The twins are across the hall in their shared bedroom, the wooden bunk beds against the wall. I crack the door open, and they’re seated on the bottom bunk together, pulling the bedsheets down, making a fort.
I should scold them that it’s too early, they haven’t had enough sleep and should climb under the covers for a few more hours.
But I don’t.
They’re happy, cheerful, and don’t have a care in the world. I don’t want to take that innocence from them. Already, Sophia and Liam have been through so much. If they’re filled with joy at home, who am I to take that from them?
They’re quiet and seem to be staying out of trouble, so I leave them to play together. Shutting their bedroom door, I back away down the hall and retreat to my bedroom.
I open the door, and a waft of jasmine fills my nostrils. There’s a broken perfume bottle lying on its side on the floor. The contents spilled and stained the wood. My room is in disarray and not the way that I left it.
The drawers are open; my clothes are strewn about as if someone was searching for something. Had the guards thought that I was involved in Mikhail’s abduction? Is that why they ransacked my room and tossed my things all over the place?
Or had the rampage been when Antonio’s men had torn the place apart, looking for Mikhail?
I don’t bother to clean up the mess, not right now. I shut the curtains and hit the lights. I climb under the covers and let my head hit the pillow.
I should feel at ease, relieved to be home.
But my stomach is in knots. I toss and turn, trying to get a few hours of sleep to ward off the impending headache that I already feel coming.
It’s of little use.
All I can think about ishim.
Antonio.
Why did he let us leave?
Why had Mario wanted me dead?
Are there others still after my children?
I roll onto my back and stare up at the ceiling. Pushing the blankets off, I sit up in bed. I want answers. No, I need answers, and while I don’t think Antonio is the person to ask, maybe Mikhail or Luka can shed some light on what happened.
But I can’t trust Mikhail to divulge anything more than what he wants me to know. He’s not a man to slip up or spill anything that isn’t intended to be told.
I slink out of bed and grab a change of clothes from the floor before heading for the bathroom for a hot shower. I’m covered in filth, both physically and emotionally. I wash all of it down the drain, standing under the hot spray until the water grows cold.
Retreating to my bedroom, I dress and clean up the mess left on the floor, putting my clothes away. There’s little else for me to do cooped up in my room. The library is downstairs with a plethora of books to bide my time. There’s no computer, no phone, or television in my bedroom.
I sneak out of my room and am quiet down the hallway, my footsteps silent. I remember which floorboard squeak and groan with years of living under the same roof. I avoid those as I wander down the stairs, careful not to be seen.
I often snuck out against my father’s orders in my teen years. Mikhail probably remembers my rebellious streak, but he’s not intelligent enough to put a guard outside my bedroom door.
Why?
Does he think I’ve come crawling back and am begging for his forgiveness? I refuse to cower toward him or Antonio.
I breeze down the stairs and linger in the hallway near the foyer, waiting until the coast is clear before I dash past an open door.
A man behind me clears his throat.
If it were Mikhail, he’d have gripped me by the neck and thrust me around. I press my lips together and spin around, my hands in front of me, folded together.
Luka cocks an eyebrow as he glances me over. “You have orders to remain in your room.”
“Unless a guard accompanies me,” I say, allowing him to help me out.