“I would request you don’t call me Miss Bernardi. It feels more like a slur than anything.”
I gave her a quick nod before walking to the far wall, where the windows looked out over the front lawn. It was quiet and the morning was clear. It was one of my favorite views outside of my own on third floor overlooking the back gardens.
“So your brother decided whether to kill me, or let my father do it himself.”
Turning, I looked back at this little bird. Her wings cut from birth, caged in a windowless room. “A third option has been presented by my brother.”
“Juri Baranov? Your head?”
I nodded. She waited patiently, her eyes defaulting to watching my every move as I tried to sort out my thoughts. I could imagine her outrage when I explained. Her face twisting in disgust much like my brother
