Page 97 of Merciless Queen

I reach his desk. His chair is half pulled out, likely from when Lev and Dimitri went through this place, but I tell myself it’s from the last time he sat in it. Everything in this place echoes with his last touch.

I feel like I’m watching myself from the outside as I slide the chair out farther and settle into the seat, like he had countless instances. My palms rub over the desk’s rich wood, my nails tracing the edge of the desk pad, picturing him signing contracts on it.

The top drawer would be the one he’d open to retrieve a pen to sign those very documents. I can recall all the times I was in here, watching him use the heavy metal writing utensils. Then, I imagined myself in his place as Pakhan, using those very pens as I signed my own deals.

Now, I’d rather sign in my own blood than touch his pens.

I tug open that same drawer, scanning over the handful of them, most of which are adorned with his name. I pick up the nearest one: silver with a black inscription that’s partially faded. He used this one the most, and while I never questioned what made it his favourite, I now wonder what his reasoning was. Everything Papa ever did had a purpose behind it, even choosing a pen out of the numerous.

I drop it back into the drawer, shut it, and open the larger one beneath. It’s empty, likely from when Dimitri and Lev scoured through.

Memories of Papa are packed within this entire room, but it’s those memories I must embrace. To think like him. To imagine everywhere he’d possibly hide mention of the Italians,ifthere’s anything.

I slam the bottom drawer shut and get to work.

Three hours later,a tsunami has gone through Papa’s office.

I embraced every memory of all the times I’ve been in here. Every time he yelled at me. Every command given.Everything. I used them all to push through the heavy emotion—grief, I think—that clung like an unwanted weight on my shoulders. For everything my hands touched, I wanted to curl up and cry. To be the little girl who used to look up to her papa before reality kicked in and I was forced to see who he really was.

His desk has been completely emptied of anything Lev and Dimitri left behind. The drawers have been tossed to the side so I could inspect the furniture’s base for secret compartments. His books are strewn on the floor, each one pried apart and fanned, hoping something would fall from them, but feeling less and less hopeful with each book.

I’m two glasses into Papa’s rum from his sidebar when the door opens and my cousin’s head pokes through, eyes widening as he takes in the mess.

I hold my glass up in greeting, the effects of alcohol making my movements arduous and sluggish. “Hey! I’ve been redecorating.”

“I see that.” He slips through the small opening he’s made himself but remains by the door. “Any luck?”

“None.”

Dimitri’s expression pinches in apology. “There might be nothing to find.”

I’m aware, but it doesn’t shake the feeling Dimitri’s wrong. Every book, every useless drawer has been another reminder I might be searching for the invisible, but the sensation never cooled. While Papa was uncomplicated, there must besomething.

“I know,” is all I tell Dimitri to avoid going into detail.

He scans my nearly-empty glass and where I kneel in the centre of the room, amidst a mess similar to that I created in Zeno’s room.

I wonder if Zeno cleaned it up yet. How many hours has it been since leaving Italy?

“How many of those had you had?” Dimitri’s question tugs me out of my wandering thoughts.

“Just two. Made it easier.”

He nods slowly. “Yeah, well, I’m just checking on you. The others are worried what being in here for so long’s doing to you.”

I roll my eyes, feigning indifference. “Only a strong irritation toward the room’s last occupant.” With the mere thought of that man, I chug the rest of the amber liquid down and stand—albeit, unsteadily and without grace—to pour more. “Want one?”

He shakes his head. “Given the situation with Italy, I’d rather stay sober. It hasn’t even been a full day since retrieving you so we don’t know what they’ll do.”

Ah, a day. Thanks, cuz.

I kick aside discarded books to make a path from me to the sidebar. “You mean my husband?” My face screws up with the mere mention. Thinking about everything that had happened in Italy has momentarily been locked away in another part of my brain while I focus on this task. “He’s smart, so he won’t strike soon. He’ll wait for time to pass and us to lower our guards.”How do I know? He waited two years after I became Pakhan to come for me. The man doesn’t work quickly.

Dimitri leans against the wall beside the door and crosses his arms. “Despite your explanation on the plane, I still have questions. Though,” he scans the room, “I’m getting now isn’t the ideal time.”

I salute him with my glass before dropping it with a quietthudonto the bar. “Yeah, not really.”

“Then I’ll leave you be, and come back later.” He shrugs off the wall and turns for the door, pausing to add, “If there’s still nothing by then…maybe it’s time to give the search up and live with the fact he didn’t have anything noteworthy.”

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