“Go back to your room,”is all he said to me.
I didn’t listen.
“But Dad, he’s hurt! He?—”
I remember the sting of his palm on my cheek.
“Get her out of the way,”he snapped at my mother when she came rushing in to see what the noise was about.“What the hell is the point of you if you can’t even keep track of your kids, woman?”
She brought me back upstairs with tears in her eyes.
I never wandered downstairs again after dark.
Now, I hesitate in the doorway. I know I should stay in the room and let them handle it. That would be the smart choice.
But I can’t do that, not when he still isn’t home. I need to know what is going on.
I’m not a little girl anymore.
I take a deep breath and step into the hall. The voices get clearer as I move closer to the stairs. I recognize Luka’s, sharp and clipped, and Mikhael’s deeper tone beside it. They never sound like this unless something serious has happened.
At the top of the stairs, I grip the banister and lean forward to listen. I can’t catch every word, but one stands out clearly.
“—chest wound.”
My body goes rigid. I freeze at the top of the stairs.
Petyr.
Before I can think, I’m already moving.
I hold the railing tight as I hurry down the stairs. My heart beats so fast it hurts. Each step feels plodding and slow.
I have to see what’s happening. If he’s hurt, then nothing else matters.
What if he is, though?
I don’t even want to think about it. But it’s all my mind can conjure up: visions of Petyr lying bloodied on the asphalt in some godforsaken alley.
What if something happened while he was out? He said the deal with Misha Lykov was important, but did anybody else know how important?
I take a deep breath, but it doesn’t help. My legs keep moving on their own.
My heart beats fast as I reach the bottom of the stairs.
Luka stands by the door. He’s snapping orders at two of Petyr’s men. His tone is all business. I’ve never seen him like this. Usually, he’s a bundle of nerves, but right now? He looks in charge. Or?—
Scared. He looks scared.
He sends them to some address I don’t recognize, a name I’ve never heard before.
Something inside me twists. I walk faster. The hem of my robe brushes the floor as I enter.
“Luka, what happened?” My voice sounds too thin and desperate, but right now, I don’t care. “Where’s Petyr?”
Luka turns. It takes a beat for him to make sense of what he’s seeing: the resident prisoner standing there in a nightgown, demanding answers. He must have gotten the memo I’m no longer supposed to be under lock and key, but his face doesn’t seem to agree with that decision.
The look in his eyes makes my stomach drop. His expression is tight, angry. Above all, though, he seems exhausted.
