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Vodka in hand, I stare down the vast number of screens before me. Various places inside and outside the manor flicker. Cameras watch every inch of the perimeter wall, with multiple devices tracking both the front and back gates. Every room has two cameras inside except the bedrooms and the bathrooms. There’s not an inch of this place that isn’t being watched 24/7. That makes Mara’s boldness even more daring, although I doubt Aleksander pays much attention.
As far as he’s concerned, she’s his, and she’s happy. She certainly plays the part well.
My lip curls in disgust at the thought, and I toy with the controls, pulling several different cameras up onto the main screen.
The main gate is closed and eight armed guards are stationed around. Four patrols of six men weave their way around the vast back gardens. Inside, I watch Aleksander talk animatedly on the phone in the study. Mara is in the kitchen, pouring a large glass of wine and berating some poor member of the staff. Camera after camera, I switch through them all, and it’s not until I find her that I realize what I was looking for.
Alena.
She’s in one of the art rooms, surrounded by half-finished art easels and tucked up on the window seat with a book in her lap. The girl next to her I recognize instantly. Katja Dmitrov. She’s a maid here, and in my years in and out, I’ve watched them grow close.
There’s an ethereal beauty about Katja with her tightly curled black hair and striking blue eyes that sparkle almost silver on the screen. She’s tall and thin, with something almost mystical about her. Given her closeness to Alena, I’ve watched her closely and took note when Katja’s brother, Alexei, joined the organization. Making it my business to know everything about the people around Alena certainly hasn’t helped my infatuation for her, and it rises even now as Alena tips her head back and laughs.
Her long, blonde hair cascades down her back and ripples as she laughs and clutches at her side. I’m almost jealous, envious of whatever Katja has said to get such a reaction out of Alena. Her face lights up, and her response is so animated, with raised hands clutching at her friend, that I fall a little deeper.
Two taps, and the camera zooms in on her bright smile, such a rare sight in this place. I want to make her laugh like that. I want those gorgeous eyes to turn to me, full of life, and have that smile light up my mornings.
I drain my glass and set it down slowly, unable to tear my eyes away from the screen. I haven’t seen Alena in four months, and even then, it was just a fleeting visit. She’s absolutely beautiful and completely innocent to the captivating hold she has on me.
Her fingertips brush her lower lip as she listens to Katja, and I almost can’t breathe. How can I be so powerfully envious of her own hand? Once again, the quiet urge that lingers in the back of my mind surges up, and I have to wrestle it down immediately. What if it was me?
What if I asked for her hand in marriage? What if I put myself forward after everything I’ve done for this family?
The answer rings in my mind before I even finish the thought, and I have to pull my focus away. It’d be far too easy to persuade myself that such an ask could be granted, and the resulting fallout from raising such an interest would be terrible. I’d be throwing away my life.
For Alena, though, it would be worth it.
If only we weren’t at war. If only I didn’t have to leave the country so often to clean up Aleksander’s messes. Shaking my head, I tap off the screen away and pick up my empty glass. All this work and still, power slips through my fingers.
Soon, Alena will too.
I need a plan. Or I have to go cold turkey.
“Kristof?”
I turn, eyes narrowed, to see a man peeking his head through the door. Alexei, Katja’s brother. He has the same striking blue eyes and a similar tall, thin build. His boyish face is void of any scars, and there’s still life in his eyes. He clearly hasn’t seen much action, but he won’t be safe for long. Not in this family.
“What is it?”
“Aleksander has requested you,” he says with an eagerness that reminds me of an over-excited puppy. He stares at me with such an open desire for approval that I’m struck with the sudden cold urge to strike him down. Better he learns quickly that this family, this world, is no place for hope.
“Alright.” I sigh, passing my glass to Alexei as I pass. “Let’s get this over with.”
* * *
“We’ve lost too many men.” I clasp my hands together, my leather jacket discarded on the chair to my left as I stare Aleksander down. Mara stands just behind him, her hip cocked and one hand on the back of her husband’s chair. Her thickly lined dark eyes never leave me. She watches completely unblinking, and it would be unnerving if not for the fact that the room was filled with people. From recruits to lower-ranking members, we’ve all gathered for this for one reason and one reason only.
Aleksander needs to choose a path forward.
“It’s a part of doing business.” Aleksander puffs from a fresh cigar, and I flex my knuckles slightly, pressing my fingertips into the indents.
“Sure, but at the rate we’re losing blood trying to hold the docks from the Irish, there’s not going to be anyone left. I get it. I do. We send out the cannon fodder, and their objective has been to just hold the territory while I work on the Nikolaevs, but we are running out of manpower. This makes us look weak, and if we’re not careful, the Irish will just steamroll over us and force us out.”
“The Irish grow too bold,” Mara mutters bitterly. “They forget their place.”
“If we had moved sooner on the Petrovs last year when I said so,” I snap, “they never would have gotten the balls to move on us like this.”
“What are you trying to say?” Mara’s hand moves from the back of the chair to Aleksander’s shoulder. She’s baiting me, but I have a nasty habit of not backing down.
