When we finally leave Vincenzo and return to the house, I turn my focus to the one subject I know better than anyone. Plotting self-destruction.
The little princess deserves to return to her castle, and Vin should have the means with which to build his own.
The insurance policy has already been updated…
“It doesn’t make sense,” Fabio remarks from the corner of my study he commandeered.
I blink, startled from my thoughts. I don’t know how long he’s been sitting there, poring over the morning paper.
“Even the explanation of the fire is being whitewashed,” he snaps. “Public officials are still claiming it was most likely an ‘industrial accident,’ though the investigation seemed to last barely twenty-four hours. So far, the death toll stands at ten workers caught in the blast. They won’t even name who they were employed by.”
“It feels too neat,” I say in response. Too clean.
If the purpose of the display was to attack the Stepanovs, or even make a dent into the mafiya’s territory, they failed. Mischa’s family is safe, and everything else seems at an eerie standstill.
Even the Saleris have gone quiet. Though at least one thing seems clear after the dust has settled.
An engagement is no longer necessary. Mischa owes the lives of his wife and child to me. In retrospect, little Willow should have gone running back to him the second I broke my vow.
But she hasn’t…
Every time I recall that night in the hotel, the more aggravated I feel. She won. She got her wish.
But these past weeks, she’s lurked within this house like a ghost. The only time she dares to appear is when Fabio and I go to see Vin. Every day, like clockwork, she waits by the door when we’re ready to leave, dressed in one of the outfits Fabio supplied her.
And every goddamn time I try to look at her, she shies away—whether it’s in the hallway of Havienna or in the car on the way to the hospital.
Even when we arrive at Vin’s, she nearly lunges around the bed to put space between us, but she isn’t the only one on edge around me.
As I enter the room after her, Fabio hesitates, avoiding my gaze. “I’ll be right back,” he says before slipping away, and I’m instantly suspicious. He’s up to something.
I start after him, but from the corner of my eye, I see a flash of golden hair and lose track of everything else.
Vincenzo isn’t shown the same avoidance she reserves toward me. She’s already by his side, taking up her usual seat. He’s awake, pulling himself up higher in bed to face her.
His lips part into their usual smile, but the sight of it hits me differently than before. Despite his sallow skin, and the bandages still draped over his head, he looks…
Happy. That’s not all. Day by day, I’ve noticed the subtle changes when it comes to her. His eyes sparkle a little more, what little color he has flooding his cheeks.
Watching them, I don’t know what the hell to name the emotion shooting through my chest. Guilt? Jealousy? Both?
Weeks ago, I entered Stepanov manor, Vin in tow, convinced that a marriage to Willow Stepanova was his only ticket to a good life—but I was wrong. Not because of the shitstorm that followed, but because he never needed me to decide his match in the first place. In a perfect world, they would find each other naturally.
The same way Olivia should have found a nice politician, or doctor, or banker, Vin deserves a woman like her.
Not me.
I don’t know how long I watch them. Long enough that when I finally turn away, Fabio has already returned.
He isn’t alone.
Rage is my impulsive reaction. Then I remember the shit we’ve both been through, strung along by the same bastard. Knowing that, I bite my tongue at least, letting them approach.
To his credit, Mischa seems to be heeding the same unspoken boundary. Our eyes meet, though I can’t get a clear read on his motives. Walking alongside him, Fabio implores me through his wide-eyed gaze. Instantly, I know that he’s up to something.
The awareness of someone beside me distracts me from the two men long enough for a new arrival to rattle my mindset entirely. She probably noticed her father before I did. When I look at her, that stoic mask cracks, revealing the pain lurking beneath. Longing.
It’s the first time in weeks that I’ve sensed anything from her at all. The sensation rippling through my gut could be jealousy. Or maybe selfish acknowledgment of a truth that shouldn’t catch me so off guard.
Mischa will always have her loyalty. Her trust. I forfeited the right to anything of the sort seven years ago.
“Donatello?” Fabio’s tone is fittingly cautious. When I look at him, he skirts any eye contact, staring at the wall behind me instead.
“What a lovely day for a family reunion,” I bite out. So much for the attempt at restraint.
Fabio sighs. “I think it’s past time that we finally arranged a meeting—”
“I don’t need permission to see my daughter,” Mischa growls, his eyes cutting to slits. Apparently, I’m not the only one struggling to let bygones be bygones.
Though, if our past meetings serve as anything to go by, we’re off to a damn near calm start.
“What do you want?” I ask, skeptical if I’ve read him wrong. Though, this is perhaps the wrong damn place to test the patience of a man like him. From the corner of my eye, I remember where we are, and my mind goes straight to Vincenzo. Maybe Mischa’s changed his mind on peace?
“I’ve learned information of my own,” the man says, his tone less harsh than I’ve become used to. “From the traitor. He’s been talkative these past few days. Fabio will relay what we’ve learned once I verify it.”
“Of course.” Fabio nods, clearing his throat. “Mischa has also offered to pay for all of Vincenzo’s medical expenses, as well as contribute resources toward—”
“What’s the catch?” I
