Page 53 of Sixth Sin

“You don’t have to say anything, Miss Romanov.” Michaela flashes her a professional smile. “That’s the point. Your staff is here to take care of any need you may have before it arises. Your privacy is of their utmost concern, so they’ll remain in the shadows until that time comes.”

Angel slowly turns her gaze toward the small gathering of uniformed staff still staring at her. “Do they live here, too?”

“Of course.” Michaela nods, tucking a strand of her short blonde hair behind her ear. “Hilda is your housekeeper, Franz is your chef, Isaac is your groundskeeper, and Lars”—she points toward a guy I swear is the lab-created clone of Arnold Schwarzenegger—“is your personal driver.”

With the exception of muscle boy, each one is in their late forties or early fifties. Although I’ve only known Angel a little over three weeks, that bizarre electric connection we have starts to sizzle, and as she takes them in one by one, I know the question that’s coming before she asks it.

“Did they work here when...when...”

“Only me, ma’am.” Every eye turns as Hilda steps forward. A grandmotherly-looking woman with gray hair tucked in a tight bun. “I was asleep in the staff quarters when…” her voice trails off, and she forces a smile. “Well, it’s my honor to serve this family again.”

Angel returns her smile. “Thank you.” Looking toward Michaela, she adds, “This is a little overwhelming.”

Michaela pats her arm. “I’m sure. You have plenty of time to relax. Staff, you are dismissed.” As the staff disperse like ants, Michaela heads toward an elevator leading to an underground garage. “I’ll leave you to get reacquainted.” As the doors open, she smiles over her shoulder. “Welcome home, Alexandra.”

As soon as she’s gone, Angel lets out a labored breath. “Why does everyone keep saying that?”

“Because it’s true,” I whisper behind her ear.

“Right.” Tipping her head back, she leans into me, and who am I to complain? We’re like a magnetic force field. It doesn’t matter whether we want it or not, our bodies do, and they’re in control.

My hands slip under her jacket, molding around her hips. “Alexandra…”

She stiffens, and right away, I know that was the wrong thing to say. She’s still getting used to her new name, and hearing it used as a come-on is bad enough. Hearing it used as a come-on while being trapped inside the walls of a mass homicide?

Not my finest moment.

Shrugging out of my hold, she walks the perimeter of the massive foyer, running her fingers over things. Furniture. Piano. Paintings. Sculptures.

Portraits.

Fuck.

She stops at the oil painting hanging on the wall, her finger tracing the outline of eight-year-old Alexandra Romanov’s face. Beside her sit her three sisters and her brother, and behind them stand her parents. Rich, regal, and riddled with sin.

“Is this where it happened?”

“Sort of,” I admit, and knowing anyone could be listening, I continue playing our roles. “Your father, brother, and two of your sisters were shot by the rear west stairs. The other not far from there.”

“And the…” She clears her throat. “And my mother?”

I palm the back of my neck, the turn in conversation setting me on edge. “Rook, this is your home, do you really want those images in your head? This is your chance at a fresh start. Don’t fuck it up by filling it with ghosts from the past.”

As soon as the words are out of my mouth, my tongue feels dry. My head pounds, and it feels like I took a sledgehammer straight to the chest. Too bad I didn’t take my own advice.

Angel stills and then spins around, the meaning of my words hitting her. “My chance? What about you?”

Damn. I wanted to avoid a big confrontation, but this is Angel. I should’ve known better. With her, there will be no fading away quietly into the background. As much of a pain in my ass as she’s become, I’ve gotten used to having her around. Which is dangerous for both of us.

She’s a liability. In my world, attachments are seen as weaknesses and weaknesses are used as pawns. My mother has already been turned into a chess piece. I’ll be damned if I’ll let them get to Angel.

“I never lied to you. I told you I was only in this for the money.”

Angel rears back as if I slapped her. “So, that’s it? You’re just going to leave? I thought—”

“You thought what?” I force a smirk as tears well up in her eyes. “That because you let me touch your pussy we were going to live happily ever after in this fucked up house of horrors?” The words burn like acid on my tongue, but I don’t stop. “This was a business deal, cupcake, and now it’s done. We both got what we wanted. I got my money, and you got the career you kept bitching I stole. Everyone wins.”

“Everyone wins, huh?” I’ll give her credit, as quickly as the tears form, she blinks them back. “So, what happens when Rubio comes calling again?” Balling her fists, she stomps toward me, her voice lowering to a whispered hiss. “What happens when he finds out the test was faked?”

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