Split

Chapter 8

8

“ C lara, can I ask you something?”

“Of course, Mrs. Volkov,” she replies, pouring coffee from the carafe into the cup on the table in front of me. Whisps of steam curl from the rim of the mug as she pours, the familiar scent drawing me in like a siren’s song.

I’m not sure I’ve ever been so excited to drink a cup of coffee in my life. I wasn’t able to sleep a wink after Roman’s late-night intrusion, and I’m definitely feeling it today.

Clara slides the cup closer to me once she’s finished pouring it and I eagerly wrap my hands around the porcelain, lifting it to my mouth to take a sip. I brace myself for the liquid to scald my tongue, but once again, it’s the perfect temperature.

After a few greedy sips of the much-needed caffeine, I lower my mug, glancing up at Clara. “Was there another before me?” I ask cautiously. “Another Mrs. Volkov?”

She purses her lips, pausing for a moment as her dark-eyed gaze bores into mine. “Yes.”

I flinch back in surprise, her admission immediately sending my mind reeling. “What happened to her?”

“I can’t say,” Clara mutters, placing my breakfast plate in front of me.

“How long were they married?”

She blows out an annoyed breath, wiping her hands on her apron and looking down at me with poorly-masked disapproval. “If you have questions, you should probably ask your husband.”

I slump back in my chair, knee bouncing anxiously as Clara proceeds to set out my silverware and the baskets of fruit and pastries. She’s obviously not going to be of any help when it comes to finding out more about Roman’s secrets.

“Not every woman can handle this life, and more than that, not every woman can handle a man like Mr. Volkov,” Clara murmurs, arranging everything on the table to her liking. “His… moods.”

“You mean his split personality?” I snort.

In the short time I’ve known my husband, two distinct sides of him have begun to emerge– the cold, aloof control freak, and the manic, unhinged puppet master. I’m not sure which side scares me more.

Clara presses her lips into a thin line as she steps back, her expression impassable. “I hope you’ll suit him better than the last. He deserves some good in his life.”

“Why didn’t you marry him off to your own daughter then?” I grumble.

“If I had one, and that was an option, it would’ve been an honor.”

Wow, this lady has really been drinking the Kool-Aid.

Clara turns away, heading over to my closet to select my clothes for the day while I remain at the table, sipping my coffee and picking at my breakfast.

“I’ll come back for the laundry today,” she says when she emerges from the closet, giving me a pointed look as she walks past me to set the clothes at the foot of the bed. Guess she doesn’t want another strip show.

“Thanks,” I mumble, still lost in thought.

Since Clara is clearly a dead end in the friends department, I’ll have to figure out a new angle. It occurred to me last night– somewhere between my third glass of wine and Roman paying the bill– that until I’m able to get away from him for good, I should be using my time here to try to uncover some sort of leverage to wield so he won’t come looking for me after I escape. All men in the business of organized crime have secrets they’d rather keep hidden, and I’m sure my husband is no exception.

I just need to uncover one of them.

After getting dressed in the clothes Clara laid out, I decide to venture outside of the house again, grabbing a croissant from the pastry basket and tucking it into my pocket along the way. In hindsight, the blueberry muffin was a bad idea. Probably too much sugar. But I’ll bet my new pal Nox will enjoy the croissant.

The morning chill is still hanging in the air when I step outside, a sharp breeze rustling the leaves of the trees on the border of the lawn. I head around the west side of the mansion again, pausing to stare up at my balcony. Though the stone facade of the house is rough, there doesn’t appear to be enough footholds in the rock to use for climbing down. I’ll just have to find some other way.

Continuing on around the side of the manor, my gaze lifts to a tall tower built into the corner of the structure, rising a story above the rest. I raise a hand to shade my eyes, squinting against the sunlight as I peer up at it. The entrance to the tower has to be somewhere at the end of the west wing. If I could get up there, it’d give me a better vantage point to scout the property for escape routes. I could get a better idea of what I’m dealing with here.

I lower my hand, chewing on the inside of my cheek as I turn over the possibilities in my mind. If I’m going to run, every step of my escape will have to be precisely planned. I’ll need contingency plans, too, just in case something goes awry. If I’m caught, I won’t get another chance. It has to go perfectly.

I’m still standing there mulling everything over when I spot the dog, who comes trotting up to me with his big pink tongue hanging out.

“Hey, buddy,” I greet warmly, stooping down to scratch his ear when he approaches.

He leans into my touch, his stumpy little tail wagging as I crouch down to love up on him. Then a second dog suddenly appears, coming over to check in on his brother. I make just as big of a fuss over him, giving him pets and splitting the croissant between the two of them.

