The room is silent except for her cries.
I feel nothing at first, and then rage, and something I have never known wraps around me.
I adjust the gun tucked into my waistband and crack my neck once to the left.
"I will deal with Lupu," I say, my voice flat. "But first, I want to hear it from him."
I turn to Lucian.
"Call him," I say. "Tell him to come to the estate."
31
ELENA
It's been an hour since Lucian made the phone call, and the world stopped making sense for the second time in my life.
I’ve got to stop having these moments.
Nicolae is finishing up some business in Bucharest, Lucian said. He'll be en route this evening. He expects to arrive by nightfall.
The words echo in my head, looping endlessly like a broken record.
Nicolae ordered it. Paid for it. Nicolae did this, to me and my baby, his future grandchild.
Lucian and Victor left us alone twenty minutes ago, their faces stern and silent as they shut the office door behind them. They didn't say much. Just that they'd give us time to process.
I'm sitting on the couch, trying to do just that.
But I am finding it really hard to process the fact that Adrian's father orchestrated everything and paid fifty million dollars to have me essentially removed, and then allowed Adrian toknowingly mourn an empty coffin. Shit, my family too, for that matter.
I look over at Adrian, who's doing the same kind of thinking I'm doing, and more. He hasn't said a word since his brothers left us.
He's standing by the window with his back to me. His injured arm hangs in the sling, motionless; all of him is motionless for that matter.
He isn't pacing or yelling. He isn't breaking things or slamming his fists into walls.
And that terrifies me more than anything, because I know Adrian.
I know the way his rage works. I've seen him explode, fists flying, voice raw, blood on his knuckles. I've watched him fight, throw chairs across rooms, shatter glass, and most recently, kill.
So seeing him like this. It's different. It is worse.
This calm is the most dangerous thing I've ever seen from him.
I exhale slowly, wiping my palms on my jeans. My own emotions are a mess, anger, betrayal, grief, but underneath all of it is something sharper, like fear.
Not for myself, but for Adrian and what he'll do.
Either way, I can't let him think he's alone, because he's not. Not as long as I'm breathing.
I push myself off the couch and walk toward him. The wood floor creaks under my feet, but Adrian doesn't turn. He doesn't flinch. He just keeps staring out the window.
I stop a few feet behind him and clear my throat.
"Would you like to talk?" I ask, keeping my voice soft, like it'll help. Like it'll somehow pull him back from wherever his mind has gone.
He doesn't move, and for a few moments, I think he's not going to answer.