Mikhail
The manor looked different in the early morning light. It looked bigger somehow, even more intimidating. I watched Liliana's face as we drove through the iron gates, looking for any sign of recognition.
Nothing. Her green eyes were wide and uncertain, like a deer caught in headlights.
"This is where I live?" she asked quietly.
"Where we live," I corrected. "This is our home."
She didn't respond, just stared at the sprawling stone building with its tall windows and carved balconies.
Dmitri had been rushed to the medical wing as soon as we arrived. The bullet had torn through his shoulder, missing the major arteries but doing enough damage to need surgery. The same woman who has treated me, who asked no questions and kept no records - was already preparing the operating room.
