VLAD (The V Games #1)(19)

He doesn’t move for a good four seconds. I know because I count them.

Eventually, with an almost imperceptible sigh, he rises and stalks away. His footfalls are heavy with intent to show his displeasure at whatever they’ve discussed. She probably plans to make him accompany us to the Vasiliev estate. It’s not the job he’s used to or even suited for, but it’s the one he’ll do if she orders it. Anton is Father’s right-hand man. He does all our father’s dirty work and does it with a smile and a nod. So there is no doubt he will comply and accompany us. Diana will make sure Father thinks it’s a good idea too. Diana always has a way with men and our father isn’t immune to her charm.

“You look tense,” I comment, watching her for any signs of cold feet.

“There’s just a lot to prepare for.” Her sigh is heavy and resigned. She’s no longer the giddy, excited woman from last night.

I stand and walk over to her, sitting on the corner of her desk. “Does Anton not want to play security for us?” I ask in a playful tone, but it doesn’t break through her salty mood.

“Anton will do as he’s told,” she grinds out, her voice cold and unwavering.

Holding up my hands in mock surrender, I make my way back to my chair. “Like we all do,” I snip at her.

She slams her pen to the desk. “Not now, Irina. If you’re going to be a brat, you can work from your own office.”

I gape at her outburst. My eyes drift to the adjoining door separating our offices. I’ve never used mine. Never. I haven’t even been in that office since it was assigned to me by Father over a year ago. She and I work together. It’s what we do.

My chest aches, but I call her bluff. I stand and move toward the door. I’ll teach Diana that her snapping at me like I’m the help won’t be tolerated. Before my hand touches the handle, she rushes over to me.

“Stop,” she cries out, her voice cracking. “I didn’t mean it.” She stands between me and the door, her brows scrunched together in worry.

“I know you didn’t,” I bite out. “So don’t say things you don’t mean.”

She reaches forward and brushes away my hair, tucking it behind my ear. “Okay. I’m sorry. It’s not you.” She sighs and touches her lips with her fingertip, her canary-yellow diamond engagement ring reflecting brilliantly. “I’m a little stressed.”

I fold my arms and take a couple steps toward my chair. She makes her way back over to her desk. I turn abruptly and open the door to my office. Her gasp is audible, and she rushes over to pull the door closed. Her eyes are so round and bright, they look like full moons.

“I-I-I sleep in there sometimes,” she sputters out, her voice wobbling with nerves. “When I’m working late at night.”

Although she is quick to close the door, I’ve already mentally scanned and stored what was inside.

There’s a bed expanding from the far wall where my desk was once situated. The covers are in disarray, and if I’m not mistaken—which I never am—there are a pair of panties in two pieces at the foot of the bed.

“Shadow,” she says my nickname desperately, and it’s then I realize I haven’t spoken. When I look up into her penetrating gaze, I see fear. It’s not something I’ve ever seen in Diana’s eyes. She’s always so sure of herself. So calm and poised. “I just sleep there sometimes when I work late,” she repeats, as though saying it again will somehow make me believe those words.

Her room is a few doors away. There’s no need to sleep in there. I’m not buying her story.

“Irina, please,” she begs, her voice an edgy whisper. I understand the unspoken words in her tone.

Please don’t ask questions.

Don’t tell anyone.

Never mention this ever again.

Before I can conjure up a thought, screeching echoes down the corridors. I recognize our mother’s voice and turn to follow the disruption. My father’s deep tone bellows from his office, and when we reach the door, it’s ajar. Our mother’s sobs bounce through the open space there.

“How could you not have known? He looks just like you,” she cries.

“I don’t make a habit of looking at servant kids, Olga. Are you telling me you knew?” he growls.

“You think I can’t see my own husband’s eyes looking up at me? Why do you think I sent them away?”

“Vy kunt!” You cunt. His roar echoes off the walls and the crack of his hand connecting with her flesh is loud. I push through the door to see our mother bent over his desk holding her cheek.

Our father’s eyes snap to me, then to Diana, who followed me inside.

“What’s going on?” I breathe. I scan the scene before me, taking it all in. When my eyes fall on the man standing beside our father, my stomach curdles.

He’s so familiar, I recognize him instantly.

Vas.

He was always around us as children. A wretched little brat. His mother was our most valued maid and we loved her. I cried for weeks when Mother told us she’d left to work elsewhere. Now, looking at him, I see our father in every inch of his face, his frame…damn, even his posture is an exact replica.

“Girls, this isn’t the way I wanted you to hear this…” Before he can finish, our mother straightens, brushes her hands down the front of her fancy dress, and turns to face us.