Page 19 of Vow of Silence

“It is mine to control.” He grins, pushing the envelope as far as he can.

Testing me.

“All I ask for is to speak with Benito before you expect me to make decisions on the event that isyourwedding.” I stress the words through a stiff jaw. “This isn’t for me or him. This is for you, so let’s not make any bones about whose big day it’ll be.”

“You might disrespect me, my love, but don’t be foolish enough to believe your new husband will stand for the same insubordination.”

“I don’t disrespect you, Papa. I beg for respectfromyou.”

He rolls his jaw side to side, gaze hardening.

Aleksy’s shoulders rise with a deep breath.

“Let me speak with my fiancé before Lana arrives.”

“Impossible.” His nose twitches with the word.

“Why?” I shake my head. “When is Lana due?”

His lips twitch. “It isn’t when Lana gets here that’s the problem.” I catch Aleksy shift uncomfortably behind Papa while my father talks. “It’s that Benito doesn’t speak.”

I snort. “Doesn’t speak?” He had plenty to say when we were young. “Since when?”

“It doesn’t matter when.” Papa’s expression tightens as though he reveals more than he wants me to know. “He hasn’t spoken to anybody outside the family for years.”

“Impossible.” Nobody can take a vow of silence and maintain it for that long.

“Apparently not.” Papa tips his head to one side briefly. “Talking to the man will achieve nothing.” His expression hardens. “Therefore, do as you’re fucking told and let Lana help with the preparations.” He clicks his fingers for Aleksy to join the conversation, turning his focus toward his spy and off me. “Nastasya is not to leave the property without me until we find who’s responsible for this attack. Lana will do all the legwork in town; provide her a car and a man to drive her.”

“Yes,pakhan.” Aleksy nods, sharp blue eyes trained on Papa. “Would you like Marcus to continue to detail Miss Stasya?”

Papa’s gaze slides over me, head to toe. “No.” He frowns. “Call in Ivan.”

“Ivan?” I shake my head, imploring both men to see sense. “He’s overqualified for babysitting duty.” Thekachkiis freaky enough without being assigned to me exclusively.

“Maybe,” Papa agrees. “But he’s more than suitable for the task of protection. Especially if whoever is after you has proven they aren’t afraid to take your life.” His words fade with the final statement, as though the prospect of me being a target confuses him.

“Do these people even know I’m still alive?” I grasp at straws, but I’d rather stay locked in my room than have that scarred assassin follow me around. “Perhaps they’ve moved on, think the job is done?”

“Word travels fast; they’ll know they got the wrong woman before long.” Papa sighs and runs a palm over his face. “Go prepare for Lana. Leave.” He flicks the back of one hand in my direction.

In other words, let me talk to myobshchakalone. I nod, happy enough to comply with this request. Whatever they have to talk about, I’m sure I wouldn’t want to hear it anyway. Aleksy will be in charge of the men posted to take care of Caroline’s body, to come up with a viable cover story, and to make it look like a run-of-the-mill disappearance.

I still haven’t checked the messages on my phone.

Hand to my stomach, I leave the room and head straight for the kitchen to get something dry to settle the rising bile. How can Benito not speak to anyone for years? The man I remember couldn’t keep a single goddamn opinion to himself. But now that I think back, he didn’t say a word last night. I was so caught up in the emotions of the moment that I didn’t pay attention to what was right in front of me: he kept his goddamn mouth shut the whole time.

Why?

I round the corner and step through the doorway to find our chef instructing his kitchen hand on the correct order for cleaning up after the lunch service. Harrison has cooked for our family for decades, but the woman at his side—she’s new. I watch her carefully as I round the large steel-topped island to head for the walk-in pantry. She’s young, but maybe not much more than me. Hispanic and not related to Harrison, given she shares no similarities with the six-foot blond Swede. When did she arrive? And why? What happened to the last kitchen hand?

“Were the tarts not to your liking, Miss Nastasya?” Harrison stops mid-sentence with the girl to address me as I broach the pantry door.

“They were amazing as always, Harry.” I thumb toward the cracker selection on the shelves. “After a little snack.”

“I can cook you something else.” He smiles as though I’ve lost my mind.

“Honestly. This is fine.” I reach for the first packet I come across and clutch it to my chest. “You seem as though you have your hands full already.” I meet the stern gaze of the young woman.

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