Chapter 6 Solnishko
Solnishko
Fee:
This has been one fucked up day followed by what promises to be another sleepless night.
I stare at the ornate ceiling of Moira's bedroom, my foot propped on an ottoman.
I'm grateful to be breathing, grateful Shane and Cillian survived, grateful Anton showed up when he did. But disappointment sits heavy in my chest anyway.
When Lorenzo's guard handed me my purse, phone, and shoes three hours ago, I kept expecting Anton to appear.
He didn't.
"Fee?" Moira emerges from the bathroom in silk pajamas, her pregnant belly prominent under the flowing top. "Did you find everything you needed in your room?"
"Yes, thank you." I shift in the oversized armchair. "The bath was perfect. Having to stick my foot out was awkward, but at least the rest of me got clean."
Moira settles carefully onto the sofa across from me, studying my face with those sharp Quinn eyes we both inherited. "Something else is on your mind, Fee. Want to talk about it?"
"I'm fine."
"Fee." Her voice carries that older sister authority despite being only two years ahead of me. "I can tell you're scared. But Lorenzo has an army of men out there and inside this house. Nobody's getting in."
"I asked Lorenzo to put me in the other wing of the house," I say quietly. "If this man somehow makes it inside, I don't want him anywhere near you or the baby."
Moira's expression softens. "He won't get in, Fee. He'll be dead long before he reaches the front door."
"We shouldn't be talking about this." I shake my head. "I didn't come to your bedroom to worry you."
"Fee." Moira leans forward as much as her belly allows.
"My husband is one of the most ruthless mafia men on the East Coast. I'm sure half of Providence wants him dead.
" She gestures around the luxurious room.
"It's my reality. I also know he's very good at staying alive.
The man's fifty, Fee, fifty, and he's made it this far. He's still breathing."
The way she says it makes me laugh so hard.
"The point is," Moira continues, "Lorenzo didn't survive this long by being careless; it takes skills, knowledge. And from what I saw, your Anton isn't exactly amateur hour either."
"He's not mine."
Moira pushes herself up from the sofa with careful movements, one hand supporting her lower back. She waddles to the massive four-poster bed and begins arranging what looks like half the pillows in Rhode Island behind her.
"God, I can't get comfortable anymore." She settles back against the mountain of cushions, propping herself at an angle that keeps her from lying completely flat. A soft groan escapes as she finally finds a position that works. "Men can be complicated."
The overhead lights flicker for just a second. So brief I almost miss it.
"It's just been one hell of a day. I want to make sure you're tucked in and surrounded by at least ten guards before I go to my side of the mansion."
"Did you see that?" Moira adjusts another pillow behind her shoulder. "The lights?"
"Yes, I did!"
"It happens from time to time." She waves dismissively. "Lorenzo says it's related to their security system. Something about power draws when they run diagnostics on all the cameras and sensors." She shifts again, trying to find the perfect angle.
I nod, but an uneasy feeling crawls up.
"Fee, all I'm saying is that you're safe here."
"You know me, my brain won't shut off."
"Is it really just fear? Or is there something else eating at you?"
"I thought he'd say goodbye and he just left. He carried me in here, then disappeared."
Moira's expression softens with understanding. "Oh, honey."
"I'm being ridiculous. The man saved my life today. He's just confusing, like he sends mixed signals. I don't want to get my hopes up."
"You have every right to feel that way." She adjusts another pillow. I push myself up from the chair, leaving the crutches where they lean against the armrest.
"Aren't you supposed to not put pressure on that foot?"
"It's just a few steps." I test my weight carefully, finding I can balance on my heel without pain shooting through the stitches. "I look ridiculous, but it doesn't hurt if I use only one part of my heel."
I make my way awkwardly to the bed, and Moira scoots over to make room. I lean down to hug her carefully.
"Good night, sister." I kiss her forehead, then place my hand gently on her belly. "And good night to you, too, little one. Stop kicking your mama so much, okay? She needs her rest."
As if responding to my voice, the baby shifts under my palm. Moira laughs. "He only does that for you and Lorenzo."
"Smart boy. He knows who the important people are." I kiss her belly softly. "Sweet dreams."
I hobble back to retrieve my crutches, the ridiculous heel-walking making me feel like a broken flamingo.
I pause at the door. "I love you, Moira."
