by I. T. Lucas
“When do you think you and your army of helpers are going to be here?”
“I need to plan a menu, figure out which ingredients are needed to make the dishes, buy them, and then drop Okidu and Onidu at the big kitchen in the keep. So my best guess is that they’re going to be there in about an hour and a half. The decorations and the tables and chairs can go in much later. I’m thinking around ten at night should be fine. Two hours is plenty of time to get everything ready.”
“Let me know if you need my help.”
She chuckled. “I’m sure I’ll have plenty of volunteers.”
Impressive.
Despite her diva persona and princess status, Amanda was a can-do, hands-on type of woman. Well, not her hands, but organizing others so quickly to lend theirs was no less admirable.
17
Ella
“Hello, beautiful,” a male voice said.
Ella popped her eyes open and screamed. She was staring into Logan’s dark eyes. Except, they weren’t really dark because they were glowing. A reddish, demonic glow.
He was lying on his side in her bed, his head propped on his hand, leering at her.
Only that was impossible. She was in Dimitri’s impenetrable estate in Russia, and there was no way he would’ve allowed Logan in there while he was gone.
It was a dream. “Go away,” she told the specter.
Logan frowned. “Ella!” He shook her shoulder. “What’s wrong?”
“Get out of my head!”
“Ella! It’s me, Misha. Wake up!”
As she opened her eyes for real this time, it wasn’t Logan’s too handsome face and evil smile she was looking at, but her bodyguard’s ugly one.
The most beautiful and welcome sight ever.
“What happened?” Misha asked.
“I had a bad dream. How did you know to come in?”
He took a step back and let out a breath. “I heard you scream. I thought someone was here.”
“But that’s impossible. No one can come into Dimitri’s estate uninvited, right?”
“It is impossible, yes. But maybe it is. You scream, I come. That is my job.”
“Thank you. But I’m okay now. You can go back to sleep.”
“You sure? I can lie down on the sofa and watch you.”
As much as she liked Misha, she didn’t want him staring at her while she slept. It sounded creepy. “No, it’s okay, Misha. Good night.”
“Good night. Call for me if you have bad dream again.”
“I will.”
When he finally left, Ella took in a deep breath and stared at the ceiling. Going back to sleep wasn’t happening. For some reason, Logan was lurking around her mind, waiting for opportunities to haunt her dreams.
Why the hell was she so scared of him? And why did he seem so familiar when she’d never met him before Dimitri had introduced them?
Familiar wasn’t the right term, though.
Ella knew she had never seen Logan’s face before that lunch with Dimitri, in person or in a picture. He was too striking to forget. The sense she’d gotten was of like recognizing like. And maybe that was what had frightened her the most.
Because Logan was bad. Ella felt it in her gut, and she’d learned the hard way not to ignore those subtle whispers. They’d been there with Romeo, she’d just chosen to ignore them because she wanted the fairytale to be real.
Was she bad too? She hadn’t done anything malicious in her life. The trouble she’d brought upon herself and her family was the result of stupidity and naivety, not malice.
Her mother had mentioned something about negative energy. Perhaps that was what it was. Just like her mother, subconsciously, Ella was either a producer or attracter of bad vibes.
With that unpleasant thought running through her brain’s synapses, she got out of bed, put on a night robe, and padded over to the wine cooler. Pulling out another one of Dimitri’s expensive wine bottles, she uncorked it, and then took it with her out to the terrace.
She was turning into quite the drunkard.
The other bottle was still in the bathroom, half full, or half empty, depending on how she wanted to look at it. In the morning, Ella was going to pour what was left down the toilet. It was such a sweet waste. She would’ve offered it to Misha, but he didn’t like wine, preferring something more potent like vodka.
Or maybe he just didn’t want to touch the boss’s prized wines, either out of fear or out of respect. Probably both.
It was evident that Dimitri’s people were loyal to him because they respected him, and as long as everyone did exactly what he demanded from them, they were also treated well.
He was the king of the castle, the absolute ruler, for better and for worse, holding their lives and those of their families in the palm of his hand so to speak.
Ella could understand the appeal of a safe and predictable life, but she wanted no part in it. Heck, with her bad juju doing its thing, Dimitri’s empire might just crumble and fall.
That would serve him right.
For a moment, Ella allowed herself to enjoy the imaginary power of that juju, fantasizing about Dimitri’s downfall. Except, with him gone, some other oligarch would move in and take over, one who was worse.
Her negative energy would then affect everyone under Dimitri’s control.
Lying on the chaise lounge, she brought the wine bottle to her mouth and took a long swig. The taste was growing on her. Except, if something was good, shouldn’t it taste wonderful from the start?
She took another swig.
Getting used to living in all that luxury and drinking thousands of dollars’ worth of wine was easy. She might even get used to Dimitri.
Right, she could barely tolerate him.
