“Tell me where he is,” she nearly growled, pointing her weapon. “Now. Because if he’s hurt in any way, I will—”
“What are you doing to my brother?” Another voice boomed from her left as David Berab approached, her grandmother, Pena, and Weiss all trailing behind him down the terrace steps.
“Louis has Mr. Ellenberg,” Roger called to his brother, hands still raised, though he was no longer backing away. “As in, he has taken him either by force or trickery, though for everyone’s sake, hopefully the latter.” He glanced at Isabelle and grimaced.
“What?” David gaped at his relation. Pulling down his mask, he stalked toward the other man. “That’s ridiculous. Why would he do such a thing? We’d resolved our conflict. Miss Lira decided not—”
“To marry anyone other than Aaron Ellenberg,” Roger finished. The two brothers stared at each other for a long moment before the elder hung his head.
“My God,” he whispered, shoulders slumping.
“Would your brother . . . hurt Mr. Ellenberg?” It was Weiss who spoke, moving between her weapon and Roger Berab, glancing back and forth between the two.
“Normally, I’d say no, but Louis has been so peculiar as of late, and I thought the information he gave and his demeanor in the carriage earlier were . . . a touch off.” It was David who spoke, drawing closer, his voice strained. “I apologize, Miss Lira. I should have said something or done something or—paid more attention.”
“Apparently, yes. As you seem to have no idea what your own brothers want or even believe.” She frowned and lowered the dagger a little despite herself.
“Clearly.” The man raked a hand through his graying hair. “I thought he and I were on the same page. But I had been so stuck in my own anger, I didn’t see that he’d lost a bit of his grasp on anything but his own flights of fancy.” His shoulders sagged, and he appeared much older now than his forty-five years.
There was a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snicker from Roger. “More than a bit,” he said, coming to his brother’s side.
David pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine. More than a bit. My brother, he’s . . . he’s never been good with change.”
“Nor losing,” Roger added.
A sigh from the eldest Berab and a nod. “That too, and—”
“But where are they?” she asked, gripping her skirts with her free hand. Because this was all well and good and possibly—probably—the correct analysis, but Aaron was out there, alone, with a very angry Louis Berab, who was doing God only knew what to him.
“Where would he have taken him?” Her voice cracked, and her grandmother was at her side, arm over her shoulders, as she worked to stay strong, to not burst into tears even though everything was falling apart.
If only she had been brave. If only she’d told Aaron the truth, showed him how much she loved and appreciated him and always wanted him at her side, perhaps he would’ve been better protected instead of . . .
The brothers exchanged glances. David tapped his fingers to his lips. “I’m not sure. I—”
“The ship.” Roger gasped the word. He turned to her, hands clasped, imploring. “Louis won’t hurt Aaron, not truly. I promise. But he would make sure that he is definitely on his way to America without the ability to easily return.”
“I’ve got to get to the ship.” Sheathing her dagger, she whirled around, dashing in the direction of the street and the waiting coaches and horses.
“You can take our carriage. You’ll get out easier.” David was already racing beside her.
“Unless he’s already taken it. Then you’ll take mine,” Weiss added, jogging along at her right. “Though be careful of the seats—my brother is particular.” He swung open the gate for the group. “What about the festival?” he asked as they poured out over the cobblestones, rushing toward the golden Weiss monstrosity.
Isabelle glanced back at him as the coachman stretched out an arm to help her inside, while the Berab brothers assisted her grandmother on the other end. “As my partner, after the opera is over, at midnight, can you . . . ?”
“Make an announcement?” Weiss cocked his head and nodded. “Certainly.” He moved to the window as the door shut behind her, reaching in and patting her sleeve. “And you don’t have to fret. I will protect the company and all your names.”
“Thank you, Mr. Weiss. I look forward to working with you.” It was David Berab who gave their new employee a small salute, climbing in as well, Roger and Pena behind him as the driver retook his post.
“Come on,” she called to the coachman when he’d slid onto his seat, sticking her head out the window. “We have to hurry.”
And with a bump they were off, into the night, hopefully fleet enough to catch Aaron before it was too late.
Aaron woke lying on his stomach, a throbbing in his temples and his arms bound rather tightly behind his back. His stomach lurched as the ground—no, wood floor—beneath him rumbled forward. Rolling onto his side, he forced his eyes open and saw a pair of shiny black boots.
“Where am I?” he asked, craning his neck to stare at the man who had dragged him into the garden and—what had he done? Aaron’s mind spun as he strained against whatever was binding him.
What was going on?
