Page 146 of Cruel Knots

“Please, excuse me,” I tell my guests and move toward Leon.

A desperate expression descends into my brother’s eyes as he meets my gaze.

“What’s wrong?” I ask in a lowered voice.

“Lucia.”

“What happened to her?” Anxiety wraps around my throat at once, choking me. “Is she hurt?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t know. She’s missing.”

“What?”

“I’ve already asked the guys watching the CCTV feeds to find her,” he says in a low, grim tone. “It’s already been half an hour and they’re yet to locate her.”

“Shit!” I curse. “Where’s Mikhail?”

“He’s in the dancing hall,” Leon says. “He’s still unaware of what’s happened.”

“Did you check her room? What about Lilja? Does she know?”

“Lilja’s been with the fucking Rossis all evening,” he mutters darkly. “She hasn’t seen Lucia since we separated.”

“Fuck.”

My mind whirrs. With all the guests here, we can’t carry out a full sweep of the ground floor rooms.

“Tell them to search every place on the upper floors,” I instruct. “In the meantime, I’m going to find out about the people who’ve come here and left. That should help.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Volkov,” an unfamiliar female voice calls out uncertainly.

Both Leon and I turn around. A young woman with large brown eyes stares between us with fearful eyes.

“Yes?”

Her gaze falls on me and immediately, she recoils. She swallows hard, struggling to get over her revulsion of me. “I’m Emilia,” she blurts. “I’m Antony Marco’s daughter. We came together but now, I can’t find him anywhere. Could you help me, please?”

Leon and I stare at each other and back at the timid woman before us.

“Wait here,” I tell her. Grabbing Leon’s arm, I drag him to a quieter corner.

“Tell Mikhail to keep an eye on things here and come meet me in the security room,” I tell Leon. “We should start with finding out what happened to Marco.”

“Yeah,” he mutters darkly. “I’ll kill him if he’s touched her. I swear to you.”

I nod and head out of the room.

The surveillance room is located in a secluded section of the manor. Our men fill the chairs, their gazes locked on the numerous screens in front of them. Live CCTV footages play out before them, helping them monitor our estate with over a hundred guests gathered here.

“Search for Antony Marco,” I command one of the men who comes forward to greet me.

“Yes, Sir.”

He walks away and instructs a group of men to bring up some CCTV footages. While they dig through the feeds, he speaks to someone through his radio gear.

A few minutes later, he comes back to me.

“Antony Marco has left,” he says. “His chauffeur picked him up an hour ago. There was a woman with them as well. We’re guessing it to be his daughter, Emilia.”

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