Chapter Thirty-Eight
Mirabel
I come out of the conference room and lean against the wall, struggling to control my breathing as my heart does somersaults in my chest.
It’s him!
The man I saw in the forest the day Debra disappeared.
I’d know him anywhere—impossible to forget that massive frame, that bald head covered in intricate tattoos that start from below his collar, the ones I now recognize as distinctly Russian mob work.
The kind of man whose appearance screams danger, the kind who could snap someone in half without breaking a sweat.
And he’s here.
In Arkady’s house.
Memories flood in with nauseating clarity.
The darkening forest as we desperately searched for my sister.
The panic rising as night fell, and she was still missing.
And then—this man, this monster, watching from between the trees.
Our eyes met for just a second, but I remember how his gaze flashed in the fading light.
At least, I thought it flashed. Maybe it was my fear painting him more demonic than he was, my mind already spiraling with horrible scenarios about my sister.
Oh God!
Oh, my God!
Did he take Debra? Is he the reason she vanished? And if he’s here, working for Arkady…
The implications hit me so fast that my head is spinning. Arkady could be connected to my sister’s disappearance. The man I’ve been sleeping with, whose hands were on my body, the father of my unborn child, might know what happened to Debra.
No.
No way.
It can’t be true.
My stomach rolls, a wave of nausea that’s equal parts pregnancy hormones and horror.
I slide down the wall until I’m sitting on the floor, my head tucked into the crook of my arm as tears burn hot tracks down my face.
One hand instinctively moves to my still-flat stomach, protective even as my world crumbles around me.
The conference room door opens. Heavy footsteps stop in front of me, and I don’t need to look up to know who it is. The tattooed giant, somehow even more intimidating up close. I sense him looming over me, a mountain of a man studying the pathetic, sobbing mess at his feet.
“Are you alright?” His voice is deep, unexpectedly quiet.
I look up through tears, then scramble to my feet, suddenly reckless with a fury that burns through my fear.
“No. I’m not!” I blurt, rage and grief dissolving any caution I might normally show around a hulking mobster.
“Can I help?” He actually sounds concerned, which is almost worse than if he’d been threatening.
I step into his space, trembling but past caring about consequences. “Yes. You can tell me what happened to my sister.” I’m shattered open, raw with a desperate need for answers after six years of nothing. If he kills me for asking, at least I’ll die knowing I tried.
“What?” He stares down at me, his expression unreadable.
“Debra McLeod. My twin sister. What did you do to her?”
“You must be drunk or high, woman,” he says, but something in his eyes shifts—recognition, maybe. A flicker of something unidentifiable before it’s buried again beneath cold professionalism.
“She disappeared, and I believe you’re the last person who saw her.” I push harder, my voice rising. “Where’s my sister?”
His eyes flash—definitely not my imagination this time. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Please tell me where she is!” I’m nearly shouting now, dignity abandoned. “Please!”
A shadow crosses his face, some emotion I can’t name. He studies me with unnerving intensity, measuring me.
“I vaguely remember a girl who looked very much like you,” he finally says, frowning. “But that was years ago.”
The admission breaks something in me. I grab his sleeve, clutching the expensive fabric like it’s my last lifeline to Debra.
“Please, tell me she’s alive,” I beg, voice cracking.
He straightens his massive frame, gently but firmly removing my hand from his arm. For a split second, I could swear his expression softens with genuine sympathy.
“Let’s pretend we never had this conversation.
” Then he’s walking away, boots heavy as he heads down the corridor.
I watch, feeling more helpless than I have in years.
I lean against the wall, dropping my face into my hands.
The closest I’ve come to any kind of information about my sister’s disappearance, and it’s snatched from me.
If that monster doesn’t want to talk to me, there’s no way I’ll be able to persuade him.
“What’s wrong?”
I flinch at the voice behind me—Arkady. I quickly wipe my face, but it’s useless. I know my eyes are red, my nose running. But still, the scent of him has my traitorous body responding. My nerves light up even as my mind screams danger.
“Nothing,” I say, not wanting to reveal my suspicions—that one of his associates has something to do with my sister’s disappearance. And maybe Arkady does too. “I… I… Sorry,” I stumble over words, trying to think of a way to get out of this situation.
He turns me toward him, one hand on my shoulder. His thumb brushes my collarbone, a casual intimacy that sends an unwanted shiver through me. How can I still want his touch when he might be—when he could have—?
“You’re crying.” His voice has that velvet-wrapped-steel quality that both soothes and terrifies me. I search his eyes for any hint of deception, any flicker that would confirm my worst fears. Instead, I find only concern, which confuses me even more.
“Just…” I swallow hard. “I’m sorry,” I say yet again. “I’m just emotional about my father. It’s nothing.”
Arkady studies my face, thumb still moving in small circles against my skin. It’s distracting, maddening how my body leans toward him even as my mind recoils. He doesn’t believe me—I can see it plainly—but instead of pushing, he glances around the corridor.
“Where is Stefan? Have you seen him?”
Stefan. So that’s his name.
“No,” I lie. “I haven’t seen anyone.”
Arkady holds my gaze a moment longer, doubt etched in the slight furrow between his brows. His hand rises to my face, wiping away a tear I missed. I hate how my body remembers the weight of him above me, how safe I felt in his arms when we—.
Stop it, Mirabel!
He says nothing more before walking away, but the look he gives me promises this conversation isn’t over.
As soon as his footsteps fade, I release a shaky breath and press my palms against my eyes. What am I going to do with this? How can I sleep under the same roof as a man who might have hurt my sister? How can I carry Arkady’s child when he—?
That’s enough, Mirabel.
Don’t jump to conclusions.
What if I’m wrong? What if what I saw in the forest that day is more complicated than I thought? Six years is a long time, and memory is unreliable. The doubt creeps in, unwelcome but persistent. Maybe Stefan was there for other reasons. Maybe there’s more to this story than I understand.
My phone rings, the shrill tone slicing through my spiral of questions. Unknown number. I almost ignore it, but something makes me answer.
“Miss McLeod?” A woman’s voice, professional and crisp. “I’m calling from Saint Catherine’s Hospital. Your father was brought in during the night.”
I sway as the floor feels like it’s shifting beneath my feet. “What? What happened? Is he—?”
“He’s stable for now, but his condition has deteriorated significantly since his last treatment. The doctors would like to speak with you about possible options. Without specialized intervention soon, his prognosis is concerning.”
Specialized intervention. I know what that means: more medical bills… when I’ve already stretched the budget as far as it will go. My legs nearly give out.
Oh, Dad.
Why didn’t you tell me?
I hang up and press my forehead against the cool wall, trying to think through the storm in my head. My father needing expensive medical care. My sister’s possible kidnapper roaming these halls. My pregnancy. Arkady’s secrets.
“God, what a nightmare,” I whisper into the silence of the hall.
Everything is collapsing at once, and I have nowhere to turn, no one to trust. I’m completely alone in this beautiful, terrible house with its beautiful, terrible master—a man I’m still drawn to despite everything.