Chapter 5
5
Fiona
The Next Day
E verything feels off since my encounter with Kirill yesterday. I made it through the rest of my lunch meeting with Ramone. There was plenty of time to return to the office and get in a few more hours of work, but I couldn't do it. I went home, replaying Kirill's and my exchange in the bathroom.
To make matters worse, Valentina haunts me. She's beautiful, and their lunch seemed intimate. Surely, she's more than just a friend to him?
It doesn't matter, I tell myself for the millionth time.
The alarm blares into the silence. I groan and hit the button on my phone, exhausted from no sleep and partially relieved it's time to get up.
I have to stop thinking about him, I scold myself.
It doesn't work. I can't escape Kirill's face, intoxicating scent, and strong fingers around my throat. I jump in the shower, and all I hear is my name rolling off his tongue or his Russian accent, declaring, "A queen obeys her king."
Why does he keep saying that ?
Suds run down my body, and Kirill's hand over Valentina's sends a wave of nausea through my gut.
Friends, my ass.
Maybe he's telling the truth.
No way.
They looked super close.
Another flare of jealousy hits me until I see green.
"Ugh! Stop these stupid thoughts. It doesn't matter," I reprimand myself as I turn off the water. I grab a towel and add, "Awesome, now I'm talking to myself."
I dry off, grab my robe off the hook, and secure it around me. I continue to go through the motions of getting ready. Once dressed, I enter the kitchen, turn the coffeepot on, and remove the creamer from the fridge.
"Can I have one too?" I hear a woman with a somewhat-familiar Italian accent ask.
The hairs on my arms rise. I spin and freeze in place, my mouth going dry.
Valentina smiles but doesn't say anything more. She's wearing a red designer minidress, and she looks as amazing as yesterday.
I grab a knife and snarl, "What are you doing in my house?"
She holds her hands up. "Easy there. I'm not here to hurt you."
"You have two seconds to answer my question," I warn, stepping closer and pointing the knife at her.
Amusement fills her expression. "You're holding that wrong if you're going to stab me."
I glance at the weapon .
She adds, "You have to hold it up in the air like this." She demonstrates how to hold it, as if she has a knife in her hand, and continues, "The force coming down will dig the blade deeper into me."
I gape at her, unsure what to do.
"Fiona, put the knife down. And please, give me a cup of coffee. It's early," she orders, pulling out a barstool and sitting at the island.
I don't move, repeating, "What are you doing in my house?"
She points at the coffeepot. "Caffeine first. We both need to function, and from what I can tell, you didn't sleep too well last night."
My insides quiver. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.
How does she know that?
I glance behind me.
"No one is here but you and me. Why don't you sit? I'll get the coffee." She gets up, takes two mugs out of my cabinet, as if she already knows where everything is, and pours a cup. She sets it on the counter and places the cream and sugar next to it. Then she opens a drawer, pulls out a spoon, and sets it down.
"How did you get in here?" I ask, knowing my stepfather Dante has decked out my building with the highest level of security.
"I'll explain everything, I promise. And you want to learn about your father's mark, right?" She arches her eyebrows.
My pulse skyrockets. "What do you know about my father?"
She points to the seat. "Sit." Then, she pours a mug for herself. She adds a spoonful of sugar and then leans against my back counter. "Sit so we can talk, Fiona."
Not knowing what else to do, I keep the knife by my side and take a seat.
"Fix your coffee and then we'll talk," she commands .
I obey and take a sip.
"There. Better?" she asks with amusement.
"Start talking," I demand.
Her amusement intensifies. "You're a lot like your brother."
"You know Sean?"
"Of course." She takes another sip, keeping her gaze on me.
I grip both hands around the hot mug and demand, "Spit out whatever it is you're here to say."
She lowers her gaze. "You don't like me, do you?"
"Am I supposed to? You did break into my house," I point out.
