Page 59 of Wicked Embers

She carries them to the table, sitting down and unwrapping them carefully. The worn leather matches the book I found in Leigh’s apartment.

“You’ve read them?” I ask.

Her lips twitch into a humorless smile. “Yes. And let me tell you, I’m not the one who ever wanted to giveyouthat kind of information.”

She raises a brow, her meaning clear—whatever’s inside, she’d rather not be the one to deal with a Bratva boss’s reaction. Excitement and dread lace together as I realize what this must mean.

I sit beside her, staring at the journals. “What do they say?”

“Read them yourself,” she replies. “But there’s one thing you need to promise me before you do.”

“What?”

“You can’t tell Leigh anything about what’s in them.”

Her intensity gives me pause. “Why not?”

“Leigh has dissociative amnesia,” she says flatly. “She doesn’t remember anything from before she was twelve. If you try to force those memories back, it could break her.”

The words hit me harder than I expect. I think back to her guarded answers, the flickers of confusion when I mentioned her grandmother or Nikolas. Guilt gnaws at me—I thought she was hiding something instead I’d triggered a ghost of a memory.

“She doesn’t remember anything? Not even her family? Her mother?”

“No.” Sabrina hesitates, her expression shifting. “She has fragments—flashes of images she thinks are of Vivienne. But they don’t make sense. Honestly? I don’t think they’re real.”

“Then who does she remember?”

“Me, Mark, Tara, and Carla. That’s it.” Sabrina’s gaze hardens. “Vivienne wasn’t the mother Leigh remembers. That’s what makes it worse—Leigh’s clinging to scraps of something that doesn’t exist. She knows there’s a hole in her mind, but she doesn’t know how to fill it.” Her eyes drop to the books. “If anything it was Mark that was always there for her and… um… well it wasn’t Vivienne.”

I run a hand through my hair, the weight of this revelation settling heavily on me. I remember something about Vivienne Dalton being killed in an accident. “Was Leigh in the same accident that killed her mother?”

Before Sabrina can answer, a voice cuts through the room, smooth and low. “Something like that.”

We both turn sharply. A man steps out of the shadows, his movements deliberate, his gun steady in his hand. His face is familiar—No fucking way—Michael, my stable manager? Only now, the cold calculation in his green eyes tells me he’s not the man I thought I knew.

Before I can say anything the front door creaks, and a second figure appears—a woman with a vintage elegance, her demeanor icy and predatory. She levels a gun at us.

“Olive?” Sabrina’s voice cracks with shock. “What the fuck?”

“Hello, darling,” Olive purrs. “We got tired of waiting for you to bring Leigh to us.”

“So I take it you’re not with Matriarch Records,” Sabrina notes.

“Oh, I am, and soon, I’ll be running it.” Olive dismisses Sabrina as she addresses the man, “Nikolas, love, I’ve checked the perimeter they’re here on their own.”

Nikolas? Realization dawns on me. Nikolas Vasilikis! He’s the Greek Monarch and he’s been hiding out in my stables!

“You’re the Greek Monarch!” My eyes narrow on the man.

“Took you long enough!” He snorts.

Olive turns and her gaze flicks to the table, her eyes narrowing. “Are those all the journals?”

“Journals?” Sabrina utters, a frown deepening on her forehead. “These aren’t journals they’re my songbooks.”

“Stop fucking around and start wrapping them up,” Nikolas barks at Sabrina.

Sabrina holds her ground. “I told you. These are my songbooks. And unless you have the password, you need to leave my cabin right now.”

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