She pretended to be okay with him because she had to. Not only as a way to lull him into trusting her more, but also as a coping mechanism. It was her way of keeping herself together until her rescue arrived. Falling apart was not going to do her any good. She needed to remain strong.
But if Dimitri got her pregnant, she was going to hate him forever. Not the child, hopefully, but the father for sure.
What if the rescue never came through, though?
What if she was stuck with Dimitri forever?
To survive living with him, she would have to deaden most of who she was. What little was left of her spirit would be snuffed out.
Maybe she would be better off dead. That would serve him right. Dimitri would be crushed. Losing his dream girl for the second time around would devastate him.
Ella lifted the bottle, took a long gulp, and then frowned. Something about that overly dramatic thought pricked her mind. A thread of a solution. If she were dead, Dimitri would have no reason to search for her or her family.
What if the rescue team could fake her death?
Perhaps they could time the fire for when Dimitri was away. They could make it look as if she died from smoke inhalation. Burning to a crisp would be better, but faking it would probably be too dangerous. The whole house could catch fire, and many people might get hurt. Yeah, suffocating on the smoke would be easier to fake. Maybe she could even start the fire.
There were several problems with her brilliant idea, though.
First was Misha, who was always around. He would play the hero and rush to rescue her. But that could be solved by someone knocking him out with something nonlethal. She should tell her mother that Misha was not to be harmed.
Then there was the hospital she would supposedly be taken to and the morgue. Dimitri would search for her there. Maybe the ambulance could suffer an accident and land in a lake or a river? Or maybe catch fire, so there were no bodies to identify? But that would look suspicious too.
And most importantly, would the people helping her mom agree to go to all that trouble just because she didn’t want Dimitri to die?
It wasn’t that she was a softie. Ella wouldn’t have minded Stefano going to hell together with Romeo. But that was because she’d witnessed first
-hand the evil they had done. With Dimitri, she was aware of it, but she didn’t know the what, or how, or who he was harming, only that he surely did.
The mafia, by definition, was not a charitable organization.
Without bearing witness to his crimes, though, she shouldn’t be the one to put him on trial and then sentence him to death without even giving him a chance to defend himself. Dimitri should get punished for the crimes he’d perpetrated against her, but they didn’t deserve the death penalty.
Besides, that gut feeling or intuition that she was learning to tune in to was telling her that it wasn’t Dimitri Gorchenco’s time to die. He still had an important part to play in the grand scheme of things.
Whatever that grand scheme was, she had no idea. It was a vague sense of some cosmic order she was dimly aware existed. Or maybe it was just her imagination.
Taking another swig, she opened a channel to her mother.
Mom.
Hi, sweetheart. What are you doing awake at three o'clock in the morning?
Thinking. What if Magnus’s people can fake my death? If Dimitri thinks that I died in the fire, he will have no reason to search for you or for me. Case closed. We are all free.
That’s not a bad idea, but pulling it off is much more complicated than killing him. Not that I know it for a fact, but it makes sense.
You said that they were going to stage a fire, right? Maybe I can die from smoke inhalation. Talk with Magnus’s boss. See what he thinks about it.
I will.
Can you do it now? I can stay awake and contact you in an hour.
Why don’t you just leave the channel open?
I want to do some more thinking, and I’m so used to keeping it closed that it requires too much concentration keeping it open.
I see. I’ll check with Turner and wait for you to contact me.
18
Vivian
Vivian opened her eyes and let out a breath.
“Were you talking to Ella?” Magnus asked. “Your eyes glazed over and you just stared into the distance. When you closed them, I thought you were tired, but then you started emitting an anxious scent.”
“That’s an interesting observation. I didn’t know I was being so obvious.”
“It’s only obvious to someone who knows that you can do it. Everyone else would assume that you’re just zoning out.”
She shook her head. “If it looks suspicious, Ella is right to restrict her communication with me to when she’s alone. It’s better not to give anyone reason to wonder what she’s doing.”
“True. So what did she say that made you anxious?”
Vivian pushed off the couch, walked over to the bar, and pulled out a bottle of soda from the fridge. “She came up with the idea of faking her own death during the rescue. Smoke inhalation, or something of that nature. If Gorchenco thinks she’s dead, he’ll have no reason to come after her or us.”
Magnus rubbed the back of his neck. “She must be suffering from a bad case of Stockholm syndrome. I don’t understand why it’s so important to her to keep the guy alive.”
“She’s just a girl, Magnus.” Vivian sighed. “She doesn't want anyone to die, and especially not on her account. The guilt would eat her alive. Can we call Turner and ask his opinion?”
“Let me text him first. I don’t want to call at a bad time.” Magnus pulled out his phone.
“I’m going to the bathroom to take this off.” She tugged on her wig. “My scalp is itchy.”
“I’ll wait for you to come out before making the call.”
“Thanks.”
In the bathroom, Vivian stood in front of the mirror and reached for the pins holding her wig in place. After being cooped up in the underground for so long, going out to a restaurant for lunch had felt stressful, and not because she was afraid of being recognized by surveillance cameras despite her and Parker’s disguises.
