Page 143 of Ivory Ashes

Mikhail’s driver practically lives in his black suit and white button-down. Mikhail told me he doesn’t enforce a dress code for the staff; Pyotr just likes wearing a suit. I’ve never seen him out of it.

I stare blankly at him, making it very clear how much I want him in my room right now. He gives me a tight smile of acknowledgment and holds out a tray of food. “I brought your dinner.”

“I’m not hungry.”

I’ve been nauseous all day. Panic attacks always leave me feeling like I’m hungover. Usually, a little fresh air helps, but, well… that’s not an option.

“You should eat,” he insists. “It will make you feel better.”

I don’t bother asking why Pyotr thinks he knows what is best for me. Everyone in this house acts like they know what is best for me. I’m tired of arguing with them about it.

“I can’t believe they have you on servant duties,” I snap. “With the house on lockdown, I guess there isn’t much else for you to do. It’s hard to transport people where they want to go when they are imprisoned.”

His mouth tightens into a thin line. “Stella was worried you weren’t eating. I volunteered to bring this up. She said you haven’t been especially… welcoming.”

“Because they haven’t been especially empathetic,” I bite back. “Everyone is so far up Mikhail’s ass that they can’t see how absurd this all is. I’m trapped here, Pyotr.”

“I know.”

“You say that, but—” I groan. “If I’d known this is how things were going to go, I would have tried harder to run after Mikhail brought us here. Actually, I would have stayed hidden. I would have kept moving again and again.”

Dante would have been miserable starting over at a new school over and over again. It wouldn’t have been sustainable.

Plus, even just the thought that these last few weeks with Mikhail never would have happened makes my stomach twist until I think I’ll be sick. No matter how bad things are now, I can’t bring myself to regret everything that has happened—just the way they’ve ended up.

“What I can tell you, Miss, is that no one is enjoying themselves right now.”

It’s the closest anyone on Mikhail’s staff has come to criticizing him and it takes me by surprise.

“Careful,” I warn. “I’m sure even the walls have ears around here.”

He smirks. “If they did, I’d probably be fired by now.”

I raise my brows. “Are you telling me you aren’t on the straight and narrow like you appear?”

“I wouldn’t go that far.” He sits on the very corner of the bed, as far from me as possible. “But I have some… feelings… about what is happening to you right now. I’ve spoken my mind to a few people, but no one seems to feel quite as strongly about your situation as I do.”

Since I moved in, Anatoly and Stella have been there for me. More than anyone in this mansion, I considered them my friends.

Was I wrong to trust them if they won’t help me now?

“It makes sense,” Pyotr continues. “They don’t have the same background I do.”

“What background is that?”

“One much like yours.” He smiles, but there’s so much sadness in his eyes that I reach over and take his hand. He squeezes my fingers gently. “My mother was forced into the mafia against her will. Her father was wealthy and married her off to the son of a don. When I was five, she took me and ran.”

I frown. “Then why are you here working for Mikhail now? If she wanted you to get away from this lifestyle, why did you come back?”

“Because she died.”

I gasp. “Did they find her? Did they…”

I can’t even finish the thought. I’ve spent enough nights dreading what could happen to me—first, if Mikhail found me and Dante. Now, if I take Dante and run. I don’t want to hear all of my worst fears confirmed.

“It was a car accident.”

I sag. “Oh.”

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