Page 15 of Split

After a few greedy sips of the much-needed caffeine, I lower my mug, glancing up at Clara. “Was there another before me?” I ask cautiously. “Another Mrs. Volkov?”

She purses her lips, pausing for a moment as her dark-eyed gaze bores into mine. “Yes.”

I flinch back in surprise, her admission immediately sending my mind reeling. “What happened to her?”

“I can’t say,” Clara mutters, placing my breakfast plate in front of me.

“How long were they married?”

She blows out an annoyed breath, wiping her hands on her apron and looking down at me with poorly-masked disapproval. “If you have questions, you should probably ask your husband.”

I slump back in my chair, knee bouncing anxiously as Clara proceeds to set out my silverware and the baskets of fruit and pastries. She’s obviously not going to be of any help when it comes to finding out more about Roman’s secrets.

“Not every woman can handle this life, and more than that, not every woman can handle a man like Mr. Volkov,” Clara murmurs, arranging everything on the table to her liking. “His… moods.”

“You mean his split personality?” I snort.

In the short time I’ve known my husband, two distinct sides of him have begun to emerge– the cold, aloof control freak, and the manic, unhinged puppet master.I’m not sure which side scares me more.

Clara presses her lips into a thin line as she steps back, her expression impassable. “I hope you’ll suit him better than the last. He deserves some good in his life.”

“Why didn’t you marry him off to your own daughter then?” I grumble.

“If I had one, and that was an option, it would’ve been an honor.”

Wow, this lady has really been drinking the Kool-Aid.

Clara turns away, heading over to my closet to select my clothes for the day while I remain at the table, sipping my coffee and picking at my breakfast.

“I’ll come back for the laundry today,” she says when she emerges from the closet, giving me a pointed look as she walks past me to set the clothes at the foot of the bed.Guess she doesn’t want another strip show.

“Thanks,” I mumble, still lost in thought.

Since Clara is clearly a dead end in the friends department, I’ll have to figure out a new angle. It occurred to me last night– somewhere between my third glass of wine and Roman paying the bill– that until I’m able to get away from him for good, I should be using my time here to try to uncover some sort of leverage to wield so he won’t come looking for me after I escape. All men in the business of organized crime have secrets they’d rather keep hidden, and I’m sure my husband is no exception.

I just need to uncover one of them.

After getting dressed in the clothes Clara laid out, I decide to venture outside of the house again, grabbing a croissant from the pastry basket and tucking it into my pocket along the way. In hindsight, the blueberry muffin was a bad idea.Probably too much sugar.But I’ll bet my new pal Nox will enjoy the croissant.

The morning chill is still hanging in the air when I step outside, a sharp breeze rustling the leaves of the trees on the border of the lawn. I head around the west side of the mansion again, pausing to stare up at my balcony. Though the stone façade of the house is rough, there doesn’t appear to be enough footholds in the rock to use for climbing down. I’ll just have to find some other way.

Continuing on around the side of the manor, my gaze lifts to a tall tower built into the corner of the structure, rising a story above the rest. I raise a hand to shade my eyes, squinting against the sunlight as I peer up at it. The entrance to the tower has to be somewhere at the end of the west wing. If I could get up there, it’d give me a better vantage point to scout the property for escape routes. I could get a better idea of what I’m dealing with here.

I lower my hand, chewing on the inside of my cheek as I turn over the possibilities in my mind. If I’m going to run, every step of my escape will have to be precisely planned. I’ll needcontingency plans, too, just in case something goes awry. If I’m caught, I won’t get another chance.It has to go perfectly.

I’m still standing there mulling everything over when I spot the dog, who comes trotting up to me with his big pink tongue hanging out.

“Hey, buddy,” I greet warmly, stooping down to scratch his ear when he approaches.

He leans into my touch, his stumpy little tail wagging as I crouch down to love up on him. Then a second dog suddenly appears, coming over to check in on his brother. I make just as big of a fuss over him, giving him pets and splitting the croissant between the two of them.

“Good boys,” I coo, scratching their scruff after they lick the crumbs from my palms. “You’re just the prettiest pups, aren’t you?”

“Now there’s something you don’t see every day,” a gruff voice comments, and I glance up to see the gray-haired man I spotted from my window on my first day here.

I push up to my feet, smiling at him kindly. “What’s that?”

He gestures to the dogs with a raspy chuckle. “Those beasts being friendly.”

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