Page 98 of Merciless Queen

I wave him away, not to be rude but with a determination that there’s something. Some hidden document I’ve yet to uncover. Something to put every piece about Papa’s past together.

The door shuts behind Dimitri and I focus on pouring another glass of liquor to help me get through this. And when I say focus, I mean,reallyfocus, blinking through the blur tinging the edges of my vision as I grip the bar with one hand and steady the other for a clean pour.

It’s with that same blurred vision I spot what I didn’t earlier. Maybe it’s the drunken mindset putting the room in a new light. Maybe it’s exhaustion creeping up and I’m simply imagining what I think I’ve discovered.

Still, I rest the bottle to the side and push all empty glasses out of my way to brush my fingers over the discoloured wood. Not discoloured like it’s faded with age. More like, against the dark oak, the very apparent lighter walnut is a section that doesn’t quite fit.

I stroke over the wood, not sure what to make of it. Did a piece of the bar break at one point and Papa had it replacedwith a different kind? That seems too messy for him and his care regarding the mansion’s upkeep.

On my next stroke, I press harder. Not sure what I’m expecting, but driven by hope and wonder and?—

Click.

“No fucking way.” My whisper is a mere breath, heard only by myself, and not the centuries of Pakhan souls still haunting the room.

With the distinct click, the walnut bit rises enough I’m able to get my fingers around it. I rest the wood panel off to the side while lifting higher onto my toes to peer inside, even as I carefully and slowly slip my hand into the opening.

My fingers brush against something leather and skinny but also hard. I grasp it, pulling a book out. Not a book, I soon realize, turning it over in my hand and flipping open the front cover. A journal. One entirely filled with Papa’s handwriting.

A journal, hidden away from any who could find it. A journal where he wrote all his thoughts and secrets.

Got you.

I take the journal and my freshly poured drink to an empty space on the floor and settle in for what I’m sure will be the most fascinating read of my lifetime.

I’m standingamidst the mess of my room that Vanessa left, feeling emptier than I’ve been in a long time.

The last time I had such a reaction gnawing at my insides was in the days following Padre’s death. While I spent the final four years of his life both hating him for how he handled Madre’s situation, and looking up to the man, his loss never made sense. It flicked something off inside me. Something that no fourteen-year-old needed to live with.

I went through the initial days after his death telling myself—no,convincingmyself—that he was simply away on business and would return shortly. A week later, both Madre and Elio urged me to realize otherwise, but I clung to the notion he was alive but absent. All that, despite being the only one to witness his death, who held his bleeding corpse.

More than anyone, I knew for a fucking fact what happened to him, but that also gave me every reason to deny it.

Back then, Elio told me it was a normal step in the grieving process. That with the horror of our loved one being suddenlygone, never to return, our brains are wired to deny the loss while we adjust to this new normal.

Denial. Grief. Back then, it made sense, but now? As I stand in the centre of my room where, the day prior, I was sparring with Vanessa, grief isn’t exactly the emotion I’d put to the feeling inside me. I certainly don’t grieve her absence.

I wonder, if by now, she’s meeting with a slew of lawyers to end the contract between us. She’ll fail or be forced to hand over what she cares about the most, and in the months following, I’ll be sure to head for Russia, and?—

My thoughts cut off. I don’t actually know what I’ll do. Demand a meeting with her organization and parade the contract around until they all realize the connection between their Pakhan and me? They’d likely slaughter me where I stand.

In truth, I no longer have a plan because every intention I had for her, everything after revealing our union, has dissipated. Vanessa changed everything, and now, it makes the marriage contract useless and even, though I hate admitting, pointless.

I kick aside a blanket while reaching for the mattress to drag it back onto the bed frame, then I gather the comforter and toss it on top before retrieving the pillows. The one I know she used, I sniff, smelling the faint imprint of her.

My cock hardens, and with a heavy scowl, I toss the pillow onto the bed and turn for the rest of the mess.

If I had to guess, once Vanessa finishes with her lawyers, she’ll return to hunting that politician from her past down. No rest for the wicked, and my wife is as wicked as they come. She won’t risk a longer rest than she was already forced to take.

She’s wicked, certainly, but not evil. Evil is saved for people like her father and uncle. Like that politician, Boris Agapov.

Even the name is horrendous.

I don’t know why; what drives me to this. What power of hers she left in her wake to control my actions, but I text Nero whilequickly finishing up. He arrives in time to watch me gather the broken night table, homemade stake, and wood shards scattered all over the place. With a smirk, he leans against the doorframe as Venus pushes past him.

I whistle her away, pointing for her to return to Nero’s side. “There’s wood everywhere. I’d rather she not get any in her paws.”

“What’d that nightstand do to you?”

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