Chapter 27
27
Fiona
One Month Later
S aying I'm bored is an understatement. I haven't worked in over a month. Skylar still hasn't met with me. She claims we have to wait until after fashion week.
I can't blame her. It's the busy season, and I know how much work is involved. But I miss my career, the people in the office, and all the shows.
I keep going online and looking at different posts. All it does is make me feel worse.
Kirill keeps encouraging me to start my own line. At first, I said I could never put myself in a position to compete with Skylar. But the more time passes and I don't hear from her, the more I realize I might need to take matters into my own hands.
Before Kirill left this morning, he looked at my sketchbook. It has dozens of designs I've doodled over the last month. He'd set it down and adamantly stated, "You have talent, Fiona. And it's obvious this is your passion. Don't sell yourself short to be loyal to someone who isn't loyal to you."
I'd sighed, replying, "It would be easier if I didn't feel like a traitor. "
He'd scoffed and said, "You aren't a traitor. You worked tirelessly for Skylar for years. Maybe this is happening for a reason."
I'd been unable to deny he had a point.
He'd kissed me, then said, "We have resources to make this happen. Think about it."
He'd left, and I'd turned on the TV, only to see more fabulous things I was missing during fashion week.
Then I'd gotten pissed. It'd mixed with my guilt and confusion over how to make things right with Adrian and Skylar. No answers had come, but more anger did.
Kirill is my husband. They've known me for years. It's not fair they won't even hear me out or give me the benefit of the doubt.
So, my rage turned into productivity. I've spent the day drawing designs, on a roll, with my brain seeing the next new outfit before I finish the one I'm working on.
I shade the top I'm working on and then put my pen down. I sit back, stare at the design, then flip through the notebook.
Kirill's right; I have talent. Maybe I should start my own line.
The more I review my designs, the more my confidence grows. Then I turn on my computer and compare what the reviewers are raving about compared to what's in my sketchbook.
My designs are better.
I'm not being disloyal to Skylar and Adrian.
They've shut me out.
I click on my mouse, and another review comes up. It's for Skylar's main competitor, and I roll my eyes. It's just another throwback from the '80s. I mutter, "They're so unoriginal. "
The doorbell rings. The hairs on my arms rise, and a shiver runs down my spine.
I don't have plans with Zara, and Kirill didn't mention anyone else coming over.
The doorbell rings again.
Stop being silly. If they're in the foyer, they have security clearance.
I release an anxious breath and rise. I leave my office, go through the penthouse, and open the front door.
A young man with greasy, long locks and a scar on his neck, whom I've never seen before, stands there holding a yellow envelope. He raises it toward me, declaring, "This is for you."
My hands are clammy, and nerves erupt in my stomach. I don't know why my internal alarm bells are going off.
I ask, "Who is it from?"
"I'm just the messenger," he states, adding, "Here." He thrusts the envelope closer to me.
I grab it. "Thank you."
"It's urgent. You need to pay attention to it now," he declares.
"Okay," I say.
"Don't forget. It's urgent," he repeats.
"All right. I will," I assure him.
He hesitates for a moment, then turns to leave.
The elevator doors open. He steps inside, and the doors immediately slide shut.
Since when does the elevator work that quickly?
Lucky him .
I shut the door, lock it, and stroll back to my office. I step inside, look at the handwritten Queen Fiona on the front of the envelope, then freeze.
Since when has anyone from The Underworld not bowed and called me Your Majesty?
Dread fills me. I run my hand over the bump in the envelope, not sure what's inside. My insides quiver, and once again, I don't know why.
It's just some sort of Underworld business, I tell myself.
I open the envelope, pulling out a note and a flash drive. I unfold the paper and read it.
Queen Fiona,
This is how well your father-in-law knew your parents.
Sincerely,
A Friend
I'm racked by a full-body shiver. I stare at the flash drive and reread the note.
"Stop stalling," I mutter and then sit at my desk. I take a deep breath, staring around the beautiful space Kirill designed for me. The soft-blue sitting area, elaborate artwork, and rustic bookcases displaying my fashion books, look perfect against the stunning view of Lake Michigan. Normally, I get a sense of peace whenever I'm in this room. Right now, my gut won't stop flipping.
"I'm being silly," I mumble, then carefully insert the flash drive into my computer and wait. After a brief moment, a video materializes on the screen. It's black, and there's a play button.
