Page 92 of Mistaken
Her chest rises and falls slowly. “But you know what he is.”
“I knew you had a brother who’d stolen your inheritance. Since he took your mother’s maiden name and used his middle name, I didn’t connect him to the Irish mob until recently. Sean O’Connell is a very different matter. He used your parent’s money to buy his way into the higher ranks. Did you…” I was used to saying the hard things, the truth, even when painful.
Ella looked up, her pale eyes, so green like the Dresden diamond, were wet. “Did I know Charles was involved in organized crime? No. We lived in Birmingham, not Ireland. But my mom never talked about her side of the family, she’d just tell me there was ‘nothing to say about such people!’” I could hear the trace of the English accent my mother caught more strongly in her words now. “We uh… we moved here when I was eight. Charles was so angry. My parents insisted we needed a fresh start.”
I took her hand, “Do you know that he caused the accident that killed your parents?” When I watched her lovely face crumple in agony, I wished I’d not said it. My wife was sweet. She must have held out hope for years that her useless brother would somehow become family again.
“I shouldn’t be surprised, huh?” Ella said bitterly. “I’m sure he meant to have me die in the crash, too. Nice and tidy. He was standing there, watching Katya put her cigarette out on me… his expression never changed. He was telling her that, ‘the O’Connell Mob had a stake here.’ He wanted a video of me in…” she gagged a little and I helped her sit up, her poor, battered body heaving. “He wanted a video of me in the whorehouse because it would shame the Morozov Bratva and threaten your power.” She smiled blankly, “I was too busy trying not to scream to tell him that it wouldn’t have the desired effect since your people wanted nothing to do with me. I’m anoutsider.” She spat the last word, as if it tasted bad.
Another cruelty to lay at my feet, I thought,another thing I’ve done to her.
Ella wearily rubbed her eyes. “Mom had an inheritance from her family. She refused to access it; she called it dirty money. I remember hearing Charles screaming at her to ‘give it back’ when he turned eighteen. That had to be why he did it, why he would…” I slid my arms under her, gently lifting her on to my lap as she wept, kissing her forehead, smoothing her hair. Waiting for her storm to settle.
When she fell asleep again, I dressed and left the bedroom to find Yuri.
“Tania’s calling me every fifteen minutes, demanding to speak to Ella,” he sighed, rubbing his eyes tiredly.
“Tell her Ella’s asleep, but I’ll have her call later.” I groaned, sitting down in my chair behind the desk.
“Don’t tell me the great and powerful Pakhan is feeling like shit this morning,” my idiot brother taunted me.
“The only reason I’m not stabbing you right now is that you saved Ella’s life last night.”
“And yours,” Yuri adds helpfully.
“That was some impressive shooting, by the way,” I complimented him, “did you use the mirror trick to shoot around the corner of the stairway?”
“It works like a charm,” he agreed, “I took them both out while they were distracted with Katya shooting you - though Shevchenko took three bullets to go down, the man was part polar bear.”
“I remember you disarming Katya, but I was focusing on getting the restraints off Ella and getting her out of there,” I’m trying to remember. “What happened?”
Yuri’s expression was frigid. “She was ranting, telling me that she knew we had ‘exquisite tortures’ planned for her, something about that she had won, because Ella was dead.”
I tilted my head curiously. My brother could be an emotionless killer when necessary, but I don’t think he had ever killed a woman. His eyes, darker than mine, lifted to look at me. “I told her that her first mistake was taking Tania, and the second was hurting Ella. I told her that she did not matter enough to make a fuss. I told her that we would burn her body with the others. And then I shot her.”
It might have only been midmorning, but I poured us both a drink.
Ella…
Another visit from Dr. Connor finally got me out of bed. She checked my broken ribs and fingers and was pleased to see the swelling going down, though she assured me I’d be, “A mess of bruises for another couple of weeks.”
Putting her stethoscope and other gear back in her bag, the doctor smiled at me. “Do you have any questions?”
I thought about it. “Will I regain full use of my hand?”
“Yes,” she nodded firmly, “you’re fortunate that there’s no ligament damage.”
Chuckling a little, I thought,Yeah. Fortunate.
Dr. Connor leaned forward, putting her hand carefully on my arm. “I do think that some time with a therapist would help you. I can send you a list of professionals I trust if you’d like it.”
Shaking my head with a polite smile, I tried to picture exactly what I could tell a therapist.Yeah, I got kidnapped by this Russian gangster and had to marry him and people keep trying to kill me, so…
“Thank you for the suggestion, I’ll let you know.”
She nods and smiles, but she doesn’t look convinced.
When the doctor finally leaves, I slowly get dressed and stop midway to take a pain pill. I don't need to be brave now, so why not?
