Chapter 27 #2
The streets blur past, familiar landmarks rendered alien by speed and tinted glass. We’re taking the long way, avoiding the roads where cameras monitor the comings and goings of everyone, and my unease grows.
Does Alexei not want the rest of the family to know of my arrival?
The compound appears ahead of us, the high walls and wrought-iron gates rising from the landscape like a fortress. The guard at the entrance checks the driver’s credentials, and he avoids looking at me as he waves us through.
The drive to the family house takes more time than it should, the SUV following the service road rather than the primary approach.
We pull up at a side entrance used by staff and security. Not the family door that Vartanians use.
The man in the front passenger seat climbs out and opens my door. “We’re here.”
The zip tie cuts into my wrists as I climb out, the winter air biting at my exposed skin. The man takes my elbow, his grip firm but not painful, and guides me into the house.
They don’t bring me to my brother’s office or to the council chamber.
Instead, I’m brought to a smaller, windowless room, lit by a single overhead fixture that casts everything in flat white. The walls are bare except for a single mirror on the far wall, the kind that serves as a window from the other side.
The security officer who escorted me here snips through the zip tie with a pair of wire cutters, then steps back, his head down as if ashamed of his role in this.
“Wait outside,” comes a voice from the hall, and the officer retreats.
As Uncle Mikhail steps inside and closes the door behind himself, ice floods my veins.
He stands with his hands behind his back, broad shoulders relaxed. He’s dressed in his usual charcoal suit and white shirt with no tie, his silver-streaked hair combed back from his forehead in a style twenty years out of date.
His focus catches on my neck, and the missing nape guard brands me more effectively than any Scarlet Letter.
“Nephew.” Cold distaste colors the single word.
I straighten my shoulders. “Uncle.”
He circles me, the measured click of his heels on the concrete floor the only sound in the room. When fingers brush my nape, skimming over my Marks, it takes everything in me not to flinch.
“I spent sixty years helping your father build our empire from what our father made of it,” he says. “Sixty years of ensuring the Vartanian name commands respect in this city. And in one month, you’ve put it all at risk.”
I keep my eyes forward, my posture military-straight. “That wasn’t my intention.”
“Intentions mean very little in our business.” He completes his circuit, stopping in front of me. “What matters are results. And the result of your little...excursion...is that we now have a compromised asset with direct knowledge of our internal security protocols.”
“I haven’t revealed anything about our internal security protocols,” I say firmly. “I would never harm the family.”
“But you already have,” he says. “Was the bond coerced? Did he force it?”
“No,” I say without hesitation. “I chose it.”
Mikhail doesn’t react, but the air between us thickens with his disgust. “I see. And now you’ve chosen him over blood. Over family.”
“That’s not—”
The blow catches me across the face hard enough to drop me to one knee, the floor cold under my palm. I stay there for a moment, the ringing in my ear settling into a dull throb, and heat already rises along my cheekbone where the mark will be.
I push myself back to standing, square my shoulders, and keep my mouth shut.
“Your father, my brother, would be ashamed,” Mikhail says.
The door opens behind him, and Alexei steps into the room. Mikhail straightens, his posture adjusting to acknowledge the head of the family, though he offers no excuses for what Alexei has walked in on, and that alone tells me where things stand between them.
My brother’s restrained anger sweeps over me before shifting to our uncle. He still wears the suit for council meetings, but his jacket lies open, his tie loosened, as if he’s been running his hands through his hair.
“Explain,” he says, the single word directed at Mikhail.
My uncle doesn’t flinch. “Your brother has formed a mating bond with the Blue Note’s fixer.”
He produces a handful of photos from his jacket pocket, surveillance photos, I realize, of me taking the folder from the council room, of me going into Orien’s apartment complex, and the last of William leaving Orien’s apartment with the stolen folder.
“The same man who now has access to our plans on how to take them down.”
Alexei turns to me, and the hurt behind his eyes is harder to absorb than the slap was. “Is this true?”
“Yes.” I refuse to back down. “But it’s not what you think. I went to the Blue Note to gather intelligence, as you asked. But they’re not planning to come after us. The evidence shows—”
“The evidence,” Mikhail interrupts, “shows that you formed a bond with their fixer, and you returned home with lies designed to convince us they’re no threat.”
“The bond does not compromise my judgment,” I say, speaking only to Alexei. “In our grandparents’ time, this would have been called a political alliance through bonding. The Blue Note Crew mean the Vartanians no ill will. You said they had no reason to be loyal, but now—”
The lights cut out, dropping us into darkness.
A heavy hand grabs my collar, and Uncle Mikhail snarls, “What did you do?”
“Nothing.” The emergency lights flick on, and I look up at them in confusion. “I didn’t do anything, I swear.”
He slaps me again, hard enough that the metallic tang of blood fills my mouth. “Don’t lie to me.”
Alexei grabs his arm. “Stop it. We need to see what’s happening.”
With a snarl, Mikhail shoves me away, and I stumble backward until my back hits the wall.
Then the two men sweep out of the room, locking it behind them.