My pulse skyrockets. I debate about pushing the play button or not, but I can't help myself. My curiosity wins, and I click the button.
There's a man strapped to a car. It's dark. The only light comes from the headlights of that vehicle and another one .
At first, it takes me a minute to comprehend what I'm seeing, and then horror races through me.
It can't be.
"Dad!" I cry out, leaning closer. There's no doubt it's him, especially when I hear his voice.
He's screaming, "Let her go!" and "Motherfuckers!" over and over.
The camera zooms out, then pans over to six men surrounding a woman. She's screaming, trying to break free, but isn't strong enough.
Bile rises in my throat.
Horrified, I put one hand over my mouth and the other on my stomach. My mother's face fills the screen and her voice pumps from the speakers.
Then, two men turn to face the camera, and my gut churns faster. I pause the video, looking closer.
It's my Uncle Niall and Uncle Shamus, who both died when I was a kid.
Why are they there and not helping my father?
More tears fall, and I try to figure out who the others are, but I've never seen them.
As if in slow motion, one by one, the men all rape my mother as my dad screams for them to stop.
My entire body shakes, and tears fall off my chin and dampen my jeans.
I want to stop watching but can't. Everything is blurry, but somehow, the images are way too clear.
Toward the end, a man takes off his gold chain necklace. It's a crucifix with an emerald in the center. He puts it around my mom's neck and chokes her, yelling at the top of his lungs, "Pray! "
Several times, my mom looks like she blacks out. The entire time, my father screams threats, but he's unable to do anything while strapped to the car.
When my mother blacks out for good, the camera switches back to my father. He's hysterical, screaming, "Bridget!"
The next scene is just as horrific. They kill my dad, and I watch every gruesome moment, feeling like my entire world is collapsing in front of me.
The video goes black, and I don't move. I don't know how much time passes. I can't stop shaking or crying, staring at the black screen.
My phone dings, tearing me out of my haze. As if in a trance, I glance down at it.
A text message pops up.
Unknown: The man with the cross necklace is your father-in-law.
Bile flies up into my throat. I run to the bathroom and hug the toilet.
Kirill booms, "Fiona!" He kneels on the floor next to me and holds my hair back. He rubs my back.
More bile swirls in my stomach. I retch again, then dry heave until my body can't take anymore.
"Oh, little bird," he murmurs.
I slowly meet his eyes, still shaking.
Concern fills his expression. "You're sick. Let's get you into bed."
His father raped my mother and killed my dad.
I push him away. "Get away from me."
He gapes at me, in shock at my outburst. "Fiona?— "
"No! Get away from me!" I shout, pushing at him.
He barely budges. "Fiona?—"
I kick at his chest.
Confused, he jerks his head back. "Fiona, what has gotten into you?"
"Stay away from me," I cry, scooting toward the corner.
He looks horrified. "What's going on, little bird?"
"Don't," I say, and begin sobbing uncontrollably.
"I don't understand what's happening here," he confesses.
I pull my knees to my chest, accusing, "Y-your f-father. H-how... How..." Fresh sobs fly out of me. The visions and sounds of the video haunt me, and I can't push them out of my head.
Kirill moves closer. He touches my leg. "Fiona?—"
I jump up, screaming as loud as possible, "Get away from me!" and run through the penthouse.
He follows me. In a calm voice, he begs, "Please tell me what's happening right now."
I hurl, "You want to know?"
"Yes." He shoots me another confused but concerned look.
"Fine," I say, brushing past him and entering my office. I hit the keyboard, and the video starts playing.
Kirill freezes, his eyes widening, and the color drains from his face.
I point to the man on the screen. My voice trembles as I ask, "That is your father?"
He glances at me helplessly, grinding his molars.
"So it's true?" I demand with tears streaming down my cheeks .
He squeezes his eyes closed tightly. "Yes, that's my father."
My insides quiver harder as I ask, "Did you know?"
He remains silent and slowly opens his eyes, pinning his guilty gaze on me.
I tremble so hard I have to sit down at my desk.
His expression turns remorseful.
I turn in my chair, unable to look at him, choking out, "You knew your father did this to my mother and father?"
His voice cracks when he admits, "Unfortunately, yes. I did."
I spin back to face him, growling, "And you didn't think this was important to tell me?"
Tension explodes between us, mixing with the screams from my mother and father.
