Chapter 16 Rough Day #2
Evelina absorbed this information silently, her hands curling into shaking fists.
Was Pyotr not trying to hide his treachery anymore?
Or had he concocted some cover story? She knew she’d find out eventually.
Even if she had to hunt the bastard down, stalk the neutral areas of their infuriatingly shared living space, or plant herself at the gate, she would find a way to confront him.
But first, she needed a full picture of everything that had apparently gone down while she’d been away.
And, maybe, she needed more than ninety minutes between their confrontation and her latest devastation.
That last part was a generous ‘maybe.’
“Where the fuck is Chek?” Artem said, a roughened edge to his voice, as they approached her suite.
Evelina glanced up at the brigadier even as Otto commented.
“He should’ve been on for another couple hours, right?”
Understanding dawned. They were talking about the lack of a sentry beside her door. And while she did prefer having someone watch her space currently, the men were still only human. So, she opted to hope there was a mundane explanation and offered, “Bathroom break?”
“We have a system for those,” Artem replied.
So much for that, then.
Otto made as if to try and dig out his key, despite the mountain of luggage weighing him down.
Evelina pressed a hand to his chest to stop him and swung her purse around, quickly producing the key and leading the procession into her suite.
She heard Otto grumble his disagreement with the choice, but for once, she moved fast enough to keep the lead.
It wasn’t like she didn’t know her way around her own room.
Her hand moved on autopilot to the nearest switch as she dropped the keyring back into her purse, triggering the overhead chandelier and filling the sitting space with light.
Or it should have.
Evelina’s feet came to a stumbling stop and her heart caught in her throat as she attempted to comprehend the destruction before her. For a painful second, she didn’t know where to look first.
At the shredded upholstery, broken apart ottoman, and ripped out shelves.
At the toppled and scattered items that had once sat on those shelves.
At the pages of books that had been torn loose and tossed about like confetti.
At the portion of chandelier that dangled just barely from the ceiling like a beaten pinata.
At the fragments of the chandelier shattered across the floor like crystalized bloodstains.
Or past all of that, through the doorway that led into her actual bedroom, where she could see a man’s leg clad in black pants hanging awkwardly in the air. The shoe for his visible foot was balanced in place over his upward-pointing toes, having somehow popped off his heel.
Otto let out a string of curses, mostly in Russian, and dropped the bags weighing down his arms in favor of scooping her up.
He tucked an arm under her ass the way he always did when he determined it was time for an extraction, and she knew that meant he’d drawn his gun.
Otto had felt the need to draw his gun in her bedroom.
Why was it that that made her eyes burn? Her vision blurred just long enough for her to miss the actual movement, until they were back in the hall again. But at least she managed to push the tears down on the inside for once.
Artem had followed them out, his gun also drawn. “Fuck,” he cursed. “That was Chek.” He gave a short, hard shake of his head. “How the fuck did that happen?” He shifted his weight, crouching partially down and studying her still-open door. “There’s no sign of damage. Someone must’ve picked it.”
Nausea swept through her gut, and Evelina pushed at Otto’s shoulder. No one had broken in. Not from outside.
“Not yet,” Otto grunted.
“They’re probably long gone,” she argued.
“Ma’am,” Artem said, straightening, “please let me clear the room properly, just to be safe. There could be someone else hiding out of sight.”
She blew out a breath. It wasn’t supposed to be wide-spread knowledge.
She remembered, back when her father had had the passageway created, how insistent he’d been about them keeping a very small circle on that information.
But it was also not meant to be wielded as a weapon by those who did know. “We have to check Otto’s room, too.”
Artem looked over at them, one brow arched.
Otto cursed again. “The closets.”
“Exactly.” Evelina slumped against him, since she couldn’t go anywhere, anyway.
“That’s how he got in. Pyotr and Grisha have the same setup on their side.
” And by forgetting, as she always did, to lock her closet—or at least warn the guard at her door—she’d let that semi-secret cost at least one loyal man his life.
Her hands twisted into fists in Otto’s shirt, but she kept her voice steady.
“Artem, clear the whole wing. Only bother cataloguing anything in my suite not actually destroyed. Don’t trust anyone we haven’t previously cleared. ”
“Understood.” He took a step from the doorway and pulled a phone from his pocket.
Quieter, Evelina said, “I really want to run … but we both know I can’t. Take me to Otets’ office.”
Otto slid her down his body and resettled his free hand over her back. “For the record,” he said, keeping his own voice low, “you can do whatever the fuck you want.”
She offered him a small smile and let him lead her the back way down to her father’s study. It sure as hell didn’t feel like she had the freedom to do whatever the fuck she wanted. It felt a lot more like she was just being shoved around on someone else’s gameboard.
She’d thought she was taking one final weekend as Evelina, bratva princess, in order to find some semblance of a center so she could return as Evelina, the Nikolaev Pakhan.
Acquiring a literal wardrobe upgrade was supposed to have been the physical manifestation of her internal transition.
A tangible reinforcement, a reminder, a grounder—something empowering and real.
Instead, her weekend had tumbled out of control in the worst of ways.
No more best friend. Worse, the label had been a lie.
An assassination plot tangled in a betrayal.
More heartache.
Failure. So damn much failure. She’d failed, again, to keep her promise to her mother.
Now her private sanctuary, the place she’d gone to rather difficult lengths not two weeks prior to have renovated, had been violated and torn apart.
Stained with the blood of someone who’d probably been loyal to her, or at least preferred her over the other option.
She had no safe place. She had nowhere to sleep.
She needed to brace herself for the inevitable news that all of her belongings had been destroyed—that all she had left was what she’d returned home with.
“Lina, look at me.”
Evelina blinked, the blurred colors and images coming into sharper focus as Otto bent to position himself at eye-level. She recognized her father’s office behind him, but she didn’t remember entering, let alone coming to sit on—she flexed her fingers—the desk, apparently.
Otto’s perpetual scowl deepened and he cupped her face, drawing her closer as he leaned in, until he was so close she nearly went cross-eyed keeping his gaze. But she couldn’t look away. “He’ll pay for this. He’ll pay for all of it, baby. If I have to do the work myself, I’ll make sure of that.”
The pain in her chest eased just a little at his words, a bit more at the steadiness of his touch, and yet more at the strength in his eyes.
Evelina smiled easier and reached out, grazing her fingers over his shoulders.
“I— Thank you.” She was having far too disastrous a day to feel comfortable confessing any depth of feeling, even if she did want him to know.
But gratitude was safe. She’d said those words before.
His expression softened at the edges and he tilted his head, his lips ghosting over hers.
A sharp knock carried through the office door.
A whimper built in her throat as Otto straightened and stepped away, but she swallowed it down.
Her voice stalled a moment longer as she watched him lift his gun off the desk, where he’d obviously merely set it in order to free his hands, and finally she drew a breath.
She made no effort to stand. What did it matter if she did?
It was her office now. Whoever was on the other side of that door needed to appease her, not the other way around.
“Enter.”