Page 18 of Vexatious Queen

“Please, I’m begging you,” the man pleaded, pulling me out of the memory. “I have a family. I don’t want to die.”

“I have a family, too, and I’ve died multiple times, but I’m still standing before you. I am proof of how much a person can endure before they die. How much do you think you can suffer before you take your last breath?” I looked at Vlad. “Cut off his fingers one at a time until he gives us something useful.”

Vlad pulled the large hunting knife from the holder on his leg, and the guard screamed.

“Please, all I know is that he took a secret tunnel and ran,” he gasped out. I held up my hand to stop Vlad. “He mentioned something about the jet, but I didn’t hear anything more than that.”

Everyone that we caught had said the same thing. My father had run like a rat in a flooded sewer, but never mentioned his destination to anyone. All we knew was that he’d flown out of the country. In the last ten days, I’d dismantled every branch of my father’s organization and found nothing.

There’d been no word from Dimitri, so he hadn’t taken refuge with him in California. All of Vadin’s computers had been confiscated, and his accounts that we could find had been wiped so that he couldn’t go far without help. The question was, who was stupid enough to help him now that his empire had crumbled around him?

Pushing away from the desk, I walked toward the guard. He seemed to believe that his information had been enough to save himself, but that was about to change.

“How long have you worked for Mr. Mikhailov?”

“Six years,” he said. “I swear I would tell you more if I knew anything.”

“Why?”

The question confused him. He opened his mouth to respond and then stopped.

“Why would you tell me?”

“Because…”

“Because what? You don’t know me, do you? So, what is your reason? Why turn against the man who has paid you a salary, kept a roof over your family’s heads, and food on your table? Why offer up information on a man who trusted you in his home for six years?”

I waited for his response, watching him carefully. His eyes flicked around as he thought. He was probably praying for a magical exit to open so he could scurry off into the night.

“Speak up,” I ordered, and he licked his lips.

“Because I don’t want to die.”

Nodding, I turned to leave the room.

“Kill him and dispose of the body with the others.”

“No…no, please don’t do this. Ahh!”

I slammed the door on his screams and passed by the line of guards loyal only to me.

My black boots clicked on the wooden floor as I marched all the way to the other side of the mansion. I took a moment to collect myself before entering my old bedroom. It wasn’t the one from my childhood but the one that I had chosen when I became a prisoner.

All my belongings were covered with white sheets, appearing like ghosts frozen in time—physical representations of my life since the day I married Christov. That was the day I had hit the pause button on my dreams—except for the day Lilya was born.

Walking deeper into the dimly lit room, I stepped up to the window, gazing out at the stable that hadn’t seen a horse in its stalls for years. It was as much of a ghost town as the rest of this mausoleum.

I turned toward the easel and gripped the edge of the covering. The sheet pooled on the floor, revealing the rearing black stallion I had painted so long ago.

Reaching out, I ran my fingers down the strokes of paint while memories and emotions filled me. Some I recognized, others felt foreign, and more were as raw as the day they happened.

Mylo stepped up to the doorway but didn’t say anything or come in as he stared at me.

“Speak.”

“Everything is loaded on the trucks. Weapons, jewels, computers, and your mother’s items as instructed. We found two more hidden safes. They have been cracked, and all contents seized.”

“I’m surprised he didn’t scamper off with them. Must have been in a rush.”