She’d been relieved when the meal was done, but then Magnus suggested they stop at a sports clothing store and get Parker an outfit for the ceremony.
More stress.
The tension had started to ease only when they’d headed back.
Sitting on the couch in Magnus’s room, on the other hand, felt like home.
Vivian understood now why released prisoners had trouble adjusting to the outside world. Apparently, habits and routines had a stronger hold on people than she’d assumed.
They also formed incredibly fast.
Was Parker as affected?
Kids adjusted more easily to changes in their environment. Except, if he transitioned tonight, he’d have a much bigger adjustment to make than just moving out of the windowless underground and into the open air village.
When all the pins were out, she combed out her hair, hung the wig on a hook, and opened the door.
“Ready?” Magnus asked.
Vivian nodded.
While the phone rang, he activated the speaker.
“What’s up, Magnus?” Turner’s slight southern accent gave his tone a misleading softness.
There was nothing soft about that man.
“Ella came up with the idea of faking her death during the rescue. Can it be done?”
“It’s doable, of course, but complicated. On the other hand, doing it that way will close the case without further complications, which I like. The Russian mafia will not be an issue. The question is how to pull it off. I need time to think it through.”
Vivian leaned forward to get closer to the speaker. “Ella said it would be best to stage the fire while Gorchenco is away from the estate.”
“That would be ideal. But we can’t plan for that. We have a small window of opportunity while he is at his New York estate, and we need to use it regardless of whether he’s there or not.”
“What should I tell Ella?”
“Tell her that I’m working on it. If I come up with a reasonable plan of action, we will do it her way. Otherwise, it’s back to plan one.”
“Got it. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
After Turner ended the call, Vivian checked the time. She still had half an hour before Ella contacted her again. “I’m going to check up on Parker. He should wake up and start getting ready.”
Magnus caught her hand and pulled her back down. “Let the kid sleep a little longer. The ceremony is at midnight. There is plenty of time. The more rested he is, the better.”
“When you’re right, you’re right.” She leaned against him and put her head against his bicep. “I’m just stressed.”
“You have nothing to worry about. Parker is going to be fine.”
“What if it doesn’t work?”
He kissed the top of her head. “There’s no point in ifs. There are so many of them that you can always find something to worry about.”
“I wish I knew how not to do that.”
Hooking a finger under her chin, Magnus turned her toward him. “I know how to take your mind off things.”
He dipped his head and kissed her, softly at first, but when she responded by moving over and straddling his hips, he cupped the back of her head to hold her for some serious plundering.
They were still kissing when Ella’s voice sounded in her head.
Mom.
Vivian pushed away from the hard chest she’d been plastered against and gave Magnus one last soft kiss before moving over.
“Ella?” he asked.
She nodded.
Hi, sweetheart. We called Turner, and he said he’s going to give it some thought.
Does that mean that he is really trying to come up with a plan, or is it just a brush-off?
He’s taking it seriously. He said that if it’s doable, it’s a better solution all around. But he also said that he couldn't plan for Gorchenco not to be there while they stage the fire.
That’s not true. During the time I’ve been with him, he leaves for hours at a time. It’s just a question of timing, and I can let you know exactly when he leaves and when he
’s planning on coming back. He tells me whether I should wait to eat dinner with him or not. And if he’s running late, he calls.
Vivian shook her head. It seemed Gorchenco was acting like a devoted boyfriend. No wonder Ella had a problem with him dying despite everything he’d done to her. She wondered if the pervert really cared or was just pretending. Not that it mattered to her. If it were up to Vivian, she would’ve pulled the trigger herself.
I’ll pass it on to Turner.
Thank you. And another thing. I don’t want them to kill my bodyguard either. Misha is a really nice guy.
And how would they know who he is?
First of all, as soon as the alarm sounds, he will rush to save me, so they will find us together, and I can tell them not to harm him. I know that they will have to take him out, I’m just asking that they don’t kill him. He’s a big guy, around six three or six four, with muscles like a pro-wrestler, and an ugly face.
Sounds like a charmer.
He is a good guy and my only friend here, Mom. What’s on the inside doesn’t match what’s on the outside.
19
Magnus
When Magnus walked into the keep’s kitchen, the place was humming with activity. He’d expected to see only the two Odus, but working side by side with them were also Callie, Ruth, Wonder, and Carol.
“I see that Amanda managed to rope you into cooking for Parker’s party. Thank you for helping out.”
Callie waved a spatula. “She didn’t have to work hard at it. We volunteered. Parker is going to get one hell of a party.”
The big island taking up most of the industrial kitchen’s floor space was covered with two long rows of disposable trays. Most of them were already full. “I can see that. How many people are coming?”
“I put a note on the clan’s bulletin board,” Carol said. “Everyone is invited, but I don’t think they will all come on such short notice.”