Page 104 of Avidian
“I know you must feel neglected,” he says, swirling the whiskey in the glass he poured from the drink cart. “But know it hasn’t been by choice.”
His voice drips with false warmth, each word polished and practiced. It’s too proper, too nice—Marco always hides his most despicable intentions behind a veil of politeness, and it sets my teeth on edge.
“Can I get you a drink?” he offers, holding his own glass aloft as if it’s an extension of his charm.
I shake my head, a polite refusal. The thought of drinking anything he offers twists my stomach.
Marco chuckles softly, a sound that feels more sinister than amused. “Suit yourself.” He takes a slow sip, his eyes never leaving me, and settles into the chair across from me, his posture impossibly relaxed, like he’s completely in control. Because, of course, he thinks he is.
“Carmen’s boyfriend, Brian, killed her and Damien,” I say, keeping my voice steady, almost detached. The sooner I say it, the less time Marco has to probe. “He caught her with Damien and went on a jealous rampage.”
I meet Marco’s gaze head-on, refusing to flinch under his scrutiny. Whatever Orin has told him, I can’t let it shake me. Solace doesn’t need to be dragged into this, and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep that part of the truth buried.
Marco doesn’t respond right away, his sharp eyes assessing me as he swirls his whiskey. The silence stretches, heavy and deliberate.
“Brian,” he repeats, testing the name like he’s rolling it over in his mind, trying to fit it into the larger puzzle.
I nod once.
“Viktor will be pleased,” he says finally, leaning back in his chair. “You did the job you were supposed to do.”
I keep my expression neutral, offering no response. It’s what he expects—subdued compliance. Inside, I’m screaming.Please, Marco, let this drop. Let me go back to my room so I can figure out how the hell to escape this place once and for all.
“The girl’s journal,” he says, breaking the silence. “Was it helpful?”
“Yes,” I answer, keeping my tone measured. “Without it, I would have come to the same conclusion, but it did speed up the process.”
I shift in the chair, the unease building with every second he watches me.
“I haven’t been able to reach my son to confirm yet,” Marco says before taking another slow drink of whiskey, and I know he must be talking about Malachi. “But Orin told me some alarming things.”
My stomach tightens, and I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from reacting.
“Oh.” I glance at the fire, trying to stay the perfect picture of nonchalant.
“Malachi has always been my sharpest son, but he inherited too much of his mother’s heart,” Marco says.
He hasn’t asked me a direct question yet, and I won’t give him more than I have to.
“He trusts too easily,” Marco continues, swirling the whiskey in his glass before downing the last of it. He sets the glass on the side table with a soft clink, his eyes fixed on me. “I’m no fool, Katja. I know he’s been moving behind my back for some time now.”
A chill ripples down my spine, but I sit still, focusing on keeping my breathing steady.
Marco leans forward slightly, his voice dropping lower. “That’s why I took you to that warehouse, to see Boris and his Avids. A reminder of what your life could look like should I decide you are no longer useful. Should I decide I can no longer trust you.”
My stomach twists into a violent knot. I fight the urge to leap out of this chair, to grab something sharp, anything, and tearhim apart with my bare hands. The image of burning this whole place to the ground flashes through my mind—Marco, Orin, the entire rotten operation—all of it reduced to ash. My chest heaves as the fury threatens to spill over, but I force my hands to steady and my voice to come out even.
“I have given you no reason to doubt me,” I say.
Marco studies me, the silence between us heavy and dangerous. He smiles faintly. “That is...debatable,” he replies. “You are keeping things from me, even now.”
He pauses, his hand moving to his chest, rubbing it absentmindedly. His features twitch slightly, and then it happens. He falters, his words slurring. “I know… I... I…”
Marco slumps back in his chair, his body suddenly limp, and the glass topples from the table, shattering against the floor.
I freeze, my heart hammering in my chest as I watch him sink further into the chair, his eyes fluttering shut.
Then it hits—the deep rumble of an explosion shakes the walls, followed by shouting.
