Page 61 of XV (Fifteen) (War of Roses 1)

For a tense few seconds, they eye each other with only the polished sliver of wood between them. Then Nikolaus snatches the page up and hands it off to one of the men behind him. “Do it,” he commands. “And when my son is vindicated, I will demand more than blood in compensation for sullying my family’s name.”

Mischa nods as if to convey,As you wish, though he radiates tension like a furnace. Each wave of quiet, smoldering anger feels different from the rage he directs at me. It’s colder. Harder. Terrifying. Being this close to him is like having the veil that usually shielded off my emotions ripped away. I feel it all. Fear. Uncertainty. Anger?

Survival.

Think, Ellen.My memories contain a different detail about Kostas, beyond something as intangible as money. Without giving myself the time to rethink the action, I lower my mouth to Mischa’s ear. His jaw clenches at my nearness. The visible disgust is almost enough to make me flinch back in fear. Almost. Before I do, I whisper something so quickly that I fear for a second he misheard me.

He narrows his eyes further, processing the hurried words. Then…he throws his head back and laughs. “If your son won’t come clean, Nikolaus, then perhaps we can settle another way?” He nods toward the younger man’s waist. “The woman claims to remember something about your son. Something personal. Should I tell everyone just what that is?”

“I could have fucked that bitch from anywhere,” Kostas snarls.

“Oh, but you couldn’t have…” Mischa stands, jostling me from his lap and rising to his full height. Nikolaus may be taller, but it’s clear who has the upper hand: Mischa isn’t the one forced to bow in reverence.

“Do you want to know why?” Mischa pulls me closer. “Look at her face. Look closely. You couldn’t have met this whore anywhere else because, as of four days ago, she belonged to Robert Winthorp.”

“How can you know that?” the dark-haired man wonders, standing as well. His expression is more curious than hostile as he scans my face. He blinks. Frowns. Leans closer. There’s a slight tilt to his mouth, betraying an emotion I struggle to name. Recognition? “The Winthorps wouldn’t sell one of their women to you—”

“Because I’m the one who ripped her from his grip,” Mischa says. “Isn’t that right, Kostas?”

The younger man says nothing, his jaw clenched, his eyes blazing.

“And even if you don’t believe me, can you tell me how she knows that you have a butterfly tattoo on your right hip?”

“I will not stand for this!” Nikolaus brandishes a fist, his voice booming. “How dare you—”

“Well, does he?” the dark-haired man interjects.

Nikolaus sputters. “S-Sergei?”

“Do you, boy?” Sergei presses, turning to Kostas.

“I… I…” The younger man can’t even get a word out in his defense.

Not that Mischa seems to need one. “Run the numbers,” he says. “If they are off by even a cent, I’ll step down right fucking now. But if not…”

The murderous tone has the effect of casting a hush over the room again, thicker and heavier than any brief silence before it.

“If not, I demand retribution—”

“N-no,” Nikolaus says, visibly deflating. His shoulders slump, his eyes widening with horror. “He ismyson.Pakhan—”

“We put it to a vote,” Sergei says, gesturing to the men around him. “If what thePakhansays is true…then I second his suggestion. This would be beyond treason.” His voice betrays an unsteady note: the only hint as to the rage lurking beneath his otherwise calm exterior. “ThePakhanshould decide his punishment.”

“No!” Nikolaus glances from man to man, searching for an ally among the sea of faces.

Two men nod solemnly in agreement, but they are vastly outnumbered by the quiet consensus. Before the decision can be reinforced out loud, however, one of the men behind Nikolaus taps his shoulder and hands him the slip of notebook paper. The look on his face is grim.

Without even waiting for the results to be read out loud, Mischa nods and two of his men circle the table for Kostas.

Before they can reach him, Nikolaus stands protectively before his son. “This…this is a setup,” he snarls. “Revenge. How dare you—”

“Nikolaus,” Sergei says sternly. “I suggest you use your head.”

“Yes,” Mischa says coldly. “I don’t want to declare your entire family as my enemy. Step aside.”

For several tense seconds, Nikolaus doesn’t move as Mischa’s men close in. Finally…he concedes, stepping back. Mischa’s men, including Vanya, grab Kostas on either side and muscle him toward the back of the room.

Punishment. I shiver at Mischa’s interpretation of the word.

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