He steps in front of me and turns the video off. He asks, "How did you get this?"
I sarcastically laugh. "How did I get this? That's what you want to know?"
He keeps his voice neutral. "Yes, Fiona. I need to know how you got this."
"It was delivered to me."
"By whom?"
"By a man."
"What man?"
"I don't know."
Kirill kneels and puts his hands on my cheeks.
I close my eyes, trying to breathe .
He softens his tone. "Fiona, I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I didn't want you to hate me."
I open my eyes and pull his hands off me. I rise, seething, "Hate you? You kept the worst thing that ever happened to my family from me."
"I didn't want you to ever know about this. Nor did I know this video existed," he declares, standing up.
"Well, unfortunately it does, and I'm never getting it out of my mind," I shriek, jabbing him in the chest, a new wave of emotion overpowering me.
"I'm so sorry," he claims. He pulls me into him.
I sob for a moment, but then I push him away, warning, "Get away from me."
Hurt and fear darken his features. He begs, "Fiona, please."
I shake my head, sternly replying, "No." I run to the bedroom, grab a bag from the closet, and begin stuffing it with clothes.
"What are you doing?" he questions, standing in the doorway.
"I'm getting away from you," I state.
He inhales sharply, then pleads, "Please. I'm not my father."
I spin and point at him. "You may not be your father, but you hid this from me. You should have told me."
"Told you what? That my father was the monster who destroyed your father and violated your mother? Did you really want to know that?" he asks.
I don't answer. The air in my lungs is thick and stale. I continue to toss random clothes into the bag, unable to shake the horror of the scenes I witnessed on the video. I zip the bag, then step in front of him, demanding, "Move."
"Fiona— "
"I said to move," I order.
He closes his eyes and then steps back. "Please, stop for a minute."
I brush past him, enter the office, and grab my phone. I return to the main room and toss it in my purse.
Kirill asks, "Where are you going?"
"It's none of your business."
"It is. I'm your husband," he reminds me.
More emotions pummel me. Love, hatred, and disappointment swallow me whole to the point I wonder if death would be a better option than having to find a way through this. I manage to get out, "You told me you'd tell me everything. I thought we didn't have secrets, but you kept the biggest one from me. So what kind of marriage do we have, Kirill?"
He stands taller, asserting, "We have a great marriage, and you know it. Don't let this destroy us. Please. I love you."
A sharp pain tears through my heart. My voice cracks. "I love you too, but I can't do this. Goodbye, Kirill." Tears drip off my chin as I exit the room.
He follows me to the elevator and grabs my arm.
"Don't touch me," I shriek.
He releases me immediately. "You can't leave like this."
The elevator doors open, and I step inside.
He follows me.
I push him, screaming, "Get out!"
"Fiona—"
"I said to get out. Get away from me, Kirill. I mean it. I can't right now. Just go. Leave me alone," I insist .
He blinks hard, his eyes glistening. In a helpless voice, he says, "Okay. I'll give you some space. I'm sorry I didn't tell you. But I love you."
"Get out," I repeat, crying harder. "Please."
He reluctantly steps out.
I hit the button. The elevator doors take forever to close. When they finally do, I lean against the wall in the corner and sob. Like always, the elevator moves slowly down to the main floor.
The doors open, revealing the redhead who lives on the floor below us. She's always giving Kirill dirty looks. With a shocked look, she asks, "Honey, are you okay?"
"I'm fine."
She stays planted in front of me. "What did he do to you?"
All the rage I'm feeling comes to a head. I step closer so my face is inches from hers, and snarl, "My husband didn't do anything to me. Mind your own business!"
Fear explodes on her face.
"Get out of my way," I say, pushing past her.
"He did something to you! I know it!" she calls after me.
I drop my bag, spin toward her, and lunge at her inside the elevator.
She backs up to the wall, gasping.
I put my hand on her throat, squeeze, and threaten, "You don't know who you're messing with, lady. Give one more nasty look to my husband or accuse him of something, and I swear to God, I will kill you."
She gasps for breath.
"Blink if you understand," I snarl.
She blinks hard .
I release her, shoot her a death glare, and add, "You're pathetic." Then I step out of the elevator and pick up my bag, rushing toward the exit.
The fresh air doesn't feel much different from the stifling air in the building. I glance around and realize I have no plan and don't know where I'm going. I pull my phone out and make a call.