She studies me for a moment, and a knowing expression appears on her face. She states, "That's not why you don't like me. Is it?"
My heart races faster. "That's not a good enough reason?"
Her lips purse, and she studies me closer.
I want to smack her arrogance off her. Instead, I grip the hot mug tighter.
She blurts out, "You don't like me because of him."
"Him?" I ask, but my chest tightens. I already know who she's referring to.
She answers, "Kirill."
My cheeks heat. "I don't know what you're talking about," I lie.
"I can assure you that we're only friends."
"Sure you are," I mutter, then curse myself.
"You should also know I'm his only friend."
"That's an arrogant statement to make," I accuse .
"It's true. You'll see one day."
More confusion fills me, but I'm not buying that a man like Kirill isn't surrounded by a ton of friends.
Are they all women?
I don't care.
Ugh. They probably are all women, flocking around him to get an ounce of attention.
"It's only me. He's a very private person," she adds.
The air turns thick. I hold my breath, wrapping my mind around her statement.
So she's privy to his private life?
"You don't have to worry about me," she adds.
"Why would I worry about you?" I snap.
She takes another sip of coffee and smiles. In a cheerful voice, she chirps, "Glad we got that out of the way. So, time is running out. The moon will soon be ripe, and you'll have to make the biggest decision of your life."
"Still not following."
She sets her coffee down, reaches up, and twists her hair into a knot. She turns so her back is to me, revealing the same brand Sean, Zara, and Kirill have, except her skull has red coloring.
Goose bumps pop out on my skin, and my breath catches. "Why do you have my father's mark on your neck?"
She releases her long, dark hair and turns back to face me. She questions, "Since we're low on time, I assume you want the quick answer?"
I still don't know what she means about the moon or this timeframe, but I affirm, "Yes. "
"Great. I hate sugar-coating stuff." She drinks more coffee.
I wait for her to speak.
She steps closer to the island and puts her mug down, saying, "The skull is the mark of The Underworld. Your father created a secret world so all crime families could coexist harmoniously. Inside The Underworld, it doesn't matter what family's blood runs through your veins. Everyone respects each other. We aren't enemies."
I scoff. "Right. And Santa is real, sliding down millions of chimneys one night a year."
"It's true," she insists.
"Did you know the tooth fairy exists, too?" I sarcastically add.
Her voice turns stern. "I understand this is a lot to take in, but The Underworld is real. Your father created it so you and your brother wouldn't have to deal with the wars and bloodshed of his time."
"Bullshit."
Her eyes turn to slits.
I don't flinch, lifting my chin and matching her glare.
She points at me, warning, "The appropriate phase of the moon is almost upon us. We don't have time to waste."
I roll my eyes. "Not following your moon talk. Next, you'll tell me that my father was a hippie."
Anger lights her eyes. She reaches down, pulls a phone out of her boot, and swipes the screen. She sets the phone down in front of me.
I glance at the screen and see a contact entry with my brother's name and photo.
I shift in my seat .
Two rings fill the air, then he answers, "Valentina. What can I do for you?"
"I'm at your sister's. Can you confirm your father created The Underworld, and that its purpose is for crime families to live harmoniously?"
Silence fills the line.
"Sean?" Valentia questions.
He clears his throat. "Fiona? You're there?"
I swallow the lump in my throat. "Yes."
"At your place?"
"Yes."
"I'm not far. I'll be right over."
My gut spins. "Sean, is she telling the truth?"
There's another beat of silence before he confirms, "Yes. It's true. I'll be there shortly." The line goes dead.
I gape at the phone, attempting to decipher what all this means.
Valentina softly says, "I know this is a lot for you to take in, but we don't have much time. It's imperative we fast-track you for your coronation."
I jerk my head upward. "Coronation?"
She nods, and her expression is stern. "Yes."
"Sorry, I'm lost again," I admit.
She grabs the coffeepot, refills our cups, and places it back on the burner. Then, she strolls over to the couch and picks up an oversized bag. She opens it and pulls out a huge black binder.
