Ch 55: The Missing Piece
The grey light of late afternoon filtered through the windows, catching dust motes suspended in the air. Elena stood with her forehead pressed to the cold glass, watching nothing.
Two hours in that room. Two hours of Leo's numbers and the senior lieutenants' gravelly questions. Zurich accounts. Shell companies. Photographs. Something about Nadia's will and Viktor's murder—words that made Kazimir's jaw tighten and the room go still. Every piece of evidence pointed to Dante's careful plan to claim Volkov's wealth.
But it was Anna who had unsettled her most. When called to testify, the old woman shuffled forward with her shoulders hunched. Anna, who had always been so composed, was gone. In her place was someone whose voice trembled, whose answers came halting and vague.
And Dante had not looked at her. Not once. He stared past her as if she were made of glass.
Then there was Valentina. Louder than usual. Fiercer. She had demanded execution—not imprisonment, not exile, but death. Three times she insisted. And when the council voted to delay for three days, Valentina turned on her heel and walked out.
Elena knew something was missing—some piece of the story she didn't know. Anna's fear, Dante's refusal to look, Valentina's outsized fury—they were connected somehow. But how?
The door opened behind her, drawing Elena out of her thoughts.
Kazimir stopped just inside. The doctor had cleaned the bullet graze and wrapped it in fresh gauze. His grey eyes found her, and a fraction of the tension in his jaw released.
"You should be resting," he said.
‘So should you.’
"Fair."
He crossed to her and slid his arm around her waist—not tentative, but natural, as if reaching for her was the most normal thing in the world.
She leaned into him, her ear pressing to his chest. Then tilted her head to look up at him.
‘Something was wrong at the meeting,’ she mouthed.
His hand tensed against her back. "With Dante?"
‘Not just Dante. Anna too. She could barely speak. I've never seen her like that.’
"The testimony was difficult. She's known Dante for years."
‘It wasn't just nerves.’ Elena insisted, her hands moving with urgency. ‘She looked at him like she was afraid he would say something. And Dante never looked at her. Not once.’
Kazimir was quiet, his eyes sharpening as he considered her words.
‘And Valentina,’ she continued. ‘She wanted him dead. She wouldn't let it go. It was like she was afraid the council would let him live.’ She paused. ‘They're connected. Anna's fear, Dante's silence, Valentina's anger. There's something we're not seeing.’
Kazimir studied her. Then he reached out and took her hands, stilling them. His palms were warm, solid.
"You see things other people miss," he said quietly. "Since something's wrong, we'll find it."
‘When?’
"Soon. But not tonight." He tugged her closer, his thumb tracing her knuckles. "The council reconvene in three days. Dante is locked in the east wing under watch. Whatever secrets he's keeping, he's not going anywhere."
Elena wanted to argue, but Kazimir was right. Dante was secured. They had three days.
You’re just overthinking. Perhaps it's just the past few days, she reasoned. The kidnapping. The fight at the harbor. And then the mill.
'Alessandro,' she mouthed, her throat tightening. 'Have you heard anything?'
Kazimir's expression shifted. He guided her to sit on the edge of the bed, then sat beside her, close enough that their thighs pressed together.
"Leo called an hour ago," he said quietly. "Alessandro is still in surgery."
Elena's chest tightened. 'It’s been hours.'
"They're trying to save him. The bullet shattered his collarbone and nicked the subclavian artery. It's... a complicated surgery."
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Elena's fists clenched. 'He's going to live.'
Kazimir's hand found hers. His thumb traced her knuckles. "Nikolai and Timothy are taking turns waiting outside the operating room. If there's any change, we'll know immediately."
'Nikolai must be blaming himself.'
Kazimir nodded. "But Alessandro made his own choice. He knows that."
'Knowing doesn't make it easier.'
"No," he agreed. "It doesn't."
They sat in silence. The grey light had faded to something darker—the hour between afternoon and evening.
Elena thought of Alessandro's voice, weak and gasping, as he lay in Nikolai's arms. She blinked hard, forcing the burn in her eyes to subside.
‘When this is over, I'm going to tell him that he's an idiot.'
Kazimir's mouth curved—just a little. "I think Nikolai already beat you to it."
A small, wet laugh escaped her. She leaned her head against his uninjured shoulder and let herself breathe. But the heaviness in her chest didn't fully lift. Her thoughts kept circling back to the mill. To the revolver swinging toward Kazimir's chest.
Her gaze drifted to his bandaged shoulder. 'Let me see it.'
"It's fine."
Elena gave him a flat look—the same one Greta gave her when she tried to skip meals.
