Page 59 of Conceal

I take the bag from Enzo with a grateful ‘thanks’ before shutting the door behind me and locking it. At least I have an attached bathroom. I won’t have to leave the room for much.

Sitting on my new bed, the silence is oppressive. Now that I’m safe, or as safe as I can be, behind a locked door, the entirety of the day weighs down on me. I slip out of my dress and shower off the day, washing the makeup off my face and pulling the pins out of my hair. As the fear wanes, so does my bravery.

I slip into one of Mik’s old shirts, and the faint smell of him causes my eyesight to go watery.

I slide my phone out of my clutch. It was the one thing I made sure didn’t get taken away.

I fire off a text to all three.

Me: I made it. I have a room. I think I'm safe

It’s not much reassurance.

One by one, I watch as they all read it. But they don’t respond.

That’s alright. What can they say? Goodbye? It’s not like they can take on all of Giovanni’s men, storm the mansion, and steal me away. They’d be shot before they made it past the gates.

So, I turn off my phone to conserve the battery and slide beneath the sheets of my new bed, letting that familiar numbness steal the pain away.

Chapter thirty-seven

Mikhail

Irina’s dead.

The night of the wedding she drank too much, took too many pills, and was found cold in the morning.

Dr. Morozov confirmed the time of death as sometime the night before. There was no note, but the unspoken consensus is that she couldn’t stand that her daughter ended up like her. That she wasn’t able to save her from the same fate she suffered all those years ago.

Irina may have been a complicated woman, but it’s obvious that all the wealth and privilege she had access to weren’t enough to keep her topside.

We haven’t heard anything more from Tati since the wedding night.

I’ve been working at the barn as much as I can to keep my mind busy. When I’m not working, I’m working out.

She’s okay. She has to be okay. We would have heard if something had happened to her.

But she’s not answering her phone. And that worries me.

However, someone must have told her about Irina, because when the Vitales pull up to the funeral, a man in a black suit helps Tatiana from the back of his car.

A growl claws its way up my throat at the sight of someone else touching her. She’s wearing oversized sunglasses and a black dress. She looks thinner than before, if that’s even possible. Her cheeks are hollowed in, and I realize her depression is riding her hard. She doesn’t have anyone to read to her, or hold her, or convince her it’s going to be okay.

Lev, Roman and I know we need to brainstorm ways to get to her, but I think we’re all coping in our own way.

Lev’s still nursing a black eye and broken nose from the last bareknuckle boxing fight he went to, drunker than he should have been. He was looking for the pain. Roman’s been on his phone religiously, trying to find some sort of in with the Vitales, but hasn’t been successful.

Tatiana and Giovanni, flanked by a dozen of his men, approach the casket. Niko sees her and approaches her, arms opening wide for a hug. She takes a step back and holds her hand up to him, stopping him. Good. Satisfaction settles in my bones. She may be depressed and not eating, but a part of her is standing up for herself, and I’m proud of her for that.

I go to slide around the crowd to try to approach her, but the movement catches her eye, and she signs Stop with her hands low and hidden from her husband.

So, I stand with Ro and Lev at the edge of the crowd.

As the priest begins his service, tears flow down her cheeks from beneath her dark glasses, but she does nothing to hide them.

I can’t be sure she’s watching me, but I slowly sign to her to avoid catching anyone else’s attention.

I have Juliet. She’s safe.