I nod a second time.
“Good.” He continues up the steps, keeping pace with me until we reach the second floor. “Your family’s wing is here,” he says. “Vin is two floors up. Get to them if you can, but you stay out of sight otherwise. Understood?”
He doesn’t move until I start past, entering the floor proper. The door closes behind me with a deafening thud. When I look back, gazing through a pane of glass providing a view of the stairwell, he’s already gone. All that’s left to do now is try to remember the way to Mischa’s wing on my own.
Was it through this corridor?
Or the next?
Mischa’s paranoia proves a detriment in this instance. Due to the privacy of Ellen’s ward, there’s no one else in view to ask for directions.
When I finally find a wing that looks vaguely familiar, I can’t ignore the ominous feeling building in my gut. Something isn’t right. It’s too quiet here, with the partial lighting casting shadows that make the hallway feel as spacious as a crypt.
Every step I take echoes, magnifying the undeniable feeling of being alone.
He left you again, a part of me hisses. Not because he believes you’ll be any help. He knows your useless. Perhaps he’ll hope this building explodes as well. You’ll finally be out of his hair for good…
No! I bite back the thoughts and focus. Finding my family is my sole concern, though I can’t escape the feeling that the quiet interior doesn’t resemble a target under siege. There are no men with guns like the figures who guarded the marina. No screams or gunshots.
Maybe Donatello had it wrong?
Either way, I have no choice but to find my way alone. Up ahead, the corridor forks into two, but I don’t know which way to go. Left? Right?
Unsure, I bounce on the balls of my feet. Then I hear it—a masculine voice coming from the left-hand direction.
“…everything secured,” he says, though I don’t hear anyone respond. He could be speaking into a phone. Or a headset, I realize as I round the corner and spy a familiar figure dressed in black.
Mischa’s guard. He’s alone, still at his post near the door, but his voice is strained. Gruff. I doubt he would speak to Mischa like this. “The fuck are the others? They can’t expect me to move them by myself—” He breaks off, his eyes widening as he sees me. In the blink of an eye, his demeanor changes, his posture straightening, voice deepening. “Ms. Willow? What are you doing here?”
Unease wars with relief. Again, I can’t ignore the suspicion that he wasn’t speaking to another guard so informally. At the same time, I can admit that extended time in the orbit of Donatello Vanici has heightened my paranoia.
Either way, I approach him.
“Are you alone?” He eyes the hallway behind me, and I note the way his hand goes to his hip. Where his weapon is holstered? Again, new alarm bells go off. Another side effect of Donatello’s influence?
When I draw near enough, the man plunges that same hand into his pocket. I stiffen, but instead of a weapon, he withdraws a set of keys, fumbling for the door. “Ah… Allow me. Your father isn’t here. The rest of the men are… They’re on break.” His words are disjointed, as if he’s speaking purely out of habit.
Jostling near the lock, his hand shakes, and it takes him two tries to successfully open the door. As he does, he shoots another glance over his shoulder.
“Is…ah, Mr. Vanici with you? Or your father?” Something in his tone raises the hair on the back of my neck.
I ignore it, racing down the hall into Ellen’s room. She’s still there, lying in bed, Eli beside her.
“Will!” He flashes a grin, lurching to his feet. A book falls from his lap to the floor, not that he seems to notice. “Did you hear that boom? It was so loud! We tried to call Papa, but—”
“We didn’t know you were coming, darling,” Ellen says, but her expression is constrained. She’s worried. Does she suspect something’s wrong as well?
“Why is your face like that?” Eli demands.
My face…
A nearby mirror provides more insight. My hair is disheveled, my eyes bloodshot. Donatello’s jacket dwarfs my body, a glaring reminder of the urgency at hand.
Turning to Eli, I raise my hands. Where are the other guards? Evgeni? I sign.
He shrugs. “There were three guards overnight. But only one came to replace them.”
“We were supposed to leave today,” Ellen says, her eyes alert as they cut to the doorway. “No one has explained to me why we haven’t. I’ve asked for my phone—”
“But the guard said the lines are down,” Eli says over her. “This one won’t work—” he points to the landline beside Ellen’s bed. “Papa hasn’t been here yet, either.”
A rare note of unease colors his tone.
We need to move, I sign to him. Can’t explain.
“Move?” His eyebrows wrinkle.
“What’s wrong?” Ellen demands. She’s regained enough of her strength to haul herself upright, bracing her hands against the mattress for support. “Willow?”
“She says we need to move,” Eli explains, racing to her side. “Something’s wrong.”
Ellen meets my gaze and nods, rising to her feet. “Unhook the IV from the wall, darling,” she tells Eli. Gripping the pole, she uses it for support to enter the hall.
I lead the way to the door, but when I push it open, it doesn’t budge. Locked. I pound on the glass, but the guard doesn’t move. I see his eyes flicker in my direction before cutting away. He’s ignoring me.
And the building dread becomes an avalanche of terror.
“Excuse me,” Ellen calls, her voice conveying the full authority she commands as a Stepanova. “Open the door.”
The man doesn’t move. Not even when she raps on the glass with what little strength she has. Slumped against the IV pole, she’s no match for his insubordination.
“What’s wrong with him?” Eli demands.
I think I know, though I don’t try to