Kazimir's mouth twitched, but he didn't argue. He sat still as she stepped between his knees and worked open the buttons of his shirt. When the fabric parted and she saw the gauze wrapped around his shoulder, her breath hitched.
She brushed her fingertips against bandage. 'Does it hurt?'
"Only when I move."
She frowned.
He sighed. "It aches. But I've had worse."
Elena leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to the edge of the bandage—a gesture of care, not passion. Then she gently pushed the shirt off his shoulders and climbed onto the bed behind him. She pressed her thumbs into the hard knot of muscles in his shoulders, and he made a low sound—not quite a groan, not quite a sigh. His head dropped forward.
'You're tense,' she mouthed near his ear.
"I'm fine."
'You're lying.' She dug her thumbs deeper. 'But I'll pretend I believe you.'
His shoulders eased beneath her hands. She worked in silence, finding each knot, pressing until it released. His skin was warm. Alive. She could feel his heartbeat through her palms.
"Before," he said quietly, "you would have waited for me to come to you."
Her hands stilled. She set her palms flat against his shoulder blades. 'I almost lost you. I don't want to waste time being careful.'
Kazimir twisted to look at her over his uninjured shoulder. His grey eyes were dark with something raw. Then he caught her wrist and pulled. She tumbled forward against his back with a soft gasp, her cheek pressing between his shoulder blades.
"Stay close," he murmured. "That's all I ask."
'Your shoulder—'
"It's fine." His voice rumbled through her. "Just stay."
Elena wrapped her arms around his chest from behind, avoiding the bandaged side, and pressed her face into the warm space between his neck and shoulder. Cedar. Gunpowder. Antiseptic. Him.
They stayed like that as the light faded from silver to charcoal. His breathing steadied. Her hands, still pressed to his chest, tracked the slow, rhythmic beat of his heart.
Eventually, she shifted, tugging at his arm until he turned to face her.
'Lie down with me,' she mouthed.
He took her hand and lay down beside her. Elena tucked herself against his uninjured side, her head finding the hollow of his shoulder. His arm came around her, holding her close.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Sleep did not come. Elena floated somewhere between wakefulness and rest—aware of the weight of his arm, the warmth of his body, the distant creak of the old mansion settling.
Then a knock came. Sharp. Insistent.
"Come in," Kazimir said.
Leo stepped inside, breathing hard. "Dante is dead."
Kazimir sat up. "What?"
"The maid brought his breakfast and found him dead. A wound to the chest. Doubled-edged. Likely a dagger."
Elara sat up slowly. Dante is dead. Someone had killed him. She could not bring herself to mourn.
But a dagger.
Her thoughts drifted to Valentina—demanding execution three times, then walking out when the council voted to delay. Elena suspected her but had no proof. The mansion was full of people who wanted Dante dead.
Before she could mouth anything, the door burst open again.
Greta stood in the doorway, her face pale and splotched with tears. Her hands were pressed to her mouth. She was making a low, keening wail—the sound of a child who had found something terrible.
"I went to call Anna for breakfast," Greta choked out. "I knocked and she didn't answer. So I opened the door, and she—" Her voice shattered. "Anna. She's—she's—"
Elena didn't hear the rest of it. She was already moving, pushing past Greta, running. The portraits on the walls blurred past as she bolted toward Anna's quarters at the far end of the servant's wing.
The second floor. The servants' stairs. The small room at the end of the hall with the window that faced the garden.
The door was open.
Elena stopped in the doorway. Her legs gave out. She caught herself on the frame.
Anna lay on the bed, curled on her side, hands tucked beneath her cheek like a child sleeping. Her white hair had come loose across the pillow. She looked peaceful.
But her chest didn't rise. Her lips were faintly blue.
Elena crossed the room on legs she couldn't feel. She sank to her knees beside the bed and reached for Anna's hand. The skin was cold.
Anna. Her benefactor. Her guide. The first person in this house who had offered help without expecting anything in return. Anna, who offered her water jugs. Who guided her after the cellar. Who had always treated her with quiet kindness.
Who? Who would want to hurt you?
Elena pressed her forehead to Anna's still fingers and wept. She didn't understand. She couldn't understand. Dante was dead—murdered in the night—and now Anna was dead too.
Behind her were footsteps. Kazimir's voice, low and urgent. Greta's sobs. Leo's quiet murmur. The house was waking to a nightmare.
But Elena couldn't move. She knelt beside the bed, Anna's cold fingers clutched in hers, and let the tears fall.
Last edited by Feiya Phia 5/25/26