I have to be prepared…or else.
The room is tense when I return to it. My little outburst didn’t do much to break up the family arguments. Instead, it seems that the debates have worsened despite the fact that the obvious arguing has halted.
Lev meets my gaze and gives me a simple nod. It’s a slight reassurance in a sea of doubt with the way this luncheon is going. I can’t wait to leave—but I know I’ll have to face other stressors later when we all part to go to our respective parties.
Though the tables are set and everyone has food, four servers walk into the room carrying covered trays. Each server carries a tray to the head of the four families whose contracts are still tightly wound around my body.
Suspicious whispers echo through the room. I watch Osmond tentatively lift the covering, revealing an off-brand of penicillin, the sight of which makes him utterly furious. Fletcher taps the tray, inspecting it closely before plucking the covering from its place. Nestled in the center of the silver platter is a small pile of coke. Anatoly produces a simple handgun, and then Gilbert holds up a wad of bills.
By the way the men look, I can only imagine these are calling cards—just like the ones I received along with the boys.
There’s a bit of chaos for a moment as the confused families pester their fathers with questions. I’m having trouble keeping up with interrogations but catch bits and pieces from each table.
“Isn’t that the penicillin you give your dumb hookers?”
“That coke is contaminated. It needs to be removed at once.”
“This is a poorly made gun, Pop.”
“Who the fuck sent me counterfeit money?!”
Rage replaces the confusion as Anatoly stands from his place and claps his hands. “Quiet! All of you!”
Conversation reduces to a hushed volume but doesn’t cease. It seems these gifts are doing precisely what they’re meant to do. But who sent them?
And why?
It almost makes me giddy to see the most powerful men in Macedon running around like chickens with their heads cut off. Yet the message seems rather clear: Someone sent these gifts as a warning to the main families that they can bypass any security put in place. Each gift is a crime—the kind of betrayal that can be committed between criminals and cause a huge war.
Anatoly grabs one of the servers and shakes him. “Who the fuck sent these?”
The server stammers, holding up gloved hands. “Sorry, sir. I didn’t catch a name.”
“You must remember what he looked like, don’t you?”
“I suppose I could say…”
Anatoly growls. “You better start talking before I use this gun on you.”
“Portly. A round man with black and white stubble. In his hair too. But I have no idea who he is! I thought he was leaving proper gifts for the families.”
When Anatoly tosses the server aside, he waves for the other fathers to join him. They huddle together, speaking rapidly to each other.
I frown while focusing on the plate in front of me. Someone ordered my favorite for lunch—hot smoked salmon with a salad and a side of oysters—which I haven’t bothered to touch. That description sounded familiar. My brain fumbles over the details for an extended minute, the fuzzy memory of the gross man at my uncle’s party returning.
Heart hammering hard in my chest, I whip out my phone to type the description into a note. The scent of bourbon invades my nostrils, and I feel sick to my stomach while recalling how that disgusting pig tried to rape me in my uncle’s garden.
Lev took me out of there, I reflect while texting the boys. Maybe he remembers something about that guy. This is all too much of a coincidence.
My mother’s voice catches my attention. When I look at her, she gives me a tight smile and says, “Dear Alexandra, you must return home at once.” She rises from the table with Amos and turns to the group of parents converging in the corner of the room. “We have business to discuss.”
“This involves me too,” I argue. “I know who—”
“You don’t know anything,” she snaps. “You and the others will go home. Right now.”
My phone buzzes in my hand. Glancing at the screen reveals a text from Lev: “Hallway.”
After giving my mother a disgruntled huff, I spin around and head for the hallway. The boys are standing in a loose circle, each of them holding a drink. Tomas hands me a flute of champagne. I cringe and shake my head, pointing to his beer. “Please.”