Page 9 of Vows in Violence

I honestly didn’t expect to be let out of the room that easily. Perhaps Ivan had left conditions for his staff regarding my imprisonment. It wouldn’t surprise me, especially as Brodie continued to reveal more about how Ivan ran his house.

Depending on the day’s requirements for his schedule, different staff members worked with him. The staff member who opened the front door was not the same one who removed his jacket.

During meals, fresh plates were always served from his left side, and items were removed from the table from his right.

So many rules. So many expectations for the people around him.

My head swims from it all. How am I going to keep up with all of this?

At one point, I venture too close to the room Ivan has only allowed me to enter a few times, the sitting room where Angel’s cage is located.

I’ve been living with the constant awareness of his presence—so near and yet so unattainable he might as well be on Mars. I remember the old Angel—my protector, my idol—and the need to see him thrums like a drum beat beneath my skin.

When I try to step toward the sitting room, Brodie casually and expertly guides me away.

I may be the lady of the house, but my wishes are inferior to Ivan’s.

My tour continues until we get to a warren of rooms in the basement. Even though this is the bottom-most underground level of the house, the floors are still tiled or carpeted, depending on their function. I’m surprised to find a good number of bedrooms down here. Tiny rooms built just large enough to house a single bed, a dresser, and a tiny space to walk between the furniture.

Shelter in an emergency, perhaps?

Or housing for an army. If the Romanovs needed the protection of a large group of men, they could board them here.

If they needed a quick escape, there was a tunnel behind a door in the basement that led to the dock.

I shake my head faintly. While all of the Italian families had been occupied pointing fingers and casting blame upon each other, the Romanovs were busy building up their strength and defenses.

My father was a fucking fool.

All of the Five. They’ve all been fools.

Brodie walks past a door without opening it, moving on to the next. It’s not the first time he’s done so this morning. Clearly, there are things he doesn’t want me to see.

However, this time, opportunity knocks when a housemaid stops him a moment later with a question. I ignore her, stepping back swiftly and turning the knob of the door we just passed. It turns smoothly beneath my hand, and I open the door.

I’m greeted by the sight of a custom-made spa, the basin set deep into the tile floor. Only, it’s not being used as a spa. A rotten smell hits my nose, and I gag.

Blood stains the tiles of the floor, the tiles of the walls, and even part of the light fixture above. There are no physical remains in the room other than the rusty stains that have seeped into the porous tile, but I know what has happened here.

The echoes remain.

The rumors about Ivan Romanov are true; he is a butcher. He doesn’t just dump the bodies somewhere off-shore; he…processes them.

I remember how he showed up the night before, how he was covered in blood.

Oh, God.

A hand settles on my shoulder, making me jump. “Come,” Brodie says.

He doesn’t yell at me. He quietly leads me out of the room and closes the door. I’m in a daze as he leads me back to the bedroom and eases me into bed.

The same maid hovers behind him. “Is she all right, sir? Should I—”

“Bring some hot tea.” He cuts her off, voice firm.

When she leaves to do as he commands, Brodie looks at me, eyes narrowed. “Is this what you want?” he asks.

The question catches me off guard. “W-what do you mean?”

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