out of the corner of my eye. Not a something but asomeone.
He was still in the house.
The blood in my veins turned to ice, and fear washed over me.
“Come,kisa,” the Russian man whispered with a thick accent. “Your father is waiting for you.”
ChapterForty-Two
GRACE
Ihauled ass down the hallway, screaming for Cole, Rhys, and Drake, hoping one of them would hear me. With my uncle blocking the direction of the natatorium, I had to run toward the East Wing. If I could climb the stairs, I could cut across the second floor and get help.
My uncle stalked in my direction, his movements slow and controlled like he had all the time in the world. He was well over six feet tall and built strong like an ox. If he were to pin me down, it would be game over. He had at least eighty pounds more muscle and was close to a foot taller than me. I did the math and knew it was a losing battle.
I raced toward the stairs.
“Stupid, stupid girl,” the man taunted from behind me.
A chill rushed over me like spiders crawling down my spine.
Fuck.
“Do not disappoint your father,kisa.”
Taking the stairs several at a time, I lost my footing and crashed into the metal railing. It stung like a bitch, the pain radiating up my arm. But I had to keep going. There wasn’t a second to waste with Andrey Romanov on my tail.
He had a scar running down the right side of his face and dark ink covering most of his body. I could tell he had done some really bad shit in his lifetime.
At the top of the landing, I gripped the railing to steady myself. Andrey was seconds behind me, but he didn’t bother to reach out for me. Instead, he dipped his hand into his pocket and produced zip ties, snapping them in front of his face.
“Bayushki Bayu,” he sang in a deep tone, a song that often haunted my dreams. “Have you forgotten your favorite song, Katarina?”
I hadn’t heard the song in years. Not since my dad sent me to a psychiatrist specializing in dream therapy. Someone the Colonel knew from his time in the Marine Corps.
After months of waking up screaming, covered in sweat, and my heart pounding out of my chest, the Colonel got me help. I was only eleven years old and had terrible nightmares that felt real. Those memories were a distant remnant of my past.
But as the man sang the familiar song to me, pieces of those dreams flooded back. His Russian accent reminded me of someone from my past. Someone who caused me a lot of sleepless nights.
