“Pack your desk. Get out of my house.” I pause at the door. “If I find out you were working with them, your children will become orphans tonight.”
He starts crying as I leave the room. Pathetic.
Benedetto Marconi waits for me in the hallway. Tall, weathered face, the only person left alive who remembers when I was just another soldier taking orders instead of giving them.
“How bad?” he asks.
“She’ll live.”
“What do you need me to do about the Petrov situation?”
“Handle it. Find every one of their people in the city. Make them disappear.”
“And the staff meeting?”
I check my watch. “Set it up. Everyone who works on this estate. Kitchen staff, housekeepers, gardeners, and security guards. I want them all in the main dining room tomorrow morning by ten a.m.”
Benedetto nods once.
“What about Marco?” he asks.
“Keep Dante’s cousin in London for now. I don’t need him asking questions about why we have a bride locked in the medical wing.”
He walks away to make arrangements. I return to the medical wing and take up position outside Kasimira’s door.
The sounds inside tell me everything I need to know. She’s stable.
I find a chair and settle in to wait.
Hours crawl by. Staff members walk past and pretend not to stare at me sitting guard like some lovesick fool. Maria bringsme coffee that grows cold in my hands. Benedetto stops by twice with updates on the search for the fake housekeeper.
Finally, Dr. Williams emerges. He pulls off bloody gloves and looks exhausted.
“She’s stable. Significant bruising on her torso and arms. Minor concussion from a blow to the head. The cut above her eye needed six stitches.” He strips off his surgical mask. “No permanent damage.”
“When will she wake up?”
“We’ve sedated her for the pain management. She should be alert by tomorrow afternoon.”
I nod but don’t move from the chair. The hallway grows quiet as evening approaches. Benedetto suggests I get some rest. Maria offers to bring dinner from the kitchen.
I stay.
During the night, Benedetto’s men find the fake housekeeper trying to board a bus to Montreal. She dies badly in a warehouse on the outskirts of the city. Slowly. Screaming. Just like she deserves.
At nine the next morning, I finally leave my post to freshen up and address the staff.
The main dining room can hold two hundred people when we host family gatherings. Today, it’s packed with nervous employees standing in neat rows like soldiers awaiting inspection.
I walk to the front of the room. Benedetto takes position at my right side, hands clasped behind his back. Morning sunlightstreams through tall windows, casting long shadows across frightened faces.
Nobody speaks.
“Yesterday,” I begin, letting my voice carry through the silence, “someone who worked here helped my enemies kidnap a member of my family.”
Whispers start and die immediately under my stare.
“I want to make one thing very clear.” I walk slowly along the front row, meeting eyes with each person I pass. “I don’t care if you work for my enemies. Hell, I have people in their organizations too. It’s just business.”