Zara chirps, "Hey, girl. What's up?"
I cry, "I need you to come get me."
Her voice falls. "Fiona, what's wrong?"
"Please come get me. I need you to come right away," I plead.
"Okay. Don't worry. I have the babies, but Sean's not far from you."
"Please. I need to get out of here," I sob.
"Okay. Let me text him, but stay on the phone," she instructs.
I obey, and a moment passes.
"He's just down the street. He said his driver will be there in two minutes," she says.
"Thank you." I sniffle, trying to pull myself together.
"Fiona, are you okay?"
I try to answer her question, but nothing comes out.
"Fiona?"
"No, I'm not," I admit, and another rush of tears falls.
The building security guard comes closer, asking, "Mrs. Petrov, are you okay?"
"Yes. Please leave me alone," I snap.
He arches his eyebrows but steps back.
My chest tightens, and my heart races. I bend over, trying to get air .
Zara asks, "What happened?"
Sean's SUV pulls to the curb. "His driver's here. Thanks, Zara." I hang up, put my phone in my bag, and jump into the back seat before the driver can get out.
Conán, Sean's driver, frets, "Are you okay?"
"Yes."
He narrows his eyes, "Did he do something to you?"
"No, and don't ever speak that way about my husband again," I growl.
"Sorry," he mutters.
"Please go."
"Yes, ma'am." He pulls out in the traffic, then adds, "I have to pick Sean up."
"Fine," I say.
He travels three blocks, pulls up to a building, and Sean steps out. He rushes to the SUV, gets into the car, and slides next to me. He puts the divider window up, then asks, "What did he do to you?"
"He..." I open my mouth and shake my head.
"Fiona?" Sean asks with anger in his voice.
"He didn't do anything to me, but..." I start to sob.
Sean pulls me into his arms and holds my head close to his chest. "You have to tell me what's going on."
It takes me a while to pull back and look at him. The tears continue to fall. "Do you know how Dad died?"
Sean's face falls. "I have a basic knowledge."
I scrunch my face, barely able to ask, "Do you know about Mom?"
"Mom?" Sean questions .
"She...she... She was there!"
Sean's eyes blaze with anger and horror. "Fiona, what are you talking about?"
I cry harder. "Did you know Kirill's dad was there?"
Sean jerks his head back.
"Sean?"
He hesitates, then shakes his head. "His dad wasn't there. It was Uncle Niall and Uncle Shamus. The other men were Lorenzo Abruzzo, Anthony Rossi, Tadeg Bailey, and Daniel Abruzzo. You might have met him a few times at the Marinos'. They didn't know he was an Abruzzo infiltrating them."
I shake my head. "No. A Petrov was there."
"No, you're wrong," Sean insists.
I argue, "Kirill said it was true!"
Sean scrunches his forehead.
"Who was the one with the crucifix? The one with the emerald center?" I ask.
Sean slowly shrugs his shoulders. "I don't know about a crucifix. Why?"
I blurt out, "He was Kirill's dad."
Sean's face hardens.
I start to cry again, with visions of the video popping up in my mind and the sounds of my dad's and mom's tortured screams filling it.
Sean pulls me back into him.
I sob. "I need to see Mom. Please let me use your plane. Please."
He holds me tighter and lowers the divider, ordering, "Airport. Now. "
"Yes, sir." The SUV does a sharp U-turn.
Sean puts the glass up and asks, "Fiona, what were you saying about Mom?"
Flashbacks of the video torment me. I can't speak, going into a full-blown panic attack, and the rest of the ride is a fog.
Sean somehow gets me on the plane, and more shock sets in. One minute, we're in Chicago, and the next thing I know, we're in New York.
It's dark out, and Sean squeezes my hand, announcing, "Fiona, we're here."
I blink hard, glancing out the window, and the steps of the Marino mansion come into view.
"Let's go inside," he gently says.
Suddenly, I don't know why I'm here. I blurt out, "What am I going to say to Mom?" and start to cry again.
Sean helps me out of the SUV and then leads me into the house.
He steers us to the living area and opens the door.
I step inside.
"Fiona! Sean! What are you—" The color drains from Mom's face. She rushes over to me. "Fiona, what's wrong?"
I can't speak. I fall into her arms, hugging her tightly, knowing things will never be the same again.