“Good boys,” I coo, scratching their scruff after they lick the crumbs from my palms. “You’re just the prettiest pups, aren’t you?”

“Now there’s something you don’t see every day,” a gruff voice comments, and I glance up to see the gray-haired man I spotted from my window on my first day here.

I push up to my feet, smiling at him kindly. “What’s that?”

He gestures to the dogs with a raspy chuckle. “Those beasts being friendly.”

“Aw, they just need some love,” I say, stooping over to give each of them another scratch. “I met Noxy yesterday, but do you know this one’s name?”

“Vesper.”

“Aw, what a handsome name!”

The dog slurps his tongue out to lick my hand, as if he appreciates the compliment. I love up on both of them a little more, then rise to stand again, finding the old man still watching me thoughtfully.

“So, you must be the new Mrs. Volkov,” he remarks as the dogs sniff the ground around my feet before becoming disinterested and trotting off.

“Guess so. And you are?”

“Lev,” he replies, sticking out a weathered hand. “The groundskeeper.”

I step forward, placing my palm in his. “Nice to meet you, Lev. I can’t tell you how nice it is to hold a decent conversation with someone around here.”

He cups his other hand over mine, eyes twinkling with amusement as he leans in. “Old Clara giving you a hard time?”

The corner of my mouth ticks up. “How’d you guess?”

He smirks, releasing my hand with another throaty chuckle. “Eh, she’s just protective over the family. She’s been with them since she was your age.”

“Wow, really?”

He nods, the skin around his eyes crinkling with his smile. “Yes, ma’am. She used to work for Magnus. When he built his new place and moved out a decade ago, she stayed here rather than going with him. She’s always had a soft spot for Roman.”

“Well, that explains a lot,” I snort. “And what about you?”

“Oh, I’ve been here just as long,” he says with a wistful sigh. “We’re a loyal bunch, I suppose.”

I roll my lower lip between my teeth, my curiosity running away with me. “Did you know the last Mrs. Volkov, then?” I venture.

“I did,” he replies slowly.

“What happened to her?”

“Eh, that’s not something we talk about around here,” he mutters, giving me the brush-off. “Wouldn’t want to upset Mr. Volkov.”

I furrow my brow, narrowing my eyes on the aged groundskeeper. “Why would it upset him? Did something bad happen?”

Lev’s gaze lifts over my shoulder. “I have a feeling something bad’s about to,” he says with a wince.

I turn to follow his line of sight, finding Clara storming across the lawn toward me, her expression pinched in a scowl.

“Mr. Volkov wants to see you right away,” she says in a clipped tone, beckoning me with the impatient wave of a hand.

My stomach drops, pulse taking off at a gallop.

“Did he say what he wanted?” I ask warily, following her around to the front of the house.

She doesn’t respond, but as soon as I see him, I know– because he’s stooped over with a handkerchief in hand, cleaning off his shoe.

A wave of déjà vu hits and I stop in my tracks, staring in horror as he straightens to his full height and his green eyes lock with mine.

Clara scurries into the house while I stand there frozen, rooted to the spot as Roman storms in my direction.

“You fed my dog again.” The low, dangerous octave of his voice makes my heart race faster as I feel the color drain from my face.

“N-no, I didn’t,” I stammer, retreating a step as he closes in. “He must still be sick from yesterday.”

Roman grinds to a halt in front of me, jaw tightly clenched and fists balled at his sides. “Don’t lie to me.”

“Don’t barge in my room in the middle of the night,” I fire back.

Something flickers in his emerald eyes, the muscle in his jaw ticking. “Lock your door.”

“Funny, locked doors only work if the other person doesn’t have a key,” I scoff, folding my arms tightly over my chest.

A silence falls over us as we stand there staring at one another, neither of us willing to be the first to back down. The look in his eyes is unnerving, but again, it isn’t that wild, unhinged mania from the first night. Instead, it’s the eerie calm– which I’m beginning to find even more frightening.

After a long moment, Roman wets his lips with his tongue, parting them to speak.

“Remember your place, wife ,” he snarls, his upper lip curling back from his teeth and the threat in his tone obvious.

“How could I forget, with your constant reminders?” I mutter.

He cuts me a final glare before turning around and storming off, bound for the black town car parked in the circle drive.

I glare daggers into his back, wishing I had a real one to throw right about now.

“Better come inside, ma’am,” Clara says, poking her head out the front door and gazing up at the sky. “It looks like rain.”