Page 53 of Heart of Frost and Scars

“No.” Monty winces, his guilt deepening. “The mistakes were mine, and I’ve paid dearly for them.” He stares at his busted knuckles, the malice in his voice softening into regret. “I won’t let Frankie suffer for my failures any longer. I’ll do whatever it takes to protect her, to make things right.”

“There’s a crack in the arched window that faces the guest house.” I gesture in the general direction.

His eyes lock onto mine. Then he blinks. “I’ll let Greyson know.”

“The landscaper?”

“He’s also the handyman.”

“Does he wear a suit and gold pocket watch, too?”

“No.”

“So the window…Is it attic space?”

“Yes.”

“I want to see it.”

“It’s a mess up there. Just a bunch of old furniture and—”

“Then you won’t mind me poking around.”

“Of course.” His eye contact holds steady, his anger and hatred of me just beneath the surface. “It’s important that we keep certain conversations between ourselves. The guards, Oliver, Greyson, Aurora—there are too many ears, always listening. Be mindful of what you say in front of them.”

“What do you mean?”

“No one knows our full story. Only the four of us and Melanie Stokes have the details.”

“Do you trust the lawyer with this information?”

“I don’t trust anyone. Melanie was hired by Frankie.”

“Hang on. So Oliver doesn’t know anything? Does he know you’re Rurik’s son?”

“He didn’t learn I’m a Strakh until he saw it in the news. He didn’t even know Rurik had a second son.”

“Or a third son.” I grimace at the reminder of how Kody was conceived. “Does he know Kody’s your brother?”

“I told him yesterday when I informed him you would be staying here.”

“How long has Oliver worked for you?”

“Twenty-five years.”

“And you didn’t trust him enough to tell him your real identity?”

“I don’t trust anyone,” he snaps, short-tempered. “I kept him on my payroll because I wanted him close and…”

“He makes the best Eggs Benedict.”

“Yes.”

“But he knows everything now?”

He shifts his eyes back to the door, his voice low. “He only knows what I’m feeding to the press. While I was in Whittier, news of Frankie’s disappearance and my brother’s possible connection to it exploded in the media. Oliver didn’t know about Denver’s existence until he saw it on TV. No one did. When the story hit, I controlled the narrative as much as possible. I’m still controlling it.”

“What’s the narrative?” My mind spins.

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