Chapter 295: That can wait

In the corridor, Konstantin walked with a slow, steady stride.

His arm was wrapped in fresh white. His jacket hung open over his shoulders, and one of the guards had run to bring him a clean shirt and a pistol. He had put on the shirt without a word. He tucked the pistol inside his waistband, where it pressed against his ribs like an old friend.

Four men followed him. Four more stayed by Helena’s door. He turned along the upper hall, past the portraits and the tall windows, to a small door painted white. He knocked once and opened it without waiting.

It was a bedroom with soft yellow walls. A girl lay in the narrow bed, with a blanket pulled up to her chin. Her face was pale and damp. A dark cloth was bound around her middle, and her silver-white dress hung over a chair, stiff with dried blood.

Carina.

She was asleep. Her breath came slow and shallow, and her eyelashes made small shadows on her cheeks. She looked very young.

The Don stood in the doorway and looked at her for a moment.

"Carina." Her eyes opened.

She did not startle. She looked at him, and for one second there was nothing in her face at all. Then she remembered, and the color drained from it.

"Father."

"Get up. Follow me. We have work to do."

She pushed herself up. A small, sharp sound escaped her, and she bit her lip hard. She swung her legs out of the bed and sat there for a breath, swaying. Then she stood, took her dress from the chair, and pulled it on over the bandage without a word.

The Don watched her. "I do not even want to begin," he said, "on how Katalia slipped out of this house without you knowing."

Carina went still. "But that can wait." His tone was mild. "For now. I need to find her before that stubborn girl gets herself killed."

"Yes, Father."

Her voice was steady. He knows, she thought. Or he is close to knowing. She followed him out. They went down to the lab.

The steel door stood open. The harsh light was still on, and the machines hummed softly, as they had all night. Nothing in the room had changed. The wall of papers still hung in its neat lines. The folders lay where they had been dropped.

In the far corner, beside the cabinet, lay a man in a purple suit. He was on his side, with his bearded face turned toward the wall. The blood had dried black on his collar. His long hair was matted. One of his shoes had come off.

A little way along, in the shadow by the charts, a girl lay on her back with her hands folded over her stomach. Someone had closed her eyes. The gray apron had gone stiff and dark.

Carina stopped in the doorway. She had not known it would be this. She had not known that they would still be here, side by side, like two things left behind after a party. Something rose in her throat. She swallowed it.

The Don walked in and stood between them. He looked down at Shemmel without any change in his face. He looked at Aliya a little longer. Then he straightened his cuff.

"Bury the girl," he said. The guards behind him nodded.

"Take Shemmel’s body back to their territory. Put it on the steps of Kalisto’s house." His voice was quiet and level. "Let them find it in the morning. Let them understand."

"Yes, Don." Two of them moved to lift the purple suit. Another bent over Aliya and slid his arms beneath her. He did it carefully. He did not look at her face.

Carina looked at the floor. They found the guards on the way back.

The little side room off the stone passage was dim and warm and smelled of old coffee. The monitors had gone dark. On the floor lay the shards of a broken pot, and in the corner, in a heap of coats, sat seven men.

They were tied hand and foot, with strips of curtain across their mouths. Their faces were gray and sweating. They had woken, some time before dawn, and they had tried. A cord was half chewed through. A man’s wrists were rubbed raw. Another had worked a shoulder loose and made it halfway across the floor on his belly before he gave up.

They saw the Don in the doorway.

Their eyes went wide. One of them began to shake his head. A thin, muffled noise came from behind the cloth, over and over.

The Don stood and looked at them.

He did not ask what had happened. He did not ask who had tied them up, or how long they had lain there, or what they had seen. He only studied them for a moment. Useless, he thought.

They had one task. Guard the door. He drew the pistol from his waistband. Carina turned her face away.

It was quick. It was loud in that small room, and it was over before the echo died. The Don did not hurry. When he finished, he checked the chamber and slid the weapon back into his belt. The smell of smoke drifted out into the passage.

Nobody spoke. "Clean this up," he said to the men behind him. His voice did not change at all. He turned and walked back toward the lift.

Carina fell in beside him each step cost her. Her face was a pale mask. The two of them went along the white corridor side by side, with the guards a few paces behind. At the lift, he stopped and pressed the button.

"Carina."

"Father."

"I want to know every plane that left the country tonight." She did not look up.

"Every flight. Every private strip. Every little field with a runway and a man who can be bribed." He watched the numbers glow above the doors. "Check them all. Find me the names, and the times, and who flew them."

Marcus said a ship at the south port, she thought. An hour away. Her heart gave a slow, hard thump.

"Yes, Father," she said. The lift doors opened with a soft chime.

The Don stepped in, and Carina followed, and the light in the little box fell over them both. For a moment, neither spoke. The doors slid shut, and the white house sank away beneath their feet.