I question, "What is that? "
She sets it before me, announcing, "The Royal Doctrine. It's the rulebook for the monarchy."
"The monarchy?" I ask, running my fingers over the raised gold skull of my father's design and then the two crowns. They're slanted against one another, as if holding each other up.
Valentina takes the seat next to me. "Yes. You and your brother were always meant to have a seat at the table. Since he changed the course of how things were to go, your role is now bigger."
I lock eyes with her. "My role?"
She nods. "Yes. Everyone strives to become an Omni. No one dares to dream of wearing the crown. But you? Well, you're meant to wear it."
Speechless, I study her and realize she believes this talk about monarchies and crowns. Suddenly, this all seems funny to me. Maybe it's my lack of sleep, but an uncontrollable laugh erupts from me. I can't stop it, and tears roll down my cheeks.
Valentina stares at me like I'm crazy.
Her expression only makes me laugh harder.
"What's so funny?" she asks.
I can't answer her. I look at the cover of the binder and think about her crazy talk, and it finally hits me.
My brother and Zara set me up. They're playing a sick joke on me and have been telling the truth all along.
My father's skull design is just a mark, nothing more.
"Did I miss something?" Sean's voice booms across the room.
I wipe my face, glance at him, and try to pull it together.
"I think she's in shock," Valentina offers .
Sean pulls out the barstool next to me and sits. He asks Valentina, "What have you told her?"
"Not much. I'm trying to explain her role."
I stop laughing and blurt out, "Nice one, Sean. I'm going to get you and Zara back for this."
His face remains stern. "Back for what?"
"Stop playing dumb," I order.
"This isn't a game, Fiona. It's the furthest possible thing from a game," he declares.
I start to laugh again. "Nice try."
He slams his hand on the counter, barking, "This isn't a joke!"
I jump. "Jesus?—"
"The Underworld is real, Fiona. Dad created it. He died because of it. And you have to decide whether to take your place in it or not. But if you don't, Zara and I are dead," he announces.
Shock fills me. I gawk at him.
He closes his eyes for a minute and shakes his head. He mumbles, "We didn't know you would be pulled into this. I swear neither of us knew."
Fear ignites within me, rushing through me like water from a damn that's broken. My voice is shaky when I whisper, "Sean, what did you get me involved in?"
He pins his greens on me, full of sympathy and something I never see on my brother. I realize it's trepidation.
Valentina interjects, "Both of you were meant to have a seat at the table. The course just got slightly changed."
"Slightly?" Sean seethes .
She accuses, "Byrne and Sylvia prepared you and Zara. The decision to go against his instructions was yours and Zara's. That changed your course."
"Everyone died. It should have no bearing," Sean argues.
"Who died?" I ask.
They exchange a heated look, and Valentina answers, "No one you ever met. And you don't have the clearance level to know anything about it until you've gone through your coronation."
I turn toward my brother. "What is she talking about?"
He glances at Valentina and then his anxious expression meets mine. "The Omni have decided you will be queen."
Unlike before, nothing seems funny, just even more confusing. I inquire, "What is the Omni?"
" Who is a better question," Valentina states.
Exasperated by this entire situation, and still not trusting her, I shrug. "Okay, who?"
She looks at Sean.
He divulges, "The Omnipotence, or Omni, are the rulers of The Underworld. The seat at the table refers to the Omni. I gave up my token, and now you're to become queen."
I scoff. "Token? Like from an arcade?"
"This is serious, Fiona!" he reprimands.
"You know you both sound crazy, right?"
"Yeah, but it's all real. I lost my token, and now your seat at the table is the throne!"
"This is a joke," I state, but the pit of my stomach tells me differently .
Sean lowers his voice. It's full of dread and remorse. He offers, "I didn't know what would happen. I didn't know they would make me..." He swallows hard and looks away.
"Make you do what?"
He takes several breaths, then pins the guiltiest look I've ever seen on him, announcing, "Give you to the king."
My breath catches in my lungs. I stare at him in disbelief.
Valentina interjects, "It's an arranged marriage. No one is forcing you to marry him. It's your choice to take your rightful place as queen or not enter The Underworld. But your father wanted you to be a part of it."
"I'm not marrying some stranger! I don't care what my dad wanted!"
"It's not that easy, Fiona," Sean asserts.
I spin on him. "Why is that? Seems pretty simple to me. Forget I know anything about whatever this is." I tap the binder and continue, "Or me marrying a stranger. I'm out."
Sean cries out, "They'll kill Zara and me! The twins will be orphans!"
Horror fills me. The thought of River and Willow growing up without parents pains me. I lost my father at an early age, and that sucked. Thankfully, I had my mom. I can't imagine what life would have been like with both my parents dead.
Sean's desperate tone fills the air. "I know it's a bad situation. And I've gone round and round with the Omni, but they won't change their mind."
"A bad situation? That's what you call making me marry a stranger so my niece and nephew don't end up parentless?"
He sighs. "Fiona, I know this isn't ideal?— "
"Ideal?" I shriek. "You're putting me in a horrible position. I swear to God, Sean, this better be a sick joke!"
The color drains from his face, and he slowly shakes his head.
My gut dives and then spins into chaos. I put my hand over it, swallowing down bile.
He puts his palm on my thigh. "I'm so sorry. Honestly. I would never have intentionally put you in this position."
I remove his hand, snarling, "Don't touch me, Sean."
Shame fills his expression.
Valentina offers, "If it makes it any easier, your seat is more powerful than your brother's."
I snap my head toward her, seething, "Get out."
She shakes her head. "I can't. We aren't done yet."
"I said to get out," I repeat sternly, pointing at the door.
"She's right. She can't go," Sean says.
I rise, pick up my mug, and slam it into the sink. It's harder than I wanted, and several pieces chip off the ceramic. I roar, "Dammit!"
"We need to go through the book," Valentina urges.
"I need to get to work," I declare.
"You're not going today. I already told Skylar you came down with the flu," Sean discloses.
Rage fills me. I explode, "You have no right to mess with my job!"
"The Underworld doesn't work on your timeline, Fiona. We work on theirs," he explains.
"I don't care about this Underworld!"
Valentina asks, "Then you're okay with Sean and Zara dying? "
I take deep breaths, my glare drifting between the two of them. I finally point at Sean. "How could you let something like this happen?"
A lifetime of regret crawls deep into his expression until my strong brother looks like a weak and helpless man. It's something I've never seen on him.
"Well? Answer me," I push, angrier than I ever remember being.
He closes his eyes and laments, "I didn't know. I'm so sorry to put you in this position."
My lungs tighten, only allowing shallow breaths of oxygen. I glare at Sean, and the more I study him, the more this situation sinks in until my bones turn cold.
Valentina picks up the binder and opens it. She taps her finger on the page. "Time is running out. You have to not only understand the Royal Doctrine but memorize it."
I gape at her. The binder is at least four inches thick. I glance at my brother again, then ask, "Who do I have to marry?"
Disgust fills his expression and he grinds his molars.
My insides quiver harder. "Who, Sean?"
"I'm sorry, but I'm not allowed to tell you."
"Are you serious right now?"
He nods. "I'm sorry. If I could, I would."
I glare more daggers his way, then finally order, "Get out of my house, Sean."
"Fiona—"
"No! Leave! Now!" I demand, stalking to the door and opening it.
He slowly gets up and stops in front of me. "I'm sorry. If I had known?— "
"Get out," I seethe.
He hesitates but finally leaves. As I watch him disappear down the hall, my anger only grows.
My brother and I have had our differences in the past. We've had times where we needed some space from the other. Right now, I'm unsure if I can ever look at him again.