"I love you too, Fee. Try to get some sleep."
I open the door to find a guard stationed directly outside Moira's bedroom. He's young, maybe mid-twenties, with the kind of alertness that comes from knowing your job matters.
"Good night, Miss Quinn."
"Good night." I adjust my grip on the crutches. "Thank you for watching over her."
He nods respectfully, and I begin the awkward journey toward my wing of the mansion.
In the hallway, I consider going downstairs. Sleep feels impossible after today. But the stairs would be treacherous with crutches, and the way things have gone, I'd probably tumble down and break my neck.
The upstairs area had ten armed guards when I left my room earlier. They were stationed at various points throughout the corridor, near the staircase, by the windows overlooking the gardens. Professional sentries who nodded politely as I passed.
There's no one.
Odd.
My crutches tap against the marble floor, each sound echoing in the sudden emptiness. The ornate hallway stretches ahead of me, lined with expensive artwork and antique furniture that probably costs more than most people's houses. But right now, it feels like a tunnel.
I make my way back to Moira's door, moving as quietly as possible on these damn things. Her dedicated guard stands at attention beside the frame, exactly where I left him.
"Where is everyone?" I ask, keeping my voice low.
"All the guards were called for a quick briefing downstairs, Miss Quinn."
"Thank you. Have a good night."
Briefing downstairs. About the professional assassin, no doubt. The one who moves like Anton, thinks like Anton, kills like Anton.
The walk to the mansion's other wing feels longer than usual. Each step echoes too loudly in the empty corridor, my crutches tapping against marble like a countdown.
A creak echoes from somewhere ahead.
I pause, listening. My heartbeat pounds so loud, I'm sure it's drowning out other sounds. The mansion settles around me, old wood and stone adjusting to the night.
The corridor ahead stretches toward my destination. I force myself to keep moving. Stupid briefing. I would feel better if the guards were here.
I'm alone in an empty hallway, hobbling toward my room like wounded prey.
I reach my door and turn the handle, relief washing over me as I step inside. All the lights blaze exactly as I left them, casting warm yellow across the spacious room.
The space stretches like a small apartment, complete with a sitting area, king-sized bed, and kitchenette tucked into an alcove near the tall windows. Behind the sitting area, a large armoire stands against the far wall, its dark wood carved with intricate designs.
Lorenzo had the staff stock the fridge with fresh fruit and snacks so I wouldn't need to navigate the stairs on crutches.
The thoughtfulness would be touching if I weren't so on edge.
I lean my crutches against the wall and test my weight again. The heel-walking thing is getting easier, though I probably look like I'm attempting some bizarre ballet move.
I hobble toward the bedroom, grateful for the privacy the separate space will provide. The sitting area feels too exposed with those tall windows, even though I know they're bulletproof and overlooked by guards.
I lean against the dresser and carefully balance on my good foot while lifting the injured one.
The conservative pajama pants I chose earlier feel suffocating now.
I'd picked them specifically because guards would be coming and going, but in the privacy of my own room, I want something more comfortable.
My fingers work at the drawstring waistband, loosening the heavy cotton fabric. The pants slide down my legs, pooling around my ankles as I step out of them carefully. The cool air against my skin feels like freedom after the day I've had.
I'm left standing in my red silk panties and the oversized T-shirt I'd chosen as a pajama top. Much better. Now for the shirt.
I grab the hem, ready to pull it over my head and change into something lighter.
"Don't do that. You're killing me as it is, Solnishko."
I freeze completely, the fabric bunched in my fists just above my waist.
I hop around awkwardly, nearly losing my balance as I turn to face the bedroom doorway.
Anton stands there, leaning against the frame. He's dressed in black tactical gear that emphasizes every hard line of his body, dangerous, beautiful, and absolutely focused on me.
His gray eyes drink in every inch of exposed skin, from my bare legs to the red silk to the way my shirt rides up where I'm still clutching the hem.
"Anton?" My voice comes out breathless.
When his eyes meet mine, they're darker than I've ever seen them.
"How long have you been there?" I should grab something to cover myself. Instead, I stay exactly where I am, frozen by the way he's looking at me.
"Since you entered the suite."
"Since I... Why didn't you say something?"
"You seemed nervous. On edge. I wanted to make sure you felt safe before revealing myself."
"So you